The Calamity of a Reborn Witch
Author: Vera Anne Wolf
Date: 2021-03-30T00:00:00+00:00
Publisher: anonymous

Table Of Contents

- Table Of Contents -
[B1] Chapter 51: A History of Witches
[B1] Chapter 52: The Scent of Suspicion
[B1] Chapter 53: Wolves in the Garden
[B1] Chapter 54: The Queen of Wolves
[B1] Chapter 55: The Corruption of Paradise
[B1] Chapter 56: The Winds of Sorrow
[B1] Chapter 57: The Final Challenge Begins
[B1] Chapter 58: A Banquet of Wolves
[B1] Chapter 59: A Gala of Discord
[B1] Chapter 60: A Glimmer of Magic
[B1] Chapter 61: The Fortune of Fools
[B1] Chapter 62: The Claws of Guilt
[B1] Chapter 63: Weight of the Dead
[B1] Chapter 64: The Chill of Death
[B1] Chapter 65: A Garden of Secrets
[B1] Chapter 66: A Test of Loyalty
[B1] Chapter 67: Chosen by the Scorpion
[B1] Chapter 68: An Oath of Loyalty
[B1] Chapter 69: A Mother's Love
[B1] Chapter 70: The Treachery of History
[B1] Chapter 71: The Color of Desire
[B1] Chapter 72: The Shackles of Pride
[B1] Chapter 73: The Shadow of Grief
[B1] Chapter 74: The Solace of Friendship
[B1] Chapter 75: Scent of a Witch
[B1] Chapter 76: Secrets of a Lady
[B1] Chapter 77: A Matter of Trust
[B1] Chapter 78: The Color of Betrayal
[B1] Chapter 79: A Shadow of Deception
[B1] Chapter 80: A Brotherhood of Sorrow
[B1] Chapter 81: A Vendetta of Power
[B1] Chapter 82: A Clash of Wills
[B1] Chapter 83: A Lover's Cursed Fate
[B1] Chapter 84: A Broken Family Affair
[B1] Chapter 85: An Unholy Reckoning
[B1] Chapter 86: A Baptism of Fire
[B1] Chapter 87: A Pure-Blood Devil
[B1] Chapter 88: A Spark of Chaos
[B1] Chapter 89: A Trail of Destruction
[B1] Chapter 90: A Twist of Malice
[B1] Chapter 91: A Storm of Crows
[B1] Chapter 92: A Sanctuary of Sin
[B1] Chapter 93: A Feast of Crows
[B1] Chapter 94: The Rot of Power
[B1] Chapter 95: A Crown of Vengeance
[B1] Chapter 96: An Official Death Notice
[B1] Chapter 97: The Absence of Grief
[B1] Chapter 98: The Wings of Fate
[B1] Chapter 99: A Crown of Crows
[B1] Chapter 100: A Specter of Betrayal
[B1] Chapter 101: A Treacherous Path Forward

[B1] Chapter 102: The Beginning of the End { Part 1 }

[B1] Chapter 103: The Beginning of the End { Part 2 }

[B1] Epilogue: The Pope of Zarus
Interlude Part I: The Disgraced Prince
Interlude II: Mask of the Ghoul
Interlude III: The Betrayed Prince
Interlude Part IV: Goddess of Destruction
Special Interlude V: The Crow and the Earl

Story Art Work: CoRW - Book 1 & Book 2 (to come)

[B2] Prologue: A Husk of Mortality
[B2] Chapter 1: The Fragrance of Sorrow
[B2] Chapter 2: The Fate of Sisters
[B2] Chapter 3: The Sting of Gossip
[B2] Chapter 4: Roses at a Funeral
[B2] Chapter 5: Tortured and Twisted Grief
[B2] Chapter 6: A Whisper of Malice
[B2] Chapter 7: The Weight of Guilt
[B2] Chapter 8: The Shadow of Valor
[B2] Chapter 9: The Ties of Blood
[B2] Chapter 10: The Mark of a Master
[B2] Chapter 11: A Blade of Secrets
[B2] Chapter 12: A Trade of Secrets
[B2] Chapter 13: The Color of Fear
[B2] Chapter 14: Prince of the Desert
[B2] Chapter 15: The Bloodlines of Covens
[B2] Chapter 16: The Shackles of Power
[B2] Chapter 17: The Ripper’s Smile
[B2] Chapter 18: Shadow of the Witch Hunters
[B2] Chapter 19: A Lady of Mystery
[B2] Chapter 20: The Divide of Power
[B2] Chapter 21: A Bog of Poison
[B2] Chapter 22: The Sounds of Discord
[B2] Chapter 23: A Prick of Cunning
[B2] Chapter 24: A Breach of Trust
[B2] Chapter 25: A Trace of Poison
[B2] Chapter 26: The Scent of Violence
[B2] Chapter 27: A Play of Power
[B2] Chapter 28: The Guilt of Providence
[B2] Chapter 29: A Breath of Deception
[B2] Chapter 30: The Labyrinth of Anthraticus
[B2] Chapter 31: Daughter of Frost
[B2] Chapter 32: The Price of Immortality
[B2] Chapter 33: A Dangerous Deviation
[B2] Chapter 34: The Politics of Marriage
[B2] Chapter 35: A Wave of Ambition
[B2] Chapter 36: A Prison of Fear
[B2] Chapter 37: The Web of Politics
[B2] Chapter 38: The Peril of Gossip
[B2] Chapter 39: The Scent of Manipulation
[B2] Chapter 40: A Mark of Enmity
[B2] Chapter 41: The Taste of Emptiness
[B2] Chapter 42: A Menu for Disaster
[B2] Chapter 43: The Weight of Dawn
[B2] Chapter 44: A Wrinkle of Truth
[B2] Chapter 45: A Testament of Humanity
[B2] Chapter 46: A Questionable Alliance
[B2] Chapter 47: The Spoils of Matrimony
[B2] Chapter 48: The Fate of a Queen
[B2] Chapter 49: The Fragrance of Treachery
[B2] Chapter 50: The Prodigal Son Returns
[B2] Chapter 51: The Spice of Discord
[B2] Chapter 52: A Conflict of Interests
[B2] Chapter 53: The Fangs of Winter
[B2] Chapter 54: The Consequences of Fate
[B2] Chapter 55: The Unveiled Truth
[B2] Chapter 56: The Path of Failure
[B2] Chapter 57: A Channel of Power
[B2] Chapter 58: A Vision of Ghosts
[B2] Chapter 59: The Trouble with Twins
[B2] Chapter 60: The Arrival at Dawn
Interlude VI: Predators of the Desert
[B2] Chapter 61: A Peddler of Betrayal
[B2] Chapter 62: The Gift of Family
[B2] Chapter 63: The Art of Seduction
[B2] Chapter 64: A Banquet in Red
[B2] Chapter 65: A Shiver of Dread
[B2] Chapter 66: A Dance of Assassins

[B1] Chapter 51: A History of Witches

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Chapter 51: A History of Witches

Declan started and regarded the witch hunter with alarm.

"I'm joking," Nero said with a dry chuckle. "Anyway, with two witches active in Lafeara, especially one of this caliber, the Pope will likely want to pay a visit himself."

"The—Pope? Pope Jericho?" Declan stammered.

"Yeah," Nero muttered, not looking at all pleased. "Chances are this witch won't hang around long enough for him to get here."

"So, then what do we do now?"

Nero smirked and tossed the branch back at him. "We keep after the ice witch. Who knows, with a bit of luck, these two know each other. If we find her, she just might lead us to the pure-blood."

The witch hunter turned towards the gate as Declan discarded the branch.

"Wait." Declan chased after him. "What’s the difference between the ice witch and this pure-blood?"

"What?" Nero glanced over his shoulder. "You don't know a damn thing, do you, half-witch?" The witch hunter smirked, glanced across the grounds towards the priest, then stepped closer to Declan and slid an arm around his neck. "If you want to know, then follow me."

With that parting invitation, Nero headed for the horses and Declan, once more weighing curiosity against his instinctual distrust and dislike for the witch hunter, reluctantly followed.

Nero mounted his horse, waited for Declan to do the same, then turned his mount back onto the road.

Declan sucked in a breath, kicked his heels into the mare, and followed the witch hunter. They galloped away from the blaze along the silent road towards the rising dawn. The sun's yawning blush illuminated a small dirt path that led across a wheat field. The Nero turned onto it without hesitation.

A prickle of unease bubbled up in Declan's stomach as he slowed the mare and guided her off the road after the witch hunter. The world grew quiet as the open field swallowed them under a soft blue sky. The breeze, tainted by the scent of fire, kissed Declan’s chocolate-brown hair and cooled the sweat along his neck.

Nero turned his black stallion off the path and kicked his heels against the dark beast’s flank. The witch hunter’s ash-brown braids danced against his red robes and scarlet armor as beast and man rode in a circle.

Declan reigned in his mare uncertainly as the witch hunter circled him once, twice, and again until the wheat flattened, and Declan felt dizzy. Whispers tickled against his ears. Though whether they came from the witch hunter or the wind, Declan could not tell.

“Somnus enim mortuus est.”

The wind seemed suddenly alive and vibrant as Declan sucked in a breath to steady his nerves—and felt simultaneously as light as a feather and as stiff as a corpse.

The mare shrieked and bolted. Declan, unable to hold the reins, was flung from the saddle. The world spun, and his gut clenched with anticipation as the air whooshed around him—and fell silent.

When Declan opened his eyes, heaven and earth had switched places. Wheat tickled his nose as he hovered suspended, face down in the breeze.

The sound of applause drew Declan's attention to an upside-down Nero, still atop his horse, clapping with a sarcastic smile.

"Knew you had it in you, half-witch."

Declan could not answer, for beside Nero stood the woman. Her figure, as dark as night, rippled through the swaying wheat—her gaze two empty chasms of pain. And when she opened her mouth, Declan heard his mother's dying screams once more.

He crashed into the wheat and ground as the earth resettled around him.

The sound of hooves forced the shaken knight to roll over. Declan glared up at the witch hunter’s boots as Nero reigned in the black stallion beside him.

"What—did you do to me?" Declan panted.

"I woke you up," Nero replied with a shrug.

Declan grit his teeth against the sudden wave of nausea. With a hand pressed to his mouth, he rose to his feet with surprising swiftness.

"I—never wanted to wake up." He gestured to where the black specter now faded into the breeze. "I never wanted—any of this!"

“No need to be afraid of a ghost,” Nero returned with a crooked smile. “Death won’t allow her back here so easily to meddle with you.”

“That’s not the point—I don’t want anything to do with magic!”

Nero's gaze hardened as he leaned against the saddle. "And that my friend is the difference between a coven-witch and a half-witch—the right to choose.” He slid down from the saddle and surveyed the quiet field around them. “A coven-witch can't escape the power they are born with. If they bottled their magic up and refused to use it, they’ll either go mad or become consumed by the very magic they reject. Most apocalypses you’ve read about are the result of a witch repressing their magic. The droughts, tornados, swarms of locusts, earthquakes—all the result of a witch who went out of control.”

“And half-witches?”

Nero shrugged. “Most witches consider us impotent because, although we have magic, we can’t control it. Or at least—that’s how it used to be.” He pulled off his glove and held up his right hand. Three rings of jade, amber, and onyx adorned his fingers. “But now—with the right tools and enchantment, we can use enough to mark our place in the world.”

The witch hunter flicked his fingers. A spark of fire ignited against his fingertips then danced across his knuckles like a coin. “These are low-grade magic gems with weak magical abilities, but they come in handy.”

Declan stared mesmerized at the dancing flame. "Then—what just happened earlier—I can’t control it?”

“Intentionally no, but subconsciously yes,” Nero answered as he snapped his fingers and extinguished the flame.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

"Earlier, you subconsciously wished to avoid the pain of falling, and the wind magic you were born with interceded based on your instinctual desire.”

“Wind magic?”

“Lafeara was a native homeland for most wind witches before the great purge.”

Declan nodded slowly. “Then what kind of half-witch are you?”

Nero offered a twisted smile and shrugged. “For most witches, deep emotions and desires are all you need to conjure magic. But a half-blood—you’re just as likely to break your neck if you tried something like that again. So, lesson number one, don’t get cocky. You’ve merely dipped your toes into the abyss of power a coven-witch can possess.”

“You’re giving me lessons?” Declan raised a sarcastic brow. “Then what is a coven-witch?”

Nero rolled his eyes and pulled a golden crescent from his pocket. "Your mother was a coven-witch, but your father was mortal, right? Becoming a coven-witch is like the toss of the coin. Heads, you’re born with near-immortal like powers.” He flipped the coin into the air. “Tails, you’re a tainted half-breed. However—” Nero snatched the still spinning crescent and raised a single finger “—the weaker the coven-witch blood, the lower your chances of being anything more a half-witch.”

“So, it's like inheriting a disease?”

Nero scoffed and shook his head. “Any witch would be offended to hear you call it that. No, unlike nobility, witches don’t give a shit if you’re mom was a prostitute or your dad some duke or the bloody king himself. They only care about the purity of your witch blood. The purer the witch—the stronger their power after all. As a half-blood, however, you’re nothing to them but a failed result.”

“Right,” Declan muttered.

“The ice witch, on the other hand.” Nero licked his lips as he flipped the coin again. “Her mother was a mortal, but her father was a strong coven-witch, so the coin flipped the other way for her.” Nero caught the crescent and pocketed it.

"How can you tell all that?" Declan asked quickly.

Nero tapped his nose. "You'll be able to pick up the difference given time. Our ability to smell each other is the one trait all witches and half-witches possess. That’s why the church gathers up failures like us and trains them into hounds."

“Father Alden’s already tried that sales pitch on me,” Declan returned sourly. “So then, a pure-witch comes from two coven-witches?”

“A pure-blood witch,” Nero corrected. “And no, it takes a few generations of coven-witches to create a pure-blood.” He gestured towards the horizon where the long arm of black smoke spiraled defiantly towards the heavens. "Which is why something like this means trouble. Where there’s a pure-blood witch, there’s a coven of witches that created them. Hell, some witches will even inbreed just to ensure the purity of their bloodline and create a strong successor. And those bastards,” he exhaled as he turned back to face Declan, “They’re the most dangerous form of witches in existence. Pure-blood devils."

[B1] Chapter 52: The Scent of Suspicion

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Chapter 52: The Scent of Suspicion

Nicholas glanced up in surprise as Beaumont greeted him on the steps of Peony Palace at morning light.

"I thought you'd be looking after Lady Maura today?" Nicholas pressed curiously as the knight captain followed him down the steps.

"I—assigned another knight to assist her," Beaumont replied hesitantly. "I—don't think she was comfortable around me."

"What's this?" Acheron greeted as he met them at the gate. "Why are you here, cousin?"

"He says Lady Maura is afraid of him," Nicholas answered with a frown. "Have you tried smiling at her? You know—being friendly."

"Perhaps if he didn't look like a wolf baring its fangs," Acheron snickered as he slid between them.

Nicholas shoved his friend aside and focused on Beaumont's flushed cheeks and averted violet eyes. "What about flowers?"

"Flowers?" Beaumont repeated uncertainly.

"Yes!" Acheron said enthusiastically. "What do you think she'll like? Roses or Lilies?"

"Why would I get Lady Maura flowers?" Beaumont protested.

"Because you nearly broke her foot and ruined her chances of winning this selection," Nicholas answered promptly.

"And now you’re bailing after so proudly declaring you'd make up for that blunder by looking after her until she got better," Acheron added with a wicked grin.

"I—" Beaumont glared between the two of them and heaved an aggravated sigh. "Where can I buy flowers?"

"Good man!" Nicholas attempted to throw an arm around Beaumont's shoulder, gave up, and settled for patting his arm. "I know just the place."

❆❆❆❆❆

Carina hopped around her room with only minor difficulty as she dressed for the day. Her ankle was slightly less swollen now, but even with the freshly applied silk bandages, she couldn't shake the sensation that it could give way beneath her at any moment.

'I guess an overnight recovery was too much to hope for.'

Still, without the distraction of pain to contend with, Carina completed her morning preparations with minimal hindrance. She tucked Ghost’s dagger amongst the books in her trunk then finished setting her hair into a twisted rose-shaped bun. Satisfied she looked presentable, Carina hopped her way towards the door, using the wall and furniture for support when she could.

A heavy knock startled her just as she reached for the door handle. After a quick glance around the room, Carina tugged the door open and blinked at the bouquet of pink roses that almost smashed into her face.

'What—the?'

"I—" Beaumont's voice and then face appeared as he lowered the bouquet, "I wanted—to apologize—properly."

Carina looked from his determined gaze and flushed cheeks to the flowers and opened her mouth wordlessly.

"Good morning, Lady Maura," Acheron greeted as he edged into the doorway beside his cousin. "Sleep well?" Despite the fact that they were only two years apart in age, Acheron was at least a foot shorter than the knight captain he stood beside.

The rogue’s steel-blue eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief, and suddenly Carina knew precisely where the idea to get flowers had originated.

"Yes," she lied. In fact, she had woken up before the sun after being executed by Beaumont once more in her nightmares. "Good Morning." She attempted a half-hearted smile as she processed the stark difference between dreams and reality.

If the universe was determined to remind her that Beaumont was dangerous, Carina wasn't going to argue. But when faced with pink roses and a sincere apology—Carina leaned forward to inhale the aroma of the fragrant roses.

'It's—not like the flowers did anything wrong, but—'

"I'm afraid I don't have a vase for them," Carina declined as she leaned back.

Beaumont, whose cheeks had become remarkably redder, blinked and glanced toward Acheron with a visible cry for help.

"Not to worry," Nicholas said as he appeared between the giant and rogue. He scooped the flowers from Beaumont's hands, plopped them into a vase, and presented them towards her. "Flowers in a vase, Lady Maura?"

Before she could reply or react to the crown prince’s sudden appearance at her door, Nicholas slid past Carina into the room without bothering to ask for permission.

"Wait, you—" Carina tensed as he glanced towards the still open trunk of books curiously. "Your Majesty—"

"Do you like to read, Lady Maura?" Nicholas said as he moved closer to the chest.

Carina glanced at the exposed covers and realized she had left her favorite book of poisons near the top. She hopped over and almost jostled into him as she firmly slammed the chest closed.

"Yes, I do," she said breathlessly as she turned to face him, only to realize how unnervingly close he stood to her.

'Is it me, or is he—being nosey? He should certainly know better than to enter a maiden’s room without her permission!'

Nicholas eyed her suspiciously as he set the vase down on the desk beside them. “Lady Maura, are you—"

"Ahh, your Majesty," Acheron interrupted tensely. "You do realize it will cause a scandal if you’re caught in Lady Maura’s room like this.”

Carina shot the rogue a look of relief as she sank down and sat on the trunk. 'Wait. Why is a rogue reminding the crown prince about the sanctity of an unmarried woman's room?'

"The door is still open,” Nicholas pointed out sharply. “Besides, I was merely curious what sort of books you enjoy reading, Lady Maura?" His gaze returned to the chest beneath her.

"This and that," Carina answered with a tight smile. 'What the hell was he so curious about?'

Nicholas snorted, clearly not satisfied with her answer.

“Candidates!” Lady Sabella’s shrill voice filled the hallway.

“Your Majesty!” Acheron hissed as Beaumont turned and scowled in the direction of the other candidates’ rooms. A flurry of skirts and whispers faded down the hall as the crown prince stepped back and headed to the door.

“It would appear all the other candidates are heading downstairs,” Nicholas observed with a glance over his shoulder. “You should probably hurry, Lady Maura.”

Carina nodded and rose awkwardly. Her ankle wobbled, and she caught the corner of the desk quickly. The pink roses stared at her mockingly as she straightened, sucked in her lower lip, and hopped slowly back to the door.

Beaumont reached past Nicholas to support her. Carina ignored her accelerated heart rate as she gripped his arm and almost sighed with relief when he lifted her off her feet. Her mad dash to secure her trunk of books, poisons, and Ghost's dagger had no doubt set back her recovery time.

"Just a moment," she whispered to Beaumont as Acheron and Nicholas headed further down the hall. "Would you lock the door, please." She pulled the single key tied to a purple tassel from her sleeve.

“Hold on a moment,” Beaumont muttered as he shifted her weight to one arm and turned back towards the door. Carina held onto his shoulder and neck uncomfortably as he turned the key, tested the door, and adjusted her once more.

"Thank you," Carina said awkwardly as he handed her back the key. At least now she could focus on the Selection with some reassurance that her possessions would remain secure from prying eyes. "And—thank you—for the flowers, Captain Beaumont."

Beaumont's arms stiffened around her, but he managed a nod and what might have been a gruff, "You're welcome."

[B1] Chapter 53: Wolves in the Garden

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Chapter 53: Wolves in the Garden

"I see we’re all here,” Sabella observed as Beaumont and Carina joined the remaining candidates on the first floor beside the ballroom. "Well, then as some of you may have noticed, we are now down to five candidates. Lady Saffron and Lady Viviana were eliminated early this morning and will be leaving after they've had a chance to pack."

"Wait—" Meredith stammered "—you mean the half-blood isn't cut yet?"

The gaze of the other four remaining candidates, which included Lady Meredith, Lady Evelynn, Lady Tiffany, and a Lady Kaitlin, all turned towards Carina with various degrees of surprise, suspicion, and disappointment.

"Not to worry, Lady Meredith," Sabella answered, her expression turning sour. "We still have two more evaluations to get through today. Those of you who manage to make it to the end will meet Crown Princess Eleanora tomorrow when she will make her final choice for her ladies-in-waiting."

"I just don't understand why the half-blood hasn't been cut when she's practically a liability," Meredith whispered loudly to Evelynn. "Not to mention, disabled."

Evelynn frowned and shrugged. “Perhaps she appealed to the Countess of Hawthorne for help,” she replied with a sharp glance towards Carina. None of the other ladies offered their opinions as they trailed after Sabella towards the front door.

"Ignore them," Beaumont whispered as he followed at the end of the line of skirts. "You're smarter than all of them combined."

Carina glanced up at him curiously and quickly lowered her gaze. It was the first time since she had entered the palace that anyone had paid her a genuine compliment. Not that she had much experience before coming here.

"I'll catch up with you later, Captain," Nicholas called after them as he pulled a reluctant Acheron in the opposite direction.

“Good luck, Lady Maura!” Acheron shouted as he waved—and winked, in their direction.

"Are you sure you shouldn't be watching over them?" Carina asked, troubled by the odd behavior of both the crown prince and the rogue.

“If it’s—to uncomfortable for you—” Beaumont’s violet eyes flickered down to hers with a conflicted expression. “I can—ask another knight too—”

“No,” Carina replied quickly. “I mean, it doesn’t matter—I’m grateful to you for assisting me. I’m sure you’d rather be with the crown prince.”

"Actually," Beaumont hesitated "It’s nice to have someone else worry about him for a change."

A laugh snuck past Carina's lips and Beaumont looked down at her surprised.

"Sorry, you—" Carina chuckled and shook her head, "—reminded me of someone I used to know just then." His brows furrowed curiously, and as his stare lingered, Carina felt her stomach grow cold. She quickly averted her gaze. "Never mind."

❆❆❆❆❆

Lady Sabella led them towards the center of Lafeara's Palace stronghold and a towering wall of trimmed box hedges.

"Candidates, this will be the first time here for most of you," Sabella said with a hint of pride. "Behold, the Royal Garden."

They passed through a stone edged archway overgrown by creeping burgundy vines and entered a utopia Carina had only ever glimpsed from the outside in Maura's memories.

A vast courtyard of floral trees, bushes, and flowers bloomed and sparkled beneath the morning dew. The wind carried a paradise of bird songs and nectar as it swept toward them in greeting. Stone carved pathways circled the hedge borders and led towards the magnificent Royal Fountain at the center of the garden.

"Follow me," Sabella ordered, looking refreshed herself as she led them forward. "Remember, only members of the royal court may enter here freely. Otherwise, you must avoid entering without permission."

“Wait, who's that over there? Isn’t that Lady Priscilla?” asked Kaitlin as she pointed towards an elegantly dressed noble lord and young lady.

“And I believe that’s her father, Marquess Borghese,” Evelynn confirmed as the distant pair strolled towards an alternate exit.

“The Marquess is a member of the House of Lords, so Lady Priscilla is almost always here,” Meredith said with a hint of bitterness.

“Speaking of which there is something I’ve always been a bit confused about,” Tiffany chimed in. “Wasn’t Lady Priscilla engaged to the Crown Prince Nicholas previously?”

“Not officially,” Evelynn corrected as she extended her fan to cover her mouth. “But if Tristan had remained the Crown Prince—it’s possible they might have been married,” she added in a whisper.

“You would do well not to speak of the late First Prince,” Sabella cautioned as she turned towards them. She cleared her throat and gestured with her fan towards another row of hedges and a closed iron door. "That is the western garden which is reserved exclusively for the royal family—" she fixed them all with a sharp, warning stare, "—it is forbidden for anyone else to enter. So keep to the rest of the garden unless you care to have your neck pruned by an ax." She snipped her fingers dramatically, and Tiffany hiccupped as she clutched her throat.

"That seems—excessive," Kaitlin said hesitantly.

The closer they drew to the fountain, the quicker all thoughts of forbidden gardens and bloody axes faded from the candidates' minds.

An intricate marble work of art portrayed the first Queen of Lafeara dancing in a pool surrounded by wolves who played beside her or drank from the glimmering basin.

"This is Queen Narah," Sabella said as the candidates circled the fountain. "The first Queen of Lafeara and the Mother of Wolves."

The candidates crowded in closer to examine the worn smiling expression on the queen’s marble face. The statue’s crown glittered in the sunlight with sapphires and diamonds embedded within its carved royal tiara. The intricate details of her flowing dress, and the fur of her wolf companions against the moving water created the illusion they might break free from the fountain at any moment.

After a while, the candidates soon grew bored and wandered off to explore the wide variety of roses that grew around the fountain.

"You can set me down there," Carina suggested as she pointed to a bench by the fountain.

"Ah—yes," Beaumont murmured. He lowered her with unnerving care and awkwardly stood a few feet from her.

'It's like I've inherited a permanent shadow,’ Carina observed with a sigh.

Sabella's gaze flickered between the candidates and the garden as she glanced at her pendant watch anxiously. Then her eyes caught upon a small group approaching them, and she hastily called out, "Candidates! Back in line, quickly!"

Carina raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun and identified the cause for Sabella's concern. The Queen Regent of Lafeara, Grand Dowager Octavia, was headed in their direction, and she was accompanied by none other than Lady Hana.

[B1] Chapter 54: The Queen of Wolves

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Chapter 54: The Queen of Wolves

"Greetings, Queen Regent," Sabella paid her respects as she and the candidates curtsied before the Dowager. Captain Beaumont bowed beside Carina, who bent at the waist while seated.

"Good morning, Lady Sabella," Octavia greeted warmly. She patted Lady Hana's hand firmly and smiled at her reproachfully as the lady-in-waiting attempted to pull away. "Candidates, allow me to introduce you to Lady Hana, who will be a senior lady-in-waiting to those of you fortunate enough to win the Crown Princess's approval."

The candidates glanced up curiously at the fragile beauty beside the cold, domineering Dowager and kept silent. Behind the Dowager stood five knights, who each carried a white porcelain vase.

"No doubt you're all wondering why you've been brought to the Royal Garden as part of your evaluation," Octavia said and motioned for them to rise. "Allow me to present the answer." She clapped her hands, and the knights presented a vase to each candidate.

Carina smiled with relief as Beaumont accepted her vase. Another phase of the Selection, the flower arrangement evaluation, was unfolding according to plan. With the Hawthorne garden at her disposal and Constance's guidance, Carina had more than enough experience with floral displays. She had also made use of her work by sending them as gifts to various members of Mr. Frost investment company like Sir Bryson.

What Carina didn’t understand was how flower arrangement served as an appropriate means of evaluating a lady-in-waiting?

Maura's memories had only glimpsed the victors and their vases when they left the Royal Garden in the original Selection. She herself had never seen past the garden’s stone archways which left Carina little in the way of knowledge to work with, aside from a map of the garden that Constance had slyly planned out in advance. The map detailed the location of specific flowers, paths, exits, and even the blank western corner of the forbidden garden.

Carina had thought such preparation overkill—but now, given her current limitations, she was grateful to Constance for making her commit that piece of paper to memory.

"You have two hours to gather and present a display of flowers using what nature and the royal gardeners have provided you inside this garden," Octavia explained as she fanned herself and walked, arm in arm with Lady Hana, before them. "When you are finished, Lady Hana and I shall judge the results. Isn't that right, Lady Hana?"

"Yes, Queen Regent," Hana whispered, her discomfort palpable.

"But before we send these ladies off to fill their bouquets, we should appreciate what lovely flowers they are," Octavia cooed with a wink at Evelynn and an appreciative nod at Tiffany. She paused in front of Carina and eyed Captain Beaumont behind her. "This—is the half-blood, Lady Sabella?"

"Yes, Queen Regent," Sabella said with a tight smile.

Carina stiffened as Octavia released Hana's arm and moved closer. A sickeningly sweet fragrance filled the air between them as Octavia stroked Carina's cheek with a soft chuckle. "This one is especially delicate and pretty, isn't she, Lady Hana?"

Hana's eyes narrowed at the Dowager, but she remained silent as she refused to look at Carina.

"Forgive me for not greeting you properly, Queen Regent," Carina said, almost choking beneath the awkward tension.

"Nonsense," Octavia murmured with a sweet smile. "I've already heard about your unfortunate accident—"her cerulean-blue eyes flicked towards Beaumont, who flushed and lowered his gaze, "—but I see you are in capable hands. Good luck, Lady Maura."

Carina's nails tightened into the fabric of her sleeves as she smiled back and bowed her head politely. "Thank you, Queen Regent."

"Now then," Octavia swept back towards the center of the candidates and clapped her hands. A knight presented each candidate with a pair of pruning scissors and gloves. "Your two hours starts now. May the Saint smile upon you all."

With those words, the Dowager nodded to Sabella, who lifted a bell and shook it. The sharp ring startled the candidates, and Tiffany almost dropped her vase with a gasp.

"Ah," Octavia said with a faint cringe. "Perhaps you should leave the vases here while you gather up flowers. Sabella and I will keep an eye on them."

"Thank you, Queen Regent!" Tiffany said as she and the others set their vases down carefully and scurried off into the garden.

Carina turned and raised her left arm as Beaumont lifted her up once more.

"Where to?" he asked once she was comfortable.

Carina bit her lip as she recalled the map committed to memory. "I have an idea," she murmured, "but—"

‘Is the evaluation really meant to be this simple? With the Dowager overseeing this evaluation herself—there has to be more to it than flower arrangements.’

Carina pointed to the vase left on the bench "We need to bring that with us."

Beaumont raised his eyebrows worriedly. "Are you sure."

"I can carry it," Carina answered firmly. "As long as you don't drop me, we should be fine."

His arms tightened around her as he muttered, "I won't drop you."

❆❆❆❆❆

Hana squirmed uncomfortably on the edge of the water fountain.

'Surely, Eleanora will be back soon.'

The Crown Princess had gone horseback riding to, "work up an appetite." Hana, who was terrified of horses, remained behind and decided to go for a morning stroll in the Royal Garden. A decision she quickly regretted after bumping into the Dowager.

Hana sighed as she stroked the clear water of the fountain's pool. She enjoyed the cold that nipped against her slender fingers as the warm sun and a gentle breeze caressed her neck and arms.

"You look tired, my dear," Octavia observed as she sat beside Hana with a concerned look. "And paler than normal. Is everything alright?"

Hana shifted away from the Dowager. "I—didn't sleep well—it's nothing."

She wasn't about to tell Octavia about the nightmare that had plagued her of late. She couldn't even bring herself to mention it to Eleanora, not that her lover would take something as silly as dreams seriously.

‘Besides its probably just my nerves acting up again. Eleanora’s marriage, moving to the castle, the Dowager’s threats and games, Eleanora and Nicholas fighting…’

"Well, fresh air and a hearty breakfast should do the trick," Octavia murmured sympathetically. "Speaking of which, I trust the candidates haven't eaten yet, Lady Sabella?"

"No, Queen Regent," Sabella answered with a curtsy.

"Excellent," Octavia said and chuckled. "Have the knights bring something for Lady Hana and myself."

Sabella nodded and moved to where two knights remained attentively by the garden path.

"Hunger has always been a great motivator," Octavia observed as she brushed a loose lock of Hana's blonde hair behind her ear. "It wears down the mind, body, and spirit without leaving a trace."

"Are you going to starve them?"

"Oh hardly," Octavia replied with an amused smile. "But two hours in the sun on an empty stomach should more than do the trick."

"I don't understand—what's the point?" Hana asked. "They might not even take two hours to finish."

"Patience," Octavia replied with a smile. "Flower arrangement isn't the only part of this exam." She opened her parasol and held it over Hana. "The sun will make her hot. The effort of hunting down flowers will make her limbs tired and her skin sweat. And just when she thinks she's finished—she'll start to compare her bouquet to the other candidates. That's when the hunger will bring out her baser instincts to win."

"What if it makes them want to quit instead?" Hana suggested uneasily.

"They wouldn't have made it this far if they weren't capable," Octavia responded confidently. "Each candidate has her reason for wanting this position. Unlike yourself, their motivations are focused on obtaining something from the Crown Princess. Power and influence that is their end goal. They will only continue to support her as long as she is of use to them. The more desperate they are to obtain her power, the more they will risk to get it."

Hana shivered beneath the shade of the parasol. "You want them to turn on each other?"

"I want to uncover the weakest among them," Octavia answered with a confident smile. She turned her attention to the vases. "Lady Sabella, have a table brought out and place all the vases on it together."

"Yes, Queen Regent."

"Let's give them as much access to each other as we can."

❆❆❆❆❆

Carina sat upon the garden lawn beneath a cherry tree as she finished tucking the last lavender rose into her bouquet. Beaumont ducked under the cherry blossoms to silently check on her progress.

The arrangement of purple hydrangea, lavender rose, purple alstroemeria, purple stock, and pink cherry blossoms accented with green eucalyptus was the result of the last hour spent combing, pruning, and gathering from the garden's abundant resources.

"What do you think?" Carina asked as she brushed loose hair from her face, unaware of the smudge of green she left behind in its place.

"I—" Beaumont dropped his gaze and shrugged. "It's purple."

Carina smirked at his response and played with the remaining lavender stocks in her lap. "Yes, that used to be my favorite color."

"Used to?"

Carina shook her head and pulled a small pendant watch from her waist pocket. "There's still an hour left," she noted aloud.

"Should we head back?" Beaumont asked, self-consciously tugging at the uniform that now clung to his bulky arms and chest after walking around in the sweltering heat.

"No, there's no need to rush back." ‘The less interaction I have with the other candidates the better.’

She glanced up at the knight captain who towered above her and wondered what she would have done without his help—or to be more specific, his legs.

"Captain." Carina patted the ground beside her. "Why don't you rest for a while?"

"I'm fine," he said gruffly as he attempted to straighten and bumped into the lower branches of the cherry tree.

"But—" she tried not to laugh "—it's difficult to speak to you when you're all the way up there."

Beaumont glanced down, uncertainty visible upon his face, and then slowly descended to kneel in the grass beside her.

Carina flicked a glance towards him. The edge of his silver-blonde hairline was damp with sweat, as was his collar, and the sides of his jacket where the heavy fabric hugged his body. She didn't envy him the fancy uniform. At least her dress, ridiculous though it was in this weather, allowed her some room to breathe.

His violet eyes wandered towards hers, and Carina shifted her gaze to the bouquet before her. "The shade here is nice.”

"Yes," he answered.

'Not much of a conversationalist,' Carina observed with a sigh. 'Not that I want to have a conversation with him.' She frowned as she brushed away the strands of ash-brown hair that the wind kept blowing against her eyes and cheek.

Other than the occasional glance in her direction, Beaumont remained stoically silent.

"Did you—" she brushed back her hair again to look at him, "—want to go back?"

"Not particularly," he replied and slowly shifted from his knees to sit comfortably in the grass beside her. "You don't want to, so this is fine."

He turned towards her, and his violet eyes once more fixated upon her face.

They were an odd color that matched the bouquet at her feet quiet well, but the intensity of their gaze made her uncomfortable.

"What is it?" she asked defensively.

"You have—" his gaze narrowed intently below her eyes "—dirt on your cheek."

"Oh?" Carina reached up just as Beaumont leaned over and brushed his fingers across her skin. Caught off guard, Carina fell awkwardly away from him, and her knee bumped into the vase of flowers.

'Shit!'

Her eyes widened as Beaumont reached across her with agile swiftness, caught the rim of the vase, and held it steady. He exhaled sharply in relief and then looked down at her, pinned against the ground beneath him. His cheeks blushed scarlet.

'You have got to be kidding me...'

Carina remained where she was, trapped beneath Beaumont's chest as he hastily steadied the vase and then rolled off the grass onto his feet.

"I—Ah—We should—"

"We should head back," Carina agreed quickly.

[B1] Chapter 55: The Corruption of Paradise

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Chapter 55: The Corruption of Paradise

Hana absently played with the tiny blonde braid Eleanora had woven just behind her ear as she sat beneath her parasol. Octavia had prepared a tray of blueberry muffins and tea—which Hana politely refused. The memory of Eleanora slicing through the belladonna pastry was still fresh.

“Never eat anything offered to you by the Dowager!” Eleanora had warned her not long after.

“But—she wouldn’t dare offer it to me herself if it had poison—that would implicate her.”

“And who would dare hold the Queen Regent accountable while she still controls the throne?”

After that, it had been difficult for Hana to eat anything not prepared by Mrs. Poppy, the palace maid they had brought with them from Vetrayna.

‘How long will the Dowager continue to play with us like this?’ Hana wondered as Octavia silently sipped her tea. Sabella stood beside her mistress with a parasol in hand and kept the Queen Regent well-shaded while she remained exposed to the sun and the steadily rising heat.

Three of the five remaining candidates had already successfully returned. Sabella introduced each of them to Hana in turn. The first one back was Lady Evelynn, whose bouquet of red and pink flowers and roses Hana found particularly beautiful. Then came Lady Meredith, who opted for giant white lilies, white roses, and some blue flowers Hana did not recognize. The last of the three was the bubbly Lady Tiffany, who had selected a mixture of white and pink roses and hydrangeas.

Which meant there was still two candidates missing and thirty minutes remaining before the competition was finished.

Hana waved away a flying grasshopper and flinched as the Dowager crushed the offending insect with her fan.

“Pesky things,” Octavia murmured as she passed her fan to Sabella, who wordlessly handed the Dowager her parasol and moved to the fountain to clean away the bug's remains.

Hana wiped absently at the sweat forming against her hairline and neck. ‘Surely, Eleanora is wondering where I am by now. I’m certain I told Poppy I was coming to the garden.’ If only her brash and daring Vetrayna princess would appear to crash whatever plans the Dowager had in store and free Hana from this suffocating tension.

The heat was the least of her worries. The Vetrayna sun and desert climate were infinitely hotter by comparison. Still, Hana would rather spend her morning fending off scorpions then playing with wolves.

She glanced towards the candidates, who fanned themselves furiously as they wilted like flowers beneath the sun. One glance at the Dowager, who twirled her parasol and observed the garden with half-closed eyes and the faintest smirk, confirmed that all was going according to the old wolf’s plans.

‘Perhaps it was time to stop passively playing along?’

"Your Grace," Hana said hesitantly. "I really should return to the Rose Palace. Her Highness will have returned by now—"

"Nonsense, you promised to help me judge the flowers," Octavia dismissed with ease.

'I never promised anything!' Hana flinched as she recalled casually agreeing to help the Dowager judge at her request.

"But—I know nothing about flowers," Hana countered determinedly. "I don’t believe that I’m an appropriate judge for this sort of thing."

Octavia chuckled with amusement as she set down her tea. "My dear, there is no one better than you to judge this event."

Hana stared back at her blankly, unclear as to the Dowager's meaning.

Octavia leaned over her chair, claimed Hana's hand, and then pulled the younger woman closer.

"My dear,” Octavia whispered as she patted Hana’s hand. “You should remember that it is not just the Crown Princess but yourself who will have to spend every day with the ladies chosen by this Selection. However, unlike Eleanora, you won't be able to dismiss them just because you dislike them." Octavia nodded towards the candidates. "So, consider this your final opportunity to remove those you consider unsuitable before they get to Eleanora."

"That—doesn't seem fair," Hana replied falteringly. "Besides—how will I know what they’re like based on flowers?"

"As I said before, given the right environment, even the most guarded man or woman will reveal their true character," Octavia reminded her patiently with a conspiratorial smile.

Hana pulled away from the Dowager's grasp and eyed the candidates uncertainly. All she saw were three women younger than herself made miserable by the heat and in desperate need of some food, water, and shade.

"And here's Lady Katalin," Sabella said as she gestured towards the flushed young woman rushing towards them with a vase of orange lilies, red and purple roses, and yellow and green foliage.

"I'm back," Katalin panted as she set the vase down on the table with the others. She stepped back with a sigh of relief and scratched her wrists. Then, recalling her audience, hastily presented a curtsey to the Queen Regent and took her seat. "Am I the last one to return?" she whispered to Evelynn, who sat with Meredith on the bench beside her.

Hana watched Evelynn glance over at Katalin with a pitying look before she shook her head. "No, Lady Maura is not here yet."

"The half-blood?" Katalin sighed in aggravation and scratched her neck.

The girl's odd behavior drew Hana's attention to the rash, forming along on Katalin's arms. She quickly shifted her focus to Katalin's bouquet suspiciously.

Octavia followed her gaze and smirked. "I see you've found our first victim."

Hana ignored her as she focused on the green spoon-shaped leaves with their tooth-like edges.

'Oh, no.'

"There's the half-blood!" Lady Meredith called out as the towering figure of Captain Beaumont appeared, carrying not just Lady Maura, but a vase full of purple flowers.

Hana frowned at Meredith, who smirked and whispered with Evelynn as Beaumont carried Maura past them to an empty bench. Katalin still scratched mindlessly at her arms but appeared entirely focused on the conversation between Meredith and Evelynn.

"Greetings, Queen Regent, Lady Hana," Maura said as Beaumont set her down on the bench. He lifted the vase from her arms and placed it on the table with the other bouquets before returning to Maura's side. Both of them looked flushed and seemed somewhat on edge, though that was probably due to the heat.

"What a beautiful arrangement, Lady Maura," Octavia said sweetly.

Hana glanced over at the Dowager with surprise. So far, Octavia hadn't paid a single compliment to any of the other candidates. She turned and eyed Maura warily.

'Was the Dowager supporting this half-blood? No, wait, that couldn't be right—surely she's just playing games with me again, trying to make me think she's supporting the half-blood, so I'll cut her from the competition.'

Katalin whimpered as she scratched her cheek, and Hana had enough.

"Lady Katalin," Hana called out as she rose from her seat beside the Dowager. "Are you aware the green leaves in your bouquet are poison ivy?"

"Poison—what?" Katalin stared down at the red bumps forming along her arms and touched her face in horror. "Poison Ivy?!" She whirled towards Meredith and Evelynn, who sat beside each other with matching smirks. "But you told me—"

"Who?" Octavia cut in sharply. "Who told you what, Lady Katalin?"

Katalin blinked rapidly, tears forming in her eyes as she spun angrily and shifted her accusing gaze to Maura. "She—"

"Lady Maura has been at my side since we entered the garden," Beaumont interjected with a thundering growl. "And we never interacted with you or any of the other candidates, Lady Katalin."

Katalin blinked back tears as she stammered, then her gaze and finger turned towards Tiffany. "It was her—She—She told me they would look good with my bouquet!"

"Me?" Tiffany squeaked in surprise. “But I haven’t seen you or your bouquet until now!”

Katalin spun and stumbled towards the Dowager and Hana. "Please, Queen Regent—Lady Hana!” She knelt and wept bitterly. “Lady Tiffany should—no, she must be disqualified!”

Hana stared down at the sobbing girl appalled.

'How could she let the true culprit go free only to blame it on another?'

Hana glanced towards Tiffany, who stood trembling in shock and anger. Then she turned to Maura, who sat in composed silence though her blue eyes studied Katalin with cold disinterest.

'Lady Maura was fortunate to have Captain Beaumont by her side as an alibi—but poor Lady Tiffany.'

"I did no such thing, Lady Katalin!" Tiffany protested.

"Yes, you did!" Katalin screamed back at her. "Don't think that just because your family is rich, you can bully others! You're still only the daughter of a Baron!"

"This is ridiculous," Hana groaned as she rubbed her tired eyes. Skipping breakfast was beginning to affect her as much as it was these candidates. "Please tell us the truth, Lady Katalin."

"I am, Lady Hana!" Katalin protested and wept into her handkerchief as if she were going to her own funeral.

'Why is she still lying?' Hana shook her head and turned to the Dowager.

Octavia’s gaze and cold smile extinguished the protest on the tip of Hana’s tongue. ‘Of course, this is what you wanted.’

The Dowager waved her hand permissively. "I'll let you settle this, Lady Hana. Simply choose the bouquet that you like the least, and this evaluation will be over."

'So, you brought me along to do your dirty work.'

Katalin continued her loud weeping. The dreadful heart numbing sound beat against the dull ache forming at the back of Hana’s skull.

"The sooner you make your decision, the faster we can all get out of this heat," Octavia reminded her sympathetically.

"But—" Hana glanced from the weeping girl covered in angry rashes to the two possible culprits, Meredith and Evelynn. The pair stared back at her with polite and patient smiles as they continued to fan themselves, unphased.

'They don't seem at all worried I'll eliminate them. But how can they be so confident?'

"No need to hesitate, child,” Octavia murmured as she rose from her seat by the fountain. “I’m certain you’ve already made your choice.”

Hana gave a dry laugh and cleared her throat. "Yes, I suppose I have."

‘I’m just not sure it’s the right choice.’

"Then please," Octavia gestured towards the vases. "And remember, this will be your only chance to influence the Selection, Lady Hana."

Hana stood slowly and glanced over the five remaining candidates once more.

‘Kritanta’s Mercy. Who does she want me to cut? Lady Evelynn or Lady Meredith? One of them is responsible for what happened to Lady Katalin? But they seem to expect either Lady Maura or Lady Tiffany to take the blame, probably because they’re family positions are lower—so who is the right choice?'

Hana took in a slow breath and twisted the braid behind her ear. 'No, it doesn't matter if the Dowager is playing a game. If this is my one chance to eliminate someone who could harm Eleanora, then my decision is clear.'

Hana walked past Katalin to the table of vases. She examined the collage of flowers, then stepped forward and pushed the vessel with poison ivy over the edge. The porcelain shattered against the stone walkway, and Katalin gasped in horror.

'Someone who can't stand up for themselves. Someone that easily influenced to push the blame onto others isn't worthy to stand beside Eleanora.'

Satisfied with her decision, Hana turned around—and felt her heart sink as she encountered the Dowager's victorious smile.

"You made the right decision, Lady Hana."

[B1] Chapter 56: The Winds of Sorrow

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Chapter 56: The Winds of Sorrow

Ivy was a child again. Once more, she sat upon her father’s lap as he read a fairytale by the warmth of the hearth. She couldn’t remember his face or the sound of his voice, but the reassurance of his presence was like a blanket that wrapped her in frail security—because she knew this was a dream.

“And when the Saint had punished the evil king and queen, he chose from their descendants one who was untainted by greed or cruelty. The noble families of Lafeara accepted their chosen monarch and joined hands with the church to purge the wickedness of magic from the land.”

“But, Papa, didn’t the Saint have magic? He used it to burn all those soldiers and the evil witches.”

He coughed before answering. The muffled sound thudded against Ivy’s ears as she clutched his arm anxiously.

“I suppose—not all magic is evil, my little bunny.”

“I wish another Saint would come so they could cure you, Papa.”

Her father coughed again, and the safety of the dream faded as the threads unwove despite her desperate attempts to keep him here.

“A Saint will only appear when the world is in danger—be careful what you wish for, bunny.”

A muffled knock on the door roused Ivy from her sleep. Alarm sparked through her fogged brain as she snapped awake. It was not her father’s arm she held but Gus. She looked up at his blurred face as she struggled to banish the heavy sleep from her eyes. Gus remained asleep. The unnatural paleness still clung to his tanned, damp skin. His back, covered in bloody bandages, barely moved beneath his shallow breaths.

'But he was still alive!'

Relief weakened her already frayed nerves as Ivy pressed her forehead to his arm and prayed. The knock came again and reminded Ivy of why she had woken. She straightened and rubbed the soreness from her stiff neck as she turned towards the door. "Come in."

Percy entered and glanced from her to the unconscious patient then back. "You should eat something," he said bluntly.

"I'm—not hungry—just yet," Ivy replied as she turned back to Gus and slid her hand down to his fingers, which she clasped tightly.

Footsteps came up behind her as Percy moved to stand beside the bed. He sighed and placed his hand over her own. His touch was smooth and light—the hands of a noble holding the hands of two slaves. Ivy blinked back tears and looked away.

"You need to eat, so you don't fall ill yourself," Percy said firmly. "The servant’s kitchen is just down the hall. I had the cook prepare something for you."

"Very well," Ivy murmured, too tired to argue. "I'll bring it back here—"

"You also need some fresh air," Percy reminded her pointedly as he moved his hand to her shoulder. "Lady Maura will be done with the Selection around this time tomorrow. I was thinking of taking you with me when I go to the palace to visit her."

Ivy sucked in a breath as her eyes flew to his face. "Tomorrow? Really?"

"If you eat properly and rest in your own bed tonight," Percy replied firmly, though a smile teased the corner of his mouth.

"But—" Ivy turned towards Gus.

"I'll have one of the other maids keep an eye on him. You can resume your vigil after you've eaten."

"Yes, I understand—" Ivy stood up and faltered as the room spun.

Percy caught her arm and waist and steadied her. "This is why you need to rest," he said coldly. "You can check back in on him after you've eaten, but then you need to lie down and sleep."

Ivy nodded as she clutched her spinning head. Now more than ever, she missed her mistress's cooling touch. She steadied her resolve and stepped away from Percy. With such a rare opportunity to visit Maura at the palace, Ivy would not let a little thing like tiredness get in the way.

Percy escorted her to the kitchen and kept a careful watch as the cook hastily placed a bowl of soup, buttered bread, and iced tea before Ivy.

It took one bite of the delicious, spiced cheese and potato soup for Ivy's hunger to return. Despite the steam that still rolled off the spoon full of stew, she quickly ate her way to the bottom.

Percy studied silently then pulled out a chair at the table to sit.

Ivy glanced up at him curiously. "Are you hungry, my Lord?"

Percy frowned and crossed his arms. "No," he answered. "But then—I will eat later with the Countess."

"Yes, of course, forgive me, my Lord." ‘Of course, he would not eat with a slave.’

Percy shook his head and turned to the cook. "Some iced tea for me, please."

"Yes, my Lord." The cook quickly prepared a clean glass, filled it, and set it before the Earl.

"The soup is delicious!" Ivy praised as she used the bread to absorb every last drop.

"Thank you, Miss Ivy." The cook smiled, apparently pleased, and returned to his work.

Percy eyed her curiously as he drank his tea. "I can see why the other servants like you," he observed.

"What?" Ivy asked around the damp bite of bread in her mouth.

"You're humble, even though you used to be a noble yourself."

The food in her mouth turned to sand as Ivy dropped her gaze to the empty bowl. She forced herself to swallow and replied, "That was a long time ago."

"It's a shame," Percy murmured. "Anyway, I apologize for bringing it up."

Ivy shook her head and silently ate her bread.

"Have you thought about what you'll do next?"

"My Lord?" Ivy raised her gaze uncertainly.

"When Mother releases you?" Percy continued. "That was the deal she made with Maura, wasn't it? That she'd release you after six months."

"I—believe the Countess is setting me up with a job," Ivy answered hesitantly.

"So, you'll become a shop keeper?"

Ivy wiped her hands on the napkin and shrugged. "I haven't thought that far ahead."

"I suppose that makes sense," Percy replied slowly. "After all, you are used to Maura making all the decisions for you."

Anger and shame washed over Ivy. His words felt like an accusation, and one she couldn’t outright deny either. "I trust, Lady Maura," she said resolutely.

"And Lady Maura is worthy of your trust," Percy answered as he set down his empty glass and wiped his fingers with a handkerchief. "She is a competent person with many opportunities before her—but she can't keep looking after you forever."

Ivy swallowed another salty bite. His words nettled at her consciousness with harsh accuracy.

‘Of course, he’s right. I am four years older than Maura. I need to look after myself and stop being a burden—but what can I do? Even when I have my freedom, I’m still no one. Just an ex-slave who can barely read and only knows how to write her own name.’

She glanced towards Percy and quickly dropped her gaze. Those winter grey eyes of his had seen more of her weakness then she cared to reveal.

"How—how did you meet Lady Maura?" she asked, desperate to change the topic.

Percy tilted his head, silent for a moment. "Here, I suppose," he answered slowly. "When she first began taking lessons with Mother." He smiled softly as he pushed the empty glass of tea between his hands. "I'm ashamed to admit that even I underestimated her at first glance. It wasn't until—"

He caught himself, glanced towards Ivy, and laughed. "This must be why Maura likes you so much," he muttered as he shook his head. "You're easy to talk too."

"Well," Ivy replied, cautiously stealing glances at him. "Go on, what changed your mind?"

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I saw her dance."

"Dance?" Ivy pressed curiously. "I didn't know Lady Maura knew how to dance."

"I think I am one of the two people on this earth that have been privileged to witness it," Percy admitted with a smug smile.

A prickle of jealousy flashed through Ivy, but she dismissed it.

'Of course, Maura wouldn't have danced back at Turnbell Manor.'

"I imagine she's quite good," Ivy admitted with a hint of pride. Her Mistress was naturally good at just about anything.

"Good?" Percy chuckled and shook his head. “To be honest, even Mother is baffled at her ability. It’s not a style of dance either of us have ever seen before.” He trailed off again as he self-consciously cleared his throat.

“What sort of dance?” Ivy asked, more curious than before.

His winter grey eyes looked towards her than away as a blush crept along his cheek. “It’s a solo dance—I suppose the best way to put it would be—a fairy dance?”

‘A fairy dance?’ Ivy blinked and smiled. She wouldn’t put it past her clever mistress to come up with such an unbelievable dance.

“If they let her solo-dance as part of the competition—she’d bewitch the whole palace,” Percy continued as he gazed across the table lost in thought.

Ivy’s lips twitched with amusement as she watched him. ‘Was that how she bewitched you, Lord Percy?’

Percy’s gaze snapped towards her, and his usual cold demeanor returned as he abruptly left his chair. "Hopefully, it won't come to that," he said tensely. "If you'll excuse me, Miss Ivy. I have some other business to attend too."

"Of course!" Ivy rose from her chair to curtsey. "Thank you, my Lord."

"I'll send a maid over to watch Gus. As soon as she arrives, you will go straight to your room to rest until dinner."

"Yes, my Lord."

He nodded and turned on his heel.

Ivy caught herself against the table and sat down with a sigh to massage the headache forming behind her eyes.

Her earlier suspicious about Percy’s interest in Maura had been validated in the most unexpected way. Ivy ignored the bitter taste in her mouth as she finished her tea and smiled. She could easily imagine little Maura becoming the Countess of Hawthorne. But her daydreams faded as she carried her dishes to the kitchen sink and returned once more to Gus's room to pray.

[B1] Chapter 57: The Final Challenge Begins

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Chapter 57: The Final Challenge Begins

"And then there were four," Evelynn quipped with an amused smile as the candidates gathered around a table prepared with lunch back at Lily Palace. "Or—three and a half," she added with a wink to Meredith. Her companion laughed uneasily as she cast a nervous look in Beaumont's direction.

The knight captain stood in the doorway just out of earshot. Carina glanced over Evelynn’s shoulder at him and shook her head. She hoped he would at least eat something before the final round of eliminations began.

"Why is there one more test?" Tiffany asked nervously as a maid refilled her glass with water. "I thought they only had to narrow us down to four?"

"The Crown Princess prepares the last one," Evelynn answered as she cut a portion of meat from her quail. "I suppose it's her way of evaluating us before she makes her final selection tomorrow."

"As long as she's not making us walk through fire," Tiffany said with a weak laugh and then guzzled down her water.

"For a princess, she sure acts like a savage sometimes," Meredith muttered in agreement as she fanned herself.

Evelynn glanced after the maid now headed towards the kitchen, then leaned across the table and whispered, "You know she's not a real princess."

"I've heard the rumors—but isn't her mother married to Lord Alastair Kensington?” Tiffany asked.

“Yes, and the Countess of Hawthorne is his sister,” Meredith affirmed, “So, why would such a high-born noble marry a maid?"

"It wasn't Lady Isabella who was a maid, but the grandmother, Lady Kyrith," Evelynn corrected.

"Wait, I'm confused," Tiffany interjected. "So, the Crown Princess's grandmother was a maid?"

"Yes, and her daughter Lady Isabella was made a noble by the Emperor," Evelynn said with a shrug. "They do things differently over there, I guess."

"But—could that mean—that Eleanora is related to the Emperor?" Tiffany whispered cautiously.

"What?" Meredith snorted. "Where did you get that idea?"

"Lady Kyrith was made a noble because the Emperor owed her a life debt," Carina interjected. "And Lady Eleanora was given the title of princess in order to marry the next king of Lafeara. Not because of any blood relation between them, Lady Tiffany."

"Oh," Tiffany murmured, looking disappointed.

"Did the Countess tell you that?" Evelynn asked curiously. Carina shrugged and resumed eating her quail and salad.

"So then what's the story with Lady Hana?" Meredith pressed with a curious glance between Carina and Evelynn. "I hear her parents are from Lafeara, but she grew up in Vetrayna."

"Why do you suppose I know?" Evelynn shot back with an annoyed look.

"Because you're going to be engaged to the Earl, Eleanora's cousin," Meredith replied as she rolled her eyes. "I thought you might have heard something."

Carina looked up from her fork of food.

'Lord Percy was engaged—to Lady Evelynn? Did I miss that somehow in Maura’s memories?’

"Wait, you're engaged to the Earl of Hawthorne?" Tiffany squeaked.

"It's not official, so please don't repeat this to anyone," Evelynn said quickly with a glare at Meredith. "Our families are discussing the engagement, but the Dowager has already given her approval."

"Which means it’s as good as official," Meredith retorted with an impatient smirk. "But fine." She pinched her fingers against her lips. "I won't breathe a word."

"You already did," Evelynn reminded her sharply.

"But—" Tiffany looked perplexed "—can you be a lady-in-waiting if you're already married?"

"I expect I'll be engaged for at least a year since I just turned seventeen," Evelynn replied with a shrug. "Even after I'm married, that would be up to Eleanora as to whether I would best support her here at court—"

"Or as the Countess of Hawthorne?" Tiffany interjected with a note of awe. “But surely you’d be busy helping your husband with your estates and political affairs.”

"Exactly," Meredith replied as she waved a tomato on the end of her fork. "I suppose Eleanora will just have to replace you when the time comes. You'll be as good as family once the engagement is official, so I'm sure she won't mind."

Carina bit into her fork of herbs and dressing and chewed despite the bitter taste.

So far, the past and future Evelynn hadn't exactly impressed her. But if she was the bride that the Countess and Dowager had picked out for Percy, and he had no objections, then who was Carina to object?

'It's not like I'll be visiting Hawthorne very often once my official duties as lady-in-waiting begin.'

Carina picked up her glass and sighed as she thought of Ivy. At least by the time Evelynn took over as Countess, Ivy would be free from her slave contract and starting a new life somewhere else.

A tightness spread across her chest as she recalled Ivy’s worried face, followed by a wave of fatigue as she pushed around the remains of her meal absently.

"Ladies," Sabella said as she swept into the room, looking a tad flustered and displeased. "The final phase of the Selection has been decided."

"Oh, do tell, Lady Sabella," Meredith said eagerly.

"The Crown Princess wishes for each of you to present your best talent as entertainment for a private gala she’ll be holding at Rose Palace tonight," Sabella explained. "So, spend what time remains here in your rooms preparing."

"What? Like a talent show?" Tiffany asked curiously.

"I suppose that makes sense.” Evelynn murmured with an amused chuckle. "I hear the Emperor is fond of street performers, especially dancers. Perhaps the Crown Princess inherited her strange exotic tastes from him."

"But we only have four hours left to prepare!" Meredith said breathlessly after checking her pendant watch.

"Well, whatever you decide to show her, you better have it planned out and ready within that time frame," Sabella replied unsympathetically. "I will pick you up here in three and a half hours, then take you to the Rose Palace to perform."

Looking distracted, Sabella spun back to the door, her skirt swishing around her figure as she made her exit.

Carina pushed her chair back and tried not to flinch when Beaumont presented himself beside her instantly.

"Let's hope you can sing, Lady Maura," Evelynn observed with a wry smile. "Unless you intend for Captain Beaumont to perform with you as a puppet?"

Meredith snorted out her tea while Tiffany appeared too lost in thought to react.

"I am no one's puppet, Lady Evelynn," Carina returned as she nodded to Beaumont, who lifted her with care. "And there’s no need to worry on my account," she added once settled against the knight captain's arms. "Besides, I hear you have a perfectly lovely singing voice, so the rest of us would be wise to choose a different talent to compete with."

Evelynn blinked at her, surprised. "Did Lord Percy mention that?" she asked curiously.

Carina observed the glimmer of hope which seeped past Evelynn's usual smug expression. "No, Lady Evelynn," she answered honestly. "He's never even mentioned your name."

❆❆❆❆❆

Carina had just woken up from her nap when a knock came at the palace bedroom door. She yawned and stretched across the comfortable sheets, then slid off the bed and hopped towards the door.

Beaumont stood outside, looking better rested himself in a fresh uniform.

"Did I wake you?" he asked uncertainly as he studied her hair.

"What time is it?" Carina replied as she stifled another yawn

"You have thirty minutes still," Beaumont answered. "Should I have waited?"

"No, I wanted you to wake me up early so I'd have time to change," Carina replied as she turned and hopped over to where a bag rested against the wall by the door.

"Have you been sleeping all this time?" Beaumont asked worriedly. “Do you have something planned for the gala?”

"Originally, I had planned to dance if such an occasion arose," Carina replied as she held out the bag to him.

"Oh—" he sucked in a breath as the guilt returned to his eyes. "I'm sorry—"

"Not to worry, Captain Beaumont," Carina replied, unable to torment him further. "I had a backup plan arranged." She gestured to the bag. "It's all prepared in there. Now, if you'll excuse me, I still need to change and freshen up."

Beaumont accepted the bag and then shut the door as Carina hopped over to the wardrobe. A quick dress change, hair touch up, a bit of makeup and dark eyeliner around her eyes to give them a mysterious smokey look, and she was ready.

Carina turned to the mirror and smiled confidently at her reflection. The dark gown, which the Countess had cautioned her to save for later, had come in handy after all.

She added on a light application of the perfume gifted to Frost by the designer of Holy Maiden Boutique. It held a musky scent of vanilla, amber wood, and jasmine. Perhaps a bit mature for a sixteen-year-old, but she was going for dark and mysterious.

"Let's hope this works," Carina whispered to her reflection.

'Because if Eleanora does not choose me, this will all have been for nothing. And this time, there was no backup plan.'

Carina flashed the ghost in the mirror a winning smile. "Let’s knock them dead, Maura."

[B1] Chapter 58: A Banquet of Wolves

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Chapter 58: A Banquet of Wolves

Nicholas looked up from the mountain of expenses neatly marked and filed, all related to the requirements for the Ambassador of Vetrayna's visit.

"We're spending 370,000 crescents for an ambassador to visit us?" he muttered in disbelief to Prime Minister Attwood, who sat across from him reading over the list of tasks that still needed to be accomplished.

"Yes, though another 30,000 might be added if he brings any of his wives or children along," Attwood replied.

"He's not even royalty!" Nicholas protested. "Does he mean to bankrupt the Lafearian royal treasury?"

Attwood raised an eyebrow without comment.

Nicholas sighed and sagged back into his chair. "400,000 crescents just to let that man prance around with his niece? And he’ll collect Lafeara's tax on top of that which is another 1,800,000 crescents."

"We'll manage somehow," Attwood said with a shrug. "The harvest has been good. The people have been paying their taxes. The Royal Merchant’s Guild has been pulling in more royalty fees since the Crown Princess became a Royal Ambassador of the Holy Maiden Boutique."

"You honestly think Eleanora will let us touch her earnings from that dress shop?" Nicholas snapped.

"Your Majesty, since she became an ambassador as a member of the royal family she will have too," Attwood answered calmly. "But hopefully, it won't come to that."

Nicholas frowned as he studied the figures in front of him.

"Perhaps I could reason with her to at least share the earnings from the new soap shops Frost is opening?" Attwood suggested.

"I will not beg my wife for money," Nicholas snapped.

Attwood raised his eyebrows and returned to his list.

Nicholas tapped his heel against the floor and leaned forward. "What if we obtained exclusive rights to all of Frost's inventions?"

Attwood blinked. "You mean—make him a Royal Merchant?"

"Yes, why not," Nicholas replied quickly. "You said yourself he's clairvoyant. He’s already reached out to Lafeara's future Queen, why wouldn't he be interested in an offer like this from its future King?"

"Perhaps," Attwood said thoughtfully. "But as we would be the ones profiting from such a partnership. We would need to prepare a substantial counteroffer to convince him."

"That's easy, isn't it," Nicholas said with a smirk. "We make him a noble."

"There are rumors he already is one, your Majesty."

"What?" Nicholas frowned. "Then why doesn't he use a title?"

"I'm afraid I don't have that answer, your Majesty. The Royal Merchant's Guild has only been able to determine that Mr. Frost is an alias. For now, his true identity remains a mystery."

"I see," Nicholas said with a frown. "But then—how do we find him?"

"He makes contact with the Royal Merchant Guild now and then through his lawyer, a Sir Bryson, who appears to be the only person to have met Mr. Frost in person. Unfortunately, according to Sir Bryson, Frost wishes to remain anonymous for the time being."

Nicholas scoffed and stared at the stack of bills once more. "Find him, Attwood. I want to speak to him personally. How can I offer anything suitable enough to tempt him if I know nothing about the man?"

“If we could use the royal investigators, perhaps—”

“You know they still answer to the Dowager,” Nicholas interjected quickly. “I want to bring Frost to my side personally, without the Queen Regent’s or Eleanora’s interference.”

"As you wish, Your Majesty. But—" Attwood pursed his lips thoughtfully "—looking into his identity might have the opposite effect."

Nicholas snorted and raised a sarcastic brow. "Do I look like I care? If he wants to continue peddling his products in my kingdom, he can come greet his King, by royal command if necessary."

Attwood rolled up his list and tapped the scroll to his chin thoughtfully. “I could perhaps assign this task to Viscount Gilwren. As the leader of the Royal Merchant’s Guild, he would be in an ideal position to negotiate a meeting with Frost.”

A knock at the door interrupted Nicholas’s reply.

"Just keep our interest in him discrete for now, Prime Minister," Nicholas said impatiently as he rose and barked, "Come in!"

Acheron entered with a smug expression and bowed politely. "Your Majesty. Father. I hope I’m not—"

"What is it?" Nicholas asked as he circled Attwood, eager to escape the unending pile of responsibilities that had kept him chained to his desk all day. "Please tell me you have a good reason to drag me away from here," he whispered as he slapped Acheron's shoulder in greeting.

The rogue winked. "I was hoping you had both reached a breaking point in your work," Acheron said loudly for the Prime Minister’s sake.

"There's still a lot of assignments to be completed," Attwood answered with a knowing glare directed at his son.

"Hear me out—" Acheron replied swiftly "—we've been invited to attend a special gala at the Rose Palace tonight."

Nicholas's hopeful expression soured.

Attwood glanced from the crown prince to Acheron curiously. "What special gala?"

"The candidates for the crown princess’s ladies-in-waiting are presenting a sort of talent show to entertain Crown Princess Eleanora tonight, and she has invited us to join in on the festivities."

"That's very generous of her Highness," Attwood said with a careful look at Nicholas. "I suppose we can forgo a few more hours of work so that your Majesty can enjoy a pleasant evening with the future queen."

Nicholas rolled his head back, closed his eyes, and sighed.

'First Beaumont, now even the rogue has become unreliable.'

"Fine, when do we have to be there?" Nicholas relented unwillingly.

"If we don't want to miss the show, we should head over now," Acheron replied as he patted Nicholas' shoulder and steered the sulking crown prince out the door.

❆❆❆❆❆

"Husband," Eleanora called out with a hint of surprise as Acheron and Nicholas entered the inner courtyard of the Rose Palace. Behind the crown princess, servants had finished preparing the stage in the center of the yard with decorative lanterns that lit up the enclosed area.

'Well, this is a surprise—I didn't think he'd actually accept this time,' she thought ruefully as the crown prince took her hand and lightly kissed her fingers.

"Eleanora," Nicholas greeted with forced politeness. "Thank you for inviting us."

"I'm pleased you were able to make it," Eleanora returned with an amused smile. "Do take a seat." She gestured to the large banquet table that had been set up several feet away from the stage.

"The Queen Regent!" shouted the page at the courtyard door.

'The old wolf and her cub both graced me with their presence? This evening should be very entertaining.'

"You invited my grandmother?" Nicholas said, surprised.

"Since she already inserted herself into this Selection, I thought she'd like to see it through to the end," Eleanora replied with a shrug then left him to greet the Dowager.

"Eleanora!" Octavia gushed as she kissed each of Eleanora's cheeks.

"Grandmother," Eleanora said brightly. "Thank you for coming!"

"I was surprised when I heard you were having the candidates put on a talent show?" Octavia murmured as she stepped back. "You do know the palace has performers for this sort of thing."

"Well, I had to come up with something, and this was the one suggestion the Prime Minister and I could agree on," Eleanora explained with a nod to the Prime Minister, who waited by the banquet table.

"Of course, whatever helps you make your decision, Eleanora. I just don't want the ladies to be—embarrassed."

"Oh, I'm sure the fine ladies of Lafeara's nobility have at least one talent they can show off for us," Eleanora replied confidently. She glanced over to where Nicholas remained beside Acheron, whispering into the rogue's ear.

'What are they planning?'

"Excuse me, Grandmother," Eleanora said as she returned to her husband’s side.

Nicholas looked up as she approached and quickly brushed past her to greet the Dowager. Eleanora followed him with narrowed eyes but continued towards Acheron, who looked less than pleased about something. He promptly masked his discomfort behind his usual charismatic smile and offered her his arm.

"Shall I escort you in, your Highness?" Acheron asked brightly.

"What were you two whispering about?" Eleanora queried as she accepted his arm.

"The wonders of marriage life.”

Eleanora laughed, and Acheron studied her worriedly.

"I know you've not had the easiest transition into the Royal Family," he said carefully. "And you've made it painfully obvious you know about his Mistress."

"Mmm, I suppose I did." Eleanora chuckled.

"Doesn't it bother you?" Acheron whispered as they drew closer to the table.

Eleanora raised an eyebrow then tightened her grip on his arm as she leaned closer. "Do you want to know the secret to a happy marriage?" she whispered back.

"Umm, yes?" Acheron answered.

"Don't love your husband or wife."

Acheron frowned as he studied her composed smile. "That seems—lonely," he observed.

Eleanora patted his arm and shook her head. "Not if you're both open-minded," she replied with a smirk.

Acheron tilted his head, confused. "But you—you can't—"

"Can't what?" Eleanora asked with a teasing grin as she left him to take her seat at the table.

Nicholas held out her chair and maintained a neutral expression of politeness until the last guests arrived. Eleanora rose and circled the table with restrained grace as her parents entered the courtyard.

"Oh, Eleanora!" Lady Isabella cried as she embraced her only child. They mirrored each other quite well apart from the difference in age, although Eleanora’s aristocratic nose and additional three inches in height came from her father, Lord Alastair. "I've missed you these past few weeks."

"And your mother has done nothing but shop to fill your absence," Lord Alastair remarked. A hint of disapproval clouded the cerulean-blue eyes he had inherited from the Kensington family, but they brightened as he smiled at Eleanora. "You look lovely, Elly."

"Thank you, Father," Eleanora murmured as she hugged him tightly. "I've missed you both more than I can say."

"How are—things?" Isabella asked nervously as father and daughter pulled apart.

"Things, Mother?" Eleanora replied with a suspicious brow.

"You know—between you and Nicholas," Isabella whispered. "Have you—"

"Isabella," Alastair interrupted as he took his wife’s arm. "That is not a dinner topic, and we should be heading to our seats."

'Thank you, Father.' Eleanora touched his arm gratefully as he led the protesting Isabella away.

Her eyes caught on the figure of Hana, who peered from behind the stage curtain and signaled to Eleanora.

"It appears the candidates are ready, everyone," Eleanora called out as she moved to join her guests at the table.

‘Please, Kritanta, let it be entertaining enough to wash down wine and sorrow.’

[B1] Chapter 59: A Gala of Discord

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Chapter 59: A Gala of Discord

Nicholas winced as Lady Meredith played her violin off-key. They had been serenaded with what could only be described as a ballad of discord for the longest five minutes of his life. True to form, none of the nobles around him expressed their displeasure visibly. Instead, they avoided looking at the stage as they drank their wine with blank expressions.

Nicholas rolled his neck uncomfortably and glanced towards Acheron. The rogue hid a smirk behind his closed fist, though his trembling hand and shoulders betrayed his internal struggle.

'Of course, he finds this funny.'

Originally Nicholas had planned to slip out as soon as the festivities began. But Acheron had convinced him to stay until the end of the talent show at least so that Beaumont could watch Lady Maura's presentation.

'And he says that he’s not trying to set his cousin up with her.'

Nicholas snorted and clapped along with the other dinner guests as Lady Meredith finished her mediocre performance.

'One down—three to go.'

Lady Tiffany was next to take the stage, and she trembled like a leaf in the breeze. “Your Majesties—my Lords and Ladies,” Tiffany gushed out. She blinked for a moment in panic as she nervously adjusted the paper in her hand. “I—ah—will recite a poem—that I wrote.”

“This should be brilliant,” Acheron whispered beside Eleanora.

The crown princess looked bored as she played with a braid in her dark hair and sipped her wine. Nicholas frowned as she finished the glass and signaled the waiter.

‘What was that, three glasses already so far?’

“Tsk, maybe you should slow down,” Nicholas commented loud enough for her to hear him.

“Why?” Eleanora whispered back. Her amber eyes flickered towards him as her plum lips twisted in a mocking smile. “Are you planning on taking advantage of me if I get drunk?”

Nicholas drew in a sharp breath and focused on the stage.

‘Why do I even bother speaking to her?’

Tiffany, who hurriedly rushed through most of her poem, a remarkable feat given that she barely paused to breathe, nervously twittered out her last lines.

“Though rough around the edges it may be

A diamond has value which all can see.”

The dinner guests applauded as the poor girl scurried from the stage, looking particularly pale if not a bit green.

“I can’t quite tell if you’re torturing them or they’re torturing us,” Acheron murmured to Eleanora as a servant refilled his glass.

“Does nobody dance or sing in Lafeara?” Lady Isabella complained as she raised her own empty glass and tapped it impatiently. “Or at least play an instrument moderately well?”

Nicholas glanced from the clearly drunk woman to her husband and marveled at Lord Alastair’s calm demeanor as he reached over and lowered his wife’s hand with an amused smile. Then again, Lord Alastair had lived in Vetrayna for almost a decade, so he was probably used to his wife’s unorthodox behavior.

The servants laid out fresh plates of spiced venison and braided bread accompanied with small tubs of butter, cooked vegetables, and sliced potatoes coated in gooey cheese.

The guests happily filled their plates as Lady Evelynn entered the stage.

"Your Majesties, Lords, and Ladies," Evelynn greeted with composed grace. She was dressed in a champagne evening gown with ruffled beading that complimented her complexion, light makeup, and tasteful jewelry.

'She really would make a fine Countess,' Nicholas thought as he glanced at the Dowager, who also smiled at the young lady in approval. Evelynn touched her throat nervously as she gazed over the crowd and focused on Eleanora, who raised her glass in silent acknowledgment.

Nicholas glanced from his wife to Evelynn and said a silent prayer. 'Please, Saint Minerva, let her do better than the other candidates.'

Evelynn cleared her throat hesitantly and then began to sing.

Her tone, both soft and delicate, quietly pulled the attention of the whole room with captivating resonance. Nicholas felt the stiff muscles along his neck relax as he leaned back to enjoy her gentle voice. It was an old song that covered Lafeara's great war and the love story between a noble and a commoner.

The first time he had heard the piece had been at a summer festival with Rosamund. The Lover’s Return was one of the few popular songs which touched on the barriers between nobles and commoners. Even now, he could not hear it without wishing Rosamund were here beside him—instead of the drunk savage, who stared into her wine glass with somber eyes.

"Her rose petal lips with summers dew. Command me to prove my love is true." The bittersweet ending was made even more palpable by Evelynn's angelic and vibrant voice.

Nicholas clapped enthusiastically as Evelynn blushed and curtsied to the applause of the dinner guests. Only Eleanora remained unmoving as she regarded the candidate with a sour expression.

Nicholas shook his head. ‘True art is wasted on this desert savage.'

He stood and continued his applause until the young lady left the stage. Eleanora shot him a look of disapproval as he sat down, but Nicholas paid her no mind. One more performance and he would be gone from this banquet. Nicholas had been missing Rosamund all day, and he'd be damned if anyone else tried to block his path back to her tonight.

"Next will be Lady Maura," Hana announced as Beaumont appeared carrying the last candidate onto the stage.

Nicholas frowned as he studied the dark cloak that all but swallowed the half-blood from head to foot. Servants brought out a table and two chairs as Beaumont lowered the candidate to her feet. The girl wobbled as she leaned on the knight captain’s arm and gestured to the bag he held. Beaumont opened it at her command, and Maura pulled a sparkling purple cloth free. She passed it to the servants, who spread it over the table, and then reached back inside the bag to pull out a large crystal ball which she gave to Beaumont.

"What is she doing?" Lady Isabella tittered nervously.

"Mother, shh!" Eleanora hissed, her gaze attentive upon the stage.

The last item pulled from the bag was a simple black pillow. Beaumont stacked the cushion and crystal ball in the center of the table as Maura turned to face the dinner guests.

"Your Majesties, Prime Minister, Lords, and Ladies," the candidate greeted calmly as she pulled back her hood. "I am Lady Maura."

❆❆❆❆❆

Carina stared down at the silent audience focused upon her. The apprehension in their faces helped ease the anxiety that had coiled in her gut as she waited backstage. She focused her attention on Eleanora. The Crown Princess's golden gaze burned back at her with a wry smile, as if daring Carina to finish what she had begun.

"For my talent tonight," Carina explained as she untied her cloak to reveal the sparkling black dress beneath. "I have decided to perform a bit of magic for you all."

"Magic?" gasped Lord Alastair with a worried glance at the Dowager.

"Is she mad?” Lady Isabella demanded in a failed whisper.

“I think you should choose your words more carefully, Lady Maura,” Nicholas said coldly. “Magic is forbidden in Lafeara.” Despite his harsh words, his expression remained doubtful.

“As one of Lafeara’s subjects, I am familiar with its history,” Carina replied with a polite smile. “Which is why, for my performance, I seek only to look into the future.”

“Preposterous,” Nicholas snorted. “And still highly condemnable, Lady Maura.”

“Surely, your Majesty is aware that the Saints and even the Pope each claimed to have second sight,” Carina replied promptly. Despite the confidence of her words, her grip on Beaumont’s arm tightened, and he stepped closer.

‘As reckless as this may be, given my judge and executioner stand in the crowd—nothing will appeal to Eleanora more than magic. After all, the whole world knows the Emperor is a witch.’

[B1] Chapter 60: A Glimmer of Magic

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Chapter 60: A Glimmer of Magic

"Why don’t we allow Lady Maura to complete her performance before we condemn her for heresy,” Octavia suggested with a hint of amusement.

The crown prince glanced at his grandmother with surprise then sighed as he took his seat and waved his hand permissively. “Very well, Lady Maura, proceed with caution.”

“Then, before I begin,” Carina said as she passed her cloak to Beaumont. “If I could ask someone to come forward as my first volunteer.”

“One of us?” Nicholas interrupted again. “Even if this is just a parlor trick, wouldn’t that be too easy?”

“Your Majesty?” Carina forced a smile as she shifted her weight uncomfortably.

‘The more he keeps interrupting me, the longer I have to stand on this flimsy ankle.’

“You’re the Countess’s protégé after all,” Nicholas pointed out. “Surely she’s given you enough insight into all of us to pull off a convincing act. It’s not like any of us can judge your predictions here and now.”

“Your Majesty has a point,” Carina replied graciously. “Which is why I have asked Captain Beaumont to blindfold me before we begin.” She pulled the black cotton fabric from her sleeve and dangled it from her fingers. “Would your Majesty care to examine it to ensure I’m not cheating?”

Nicholas glanced sharply at Beaumont. “Did you—” He caught himself, and his lips formed into a hard line as he stared at the knight captain.

Carina frowned as she glanced over her shoulder to Beaumont, who merely shook his head silently in response.

‘What the hell is going on?’

She turned back to the crown prince, who now glared at her as if she had just run a Ponzi scheme on him.

“I think the blindfold is a clever idea,” Attwood spoke up, breaking the tense silence. “And I would be happy to appraise the material to reassure everyone.” Not waiting for approval, the Prime Minister pushed his chair back, circled the banquet table, and headed towards the stage.

Beaumont took the blindfold from Carina and passed it down to the Prime Minister, who held it over his eyes and turned towards the audience—though a bit too the left—then nodded his approval as he removed it. “An adequate blindfold your Majesty.”

Nicholas stared grimly at his Prime Minister but nodded his head stiffly.

“Good luck, Lady Maura,” Attwood whispered as he returned the blindfold to Beaumont.

Carina returned a quick smile as the knight captain moved behind her. Then she folded her hands, closed her eyes, and remained still as Beaumont tied the fabric of the blindfold firmly against the back of her head.

She could barely open her eyes behind the taut material, which suited her just fine. Sufficiently blind, Carina extended her hand outward and waited for Beaumont to take it and guide her to the table as planned. In the darkness, her heightened senses jumbled together as her ankle trembled beneath her weight.

The stage felt uneven as she turned. The murmurs of the banquet guests seemed distorted, pitched, and menacing. And even Beaumont’s hand, which had always been unusually warm, felt strangely cold and binding.

‘Focus, Carina.’

She drew in a breath as the knight captain guided her hand to the back of the chair.

‘Just as practiced.’

She slid down into the seat and let her hands fumble across the tablecloth until they found the pillow and crystal ball in a display of helplessness.

‘Let them underestimate me all they want.’

A hand touched her shoulder lightly as Beaumont whispered against her ear. “Are you sure about this, Lady Maura?”

Carina smiled confidently as she turned towards his voice. “No risk, no reward, Captain. You may go now.”

He withdrew his hand silently. Carina listened to the heavy thud of his footsteps as they faded across the stage and down the steps. Then she took a quick breath and turned to the audience. "Would the first volunteer care to join me?" She gestured across the table towards the vacant chair.

Muffled whispers carried by the breeze, lengthened into silence. Carina held her confident smile in place as she waited.

‘I only need one.’

Although witches and magic were forbidden in Lafeara, street performers and fortune-tellers were not uncommon. They often traveled with trading merchants from Vetrayna, which was how Carina had stumbled upon the Mystics of Paradise’s traveling stage crew during her inspections with Sir Bryson. She later returned and introduced herself as Lady Aconitum before paying them to teach her a bit of their craft.

It was from Madame Maylea that Carina had learned the history of second sight, which many believed to be carried down in the bloodline of the Saints and even the current Pope. Though, whether they truly had visions of the future or merely manipulated the masses was up for debate.

Still, as long as Carina used “second sight” as her cover, and didn’t turn anyone into a snowman, she could use her knowledge of the future to her advantage or deflect it as nothing more than a stage trick. Those who believed her would do so whether they publicly admitted it or not, while the rest would no doubt join Nicholas in doubting her.

‘Either way, they will think me strange, but better they think of me as a charlatan than a witch.’

Still, Carina had not expected to use this trick so soon—and in front of the Dowager no less. The thud of footsteps upon the stage shook her from her uneasy thoughts, and Carina focused on the sound. Dull and heavy boots, so one of the men.

'But just to be sure.'

She exhaled slowly, focused on the magic at her core, and opened her left hand beneath the tablecloth.

An invisible mist of frost fell over the stage and glided over the young man's hair, face, and shoulders. He shivered, and the image in Carina's mind disappeared, but it was enough for her to identify Acheron.

'You really do like to meddle.'

Carina smiled as the chair across from her scraped against the floor, and the table shifted slightly.

"Will the first volunteer kindly place your hand over mine?" Carina held out her right hand, and a moment later, Acheron's fingers slid across her palm. "Ahh," Carina murmured as she wrapped her fingers around his wrist. "The hand of a rogue."

Eleanora laughed from the audience as Acheron sighed. "A clever guess, Lady Maura,” he muttered.

"Shush!" Carina frowned sternly and placed her left hand on the crystal ball. "I am speaking to the spirits."

"Spirits?" Acheron repeated with dry amusement.

"Those who have lived and died but remain trapped between this life and the next. Those who watch and witness every deed, whisper, and secret."

Acheron shivered again. "It sounds like you're talking about ghosts, Lady Maura."

"Some might call them that."

She could feel his uncertainty in his racing pulse. 'Good, he was ready.'

"The spirits would like to know your question, Lord Acheron," Carina said somberly. "You may only ask one question, so choose it carefully."

"I see," Acheron said hesitantly. "Then—will my cousin, Beaumont, find a woman that will make him happy?"

Carina’s smile tightened as she held back a sharp retort. "You may only ask a question about yourself, Lord Acheron," she corrected calmly.

"Oh—drat," Acheron muttered with a hint of disappointment. "Well then—I suppose I'll ask, will I ever find a woman who makes me happy?"

‘Seriously, Acheron, is your head full of flowers?’

"Mmm," Carina hummed as she bowed her head, and the cold sparked between their hands. Acheron's arm twitched in surprise, but he remained seated. "The Spirits tell me that such a woman exists—but you will not notice her in your endless conquest for lustful gratification."

‘Make of that what you will playboy and move on.’

"I see," Acheron sighed. "That's not what I was hoping to hear. Then how will I know if I do find her?"

"One question, Lord Acheron," Carina replied as she released his wrist and withdrew her hand. "But perhaps she will find you."

"Of course," his tone was polite but troubled, "Thank you for the advice, Lady Maura."

She smiled and inclined her head as the chair scraped back, and his footsteps faded across the platform. Then she turned her blindfolded gaze to the audience and asked, “Will there be any other volunteers?”

A sudden murmur of voices filled the audience as Carina waited. Again, heavy footsteps climbed the stairs, though these were rushed and quite abrasive. Another quick douse of fine mist confirmed what she already suspected.

A quiver of cold anger rippled through her as Carina clenched her jaw and twisted her hands together in her lap.

Nicholas pulled out the chair, sat down, and stared at her in silence.

"The spirits and I welcome you, your Majesty," Carina greeted and bowed her head politely. The audience muttered in surprise once more as Nicholas scoffed. "I only hope you're ready to hear their answer."

[B1] Chapter 61: The Fortune of Fools

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Chapter 61: The Fortune of Fools

Nicholas strode confidently towards the stage and Lady Maura. Now more than ever, he wanted to expose her for the fraud she was.

'Pretending she could see the future? Was she out of her mind? They still burned witches in Lafeara.'

He grabbed the chair, pulled it back, and sat down. A chill fell over him, but he shook it off as he examined the half-blood. Up close, Maura seemed small and feeble, almost childlike, but beneath the blindfold, those pink lips curled into a less than innocent smile.

“The spirits and I welcome you, your Majesty,” She greeted as she bowed her head. The audience murmured in surprise, but he saw the faint smirk on her lips and scoffed. “I only hope you’re ready to hear their answer,” she continued ominously.

‘Do you really think your tricks will work on me?’ Nicholas smiled as he leaned over the table and flicked his fingers in front of her nose.

Maura gave no reaction, and Nicholas sat back slowly. ‘The Blindfold appears authentic. Attwood wouldn’t lie, especially to me, and certainly not over something as petty as this.’ He frowned and pushed the chair back as he leaned over and raised the table cloth.

Nothing underneath looked suspicious, but he would double-check the floorboards later. With a disappointed sigh, he straightened and examined the crystal ball’s glass curiously. Although clear, the longer he gazed into its translucent surface, the more he seemed to detect moving shadows.

‘But isn’t that the point of these props, to deceive the uneducated with illusions.’

Maura cleared her throat and held a small pale hand towards him. “Are you ready, your Highness.”

‘Well, let's see what clever prediction she can come up with then.’

He reached across the table and froze. A cold sensation, like invisible fingers, slid around his neck and tightened against his skin. Nicholas spun sharply, but the stage behind him was empty.

“Are you afraid of ghosts, Crown Prince Nicholas?”

Her question drew a few chuckles from the banquet table as Nicholas turned around stiffly and rubbed his neck. ‘Why does my name sound like an insult when she says it?’

“Let’s get this over with,” he snapped and grabbed her hand. Her cold slender fingers wrapped around his wrist. Her arm trembled as she turned her covered gaze away from him and seemed to shrink away.

‘More play-acting—why is she stalling for time?’

Nicholas glanced over the table and stage again then watched as she moved her left hand towards the crystal ball.

“Ask your question, your Majesty,” she commanded in a flat tone.

Nicholas shifted as he considered his options. He could trick her into saying something treasonous, but that might be a step too far, especially with Beaumont watching them both at the other end of the stage.

‘Something simple but generic will do. It’s not like she can actually predict the future.’

"What will my reign be like?" he replied.

He could feel her gaze beneath the blindfold as Maura turned towards him, and the silence lengthened. Nicholas held back a laugh as he waited patiently—for something.

Maura’s chin slowly lowered against her chest while her grip on his hand went slack. Confused, Nicholas leaned towards her, then glanced towards the banquet. The Prime Minister looked faintly worried as he focused on Lady Maura. While Eleanora—Eleanora was smiling?

The soft sound of footsteps echoed on the stage behind him as the air went suddenly cold. Nicholas turned towards the empty stage and started as Maura’s hand jerked awake and gripped his wrist with surprising strength.

“Your coronation closes in, but for your answer, look within,” she murmured.

Her tone was husky, older, and strangely seductive as her hidden eyes turned from him to the crystal ball.

“Future events that you should fear are chosen by she whom you hold dear.”

Maura slid her fingers across the clear dark glass. Against his better judgment, Nicholas followed her gaze and stiffened.

Inside the crystal, he could see shadows like snowflakes whirling and dancing. ‘An illusion?’ His lips twisted into a cynical smile. ‘Is that the best she can do?’ But before he could pull his gaze away, the flurry merged into the figure of a pale woman dressed in red. He blinked and peered closer, but the shape vanished beneath the glass as the crystal orb clouded over with a layer of frost.

'Hell's Teeth. What was that?'

Maura chuckled. The raspy sound sent a chill down Nicholas’s spine as a mist of fog slid past her lips and evaporated in the space between them.

“As to the future, who can say? The dance of fate is still in play.” Her song like tone faded as Maura’s grip went limp, then her chin dropped, and she slumped against the chair.

The audience gasped in a mixture of surprise and concern while Nicholas pulled his hand free and stared down at the faking girl.

“A riddle?” he mocked. Annoyance and anger brimmed behind his words.

‘She whom you hold dear? Was she referring to Rosamund?’

"That’s the best answer you could give? You didn't give Acheron a riddle!"

Maura sat up slowly, then reached back and tugged the blindfold free. Her ice-blue eyes clashed with his as a wave of anger poured from her gaze.

"Would it matter either way, your Majesty?" She challenged bitterly. "You weren't willing to listen to the spirits."

"Ha!" Nicholas snapped as he pushed his chair back and shook his head. "What a clever excuse."

Applause erupted from the silent audience as Eleanora rose from her seat and clapped her hands together loudly.

"Eleanora!" Isabella hissed with a worried glance at Nicholas.

Acheron stared at Eleanora for a moment, then stood and clapped as well. Prime Minister Attwood and Lord Alastair both added their applause as Nicholas stared back at them in disbelief.

'Were they buying into this farce?'

Maura swept from her chair with only the slightest hint of uncertainty in her right foot as she approached the edge of the stage and curtsied to the audience.

"Thank you, lords and ladies, and please thank his Majesty for so graciously agreeing to take part." She gestured towards Nicholas, and the dinner guests continued their applause as they all rose from their seats.

Nicholas grit his teeth at their absurd display. ‘Do you not realize she’s mocking me, you fools?’ He pressed his hand against the table but froze as the invisible cold touch returned once more to slither around his neck.

A frigid breeze, a sound so similar to human breath, tickled against his ear as a taunting voice whispered, “Long live the King.”

Nicholas bolted upright and pivoted to face the empty stage once more. “What is this—how are you doing this?” he demanded as he spun towards Maura.

“Your Majesty?” She tilted her head and glanced from him to Beaumont, who studied the stage warily as he approached the crown prince.

“Is someone hiding under the stage?” Nicholas demanded as he stomped his foot against the panel floor. “Is that how you did it?”

Maura stared at him for a moment baffled, then her gaze slid past his shoulder to focus the space behind him, and Nicholas’s chest tightened in fear.

‘No—it wasn’t real—it couldn’t be him!’

[B1] Chapter 62: The Claws of Guilt

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Chapter 62: The Claws of Guilt

“Your Majesty!” Beaumont appeared beside him and gripped Nicholas’s shoulder with a worried look. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Nicholas snapped as he shook the knight captain’s grip lose and stormed towards Maura. “But you—”

“That’s enough entertainment for one evening,” Octavia interrupted sharply as she rose from her seat. “His Majesty has had too much to drink and is tired.” She glanced to where Eleanora smirked over her glass of wine. “Perhaps he should remain here at Rose Palace tonight and get some rest.”

“Grandmother!” Nicholas protested as he spun around. Eleanora glanced between the two with a sour smile and downed the rest of her wine silently.

“Thank you, Lady Maura, for the memorable performance,” Octavia continued with a sharp look at the candidate, who hastily curtsied and turned to leave.

“You—” Nicholas quickly blocked her path. Maura flinched away from him, stumbled, and almost fell—but Beaumont caught her arm and steadied her.

‘One trick after another.’

Nicholas shook his head and stepped between them as he grabbed Beaumont’s arm. “With me now, Captain!” He turned sharply, left the stage, but paused for a moment when he reached the bottom to ensure that Beaumont had followed.

Nicholas left the courtyard and banquet behind as he marched briskly through the palace towards the front doors. Servants started and bowed as he swept past, inwardly seething as he clenched and unclenched his hands.

‘How? How did she do that? How did she even know—’

Nicholas shoved past the servant attempting to open the front door and stumbled out into the cool night air. He filled his lungs with a deep breath as he pressed a hand over his erratic heart.

He could still remember the empty look in Tristan’s eyes the day the Red Wolf Commander left to fight the Tharyn horde—the day he died. The proud, resilient, unstoppable older brother Nicholas had always known had never looked so pale and defeated.

And when Nicholas had embraced him for the last time, Tristan had whispered those same words.

“Long live the King.”

“Damn it!” Nicholas hissed as he spun in a quick circle and waited for Beaumont, who slipped out the front door behind him.

“Your Majesty,” the knight captain repeated with a worried look. “What happened?”

Nicholas stared at his faithful knight and smothered the guilt and fear at war within his chest. "Nothing—it’s nothing. I simply wanted to—we’re leaving the palace to visit Lady Rosamund," he snapped as he turned towards the stairs.

"Yes, your Majesty,” Beaumont replied obediently.

But Nicholas didn’t miss the note of disappointment in the knight captain’s voice. He stopped and turned to face the giant with a disapproving scowl. “I don’t know what it is you like about Lady Maura, but I suggest you keep your distance. She is a charlatan, a cheat, and a half-blood!”

Beaumont paused on the palace steps beside him. The lanterns along the marble railing glinted against the steel of his blade as the knight captain exhaled slowly. "Your Majesty," Beaumont said quietly as he moved past. "You should remember that I am little better than a half-blood myself."

Nicholas blinked and swallowed his anger as the knight captain continued down the steps. He stepped after Beaumont, wanting to correct his old friend, remind him there was a difference between half-blood and bastard—but the words died in his throat.

After all, while Tristan had still been alive—Nicholas had felt little better than a bastard himself.

❆❆❆❆❆

Carina watched as Nicholas stormed off the stage. Beaumont paused beside her, his violet eyes momentarily conflicted, then gave a small bow and left to follow his prince. A trickle of anger ran through her as the knight captain left, but Carina dismissed it as she turned to face the ghost standing beside her on the stage.

‘Damn it, Maura. What did you do?’ Carina clenched her fists as she returned to the table and picked up her cloak.

“How fitting to see them together once more. The prince who ordered my death and the man who carried out that order without question,” the ghost whispered as she faded from view.

Carina grit her teeth and moved slowly across the stage. For the first few steps her ankle seemed to hold just fine, but as she continued it began to wobble even though she tried to keep her weight off it.

‘Okay, I just have to get backstage—then I can go back to the Lily Palace with the other candidates and rest.’

Resolved, Carina focused on the hop step hop movement that seemed to support her best. ‘Anyway, I don’t need Beaumont anymore since the Selection’s over so it’s good that he left on his own.’

Maura had a point after all, that man was still Carina’s potential executioner if things went wrong.

She glanced towards the banquet where Eleanora seemed more than pleased as she called for another round of wine. The guests resumed their meal and somewhat tense chatter as they humored their hostess. Carina looked away as her gaze almost caught that of the Dowager, whose attention remained focused on the stage.

“Lady Maura.” Acheron appeared in front of her as he hopped over the last step and extended his hand with a smile. “Would it be alright if I escorted you backstage?”

Carina’s lips twitched between relief and annoyance. ‘I might feel more grateful if your last attempt to help hadn’t landed me with your cousin and this ankle.’ But she nodded as she silently took his arm and leaned against him for support.

The daunting steps appeared ahead, and Carina clenched her jaw.

“Permit me,” Acheron whispered as he pulled her arm around his shoulders and slid his arm around her waist. With her bad ankle propped up between them they managed to reach the bottom quickly.

“Thank you,” Carina said as they pulled apart. ‘At least he isn’t trying to sweep me off my feet.’

Acheron winked, as if he read her thoughts, and offered her his arm again.

Lady Sabella and Lady Hana waited behind the stage curtains with mixed expressions of shock and disbelief. The senior lady-in-waiting was the first to step forward as her angry eyes raked over Carina.

"Do you have any idea who you have insulted?" Sabella demanded. "You—a half-blood—"

"Lady Sabella," Acheron cut in with a strained grimace, "The Dowager already thanked Lady Maura for her performance. If your Mistress has no reason to object, then why should you?"

Sabella glared at him as she pressed her lips together tightly, and then spun around.

"Well, that was certainly reckless, Lady Maura," Hana said softly as she stepped forward with a curious smile. “But something tells me your boldness will appeal to Crown Princess Eleanora.” She inclined her head politely and then turned towards the banquet beyond the curtains.

Carina followed her departure over Acheron’s shoulder and smiled.

"Candidates!" Sabella snapped as she stormed towards Evelynn, Tiffany, and Meredith. "All of you! Back to the Lily Palace!" The candidates flinched beneath her tone but rose and followed her towards the courtyard exit. Sabella stopped and turned to shoot Carina a vicious glare. "And you—if you know what's good for you—you’ll leave the palace tonight!"

"Don't listen to her," Acheron remarked wearily. "Although, once again, you appear to have ignored my advice.”

Carina shrugged. "You heard Lady Hana. It’s the result that counts."

"Oh yes, you've made the future King of Lafeara hate you—but his wife's a fan! Can't wait to see how that pans out.”

Carina laughed as she pulled her cloak around her shoulders. Her trembling fingers fumbled with the strings and Acheron quickly took over and tied them for her.

“If you know enough to be afraid than I suppose lecturing you won’t do any good,” he muttered.

"Lady Maura." They both turned as the Prime Minister appeared through the curtains. "My dear, I just wanted to say how much I enjoyed your performance,” Attwood said cheerfully as he smiled between them. “It has been a long time since I’ve seen someone daring enough to preform anything close to magic here—not that you should ever do something like this again in the future.” His eyebrows rose higher as he emphasized each word.

"I understand, Prime Minister," Carina replied with a curtsey. Her ankle wobbled on the way up and Acheron held her up quickly.

"My dear, your injury!" Attwood said as he took her other arm. "Acheron, take her back to the Lily Palace in our carriage.”

"Happily, Father."

Attwood frowned at his son and then turned to Maura. "As his father, I feel it is my duty to warn you to be wary of his charms, Lady Maura."

"I will try—Prime Minister," Carina replied awkwardly as she held back a laugh.

Acheron sighed and turned her towards the courtyard path. He matched his pace with her hobbled steps as they made their way through the archway, inside the palace, and turned down a long hallway.

"Ignore the old man," Acheron murmured with a disarming smile as they strolled through the white marble walls lit by candles. "I'm as harmless as they come."

"And as subtle as a fox in the hen house," Carina replied dryly.

Acheron laughed. After a long, tedious period of silence, the front foyer finally appeared before them. "You know,” he said hesitantly, “not all the rumors you’ve heard about me are true."

"Where there's smoke, there's fire."

"You're so judgmental," Acheron said reproachfully.

Carina cast a hesitant glance towards him and bit her lip.

‘To be fair, if anyone understood what it was like to be judged by public perception, I would.’

"You're right, I'm sorry."

He offered her a slow warm smile in return and she quickly averted her gaze. They reached the palace doors and stopped to rest on a bench outside as Acheron sent a servant to fetch his carriage. Carina leaned against the stone wall behind her and closed her eyes for a moment with a sigh. Even if she couldn’t feel pain, exhaustion was another matter. After a long day in the sun and then the long wait backstage to face off against Lafeara’s royalty, Carina was ready for the bliss of sleep—provided it came without the usual nightmares.

“That dress and makeup,” Acheron commented with a mischievous smile as he took a seat beside her. “You really put some thought into this act of yours.”

Carina eyed him warily and cleared her throat. "Permit me to express myself freely and clearly, my Lord."

“Oh dear,” Acheron murmured with a cringe.

"I'm not interested in either you or your cousin,” Carina said bluntly.

Acheron exhaled slowly and pressed his curled fingers against his lips as he nodded. "Message received.”

The awkward silence between them continued through the carriage ride back to the Lily Palace, where Acheron insisted on escorting Carina safely to the guestroom.

"Thank you, Lord Acheron," Carina said politely as she stepped inside and turned to shut the door.

His hand caught the edge as he stopped her. "One last question, Lady Maura."

Carina frowned at his hand and met his steel-blue gaze. "If you insist."

Acheron glanced at the empty hall behind them then shifted his weight against the door as he leaned back towards her with an inquisitive stare.

Carina backed away, as the faint whiff of wine hit her face. ‘Was he really going to try something foolish?’ She glanced towards the chest as she edged away from him.

Acheron appeared not to notice her unease as he drummed his fingers against the door and then blurted out, "Why do you hate the Crown Prince?"

[B1] Chapter 63: Weight of the Dead

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Chapter 63: Weight of the Dead

"Pardon?” Carina murmured after an awkward moment’s pause. She gripped the folds of her cloak and fought to maintain a neutral expression while her mind raced over the past few days and the last few hours.

‘Where did I slip up?’

Acheron’s perplexed expression turned wary as his steel-blue eyes danced over her face. “The way you provoked him tonight—no one in the right mind would do that without good reason,” he continued persistently.

‘So it was my performance?’ Carina drew in a breath as she sucked in her lip and lowered her gaze. ‘I suppose I was reckless in more ways than one, but—'

“I don’t hate the crown prince,” she replied with a sigh. Acheron’s frown deepened as he raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “But I don’t like him either. The way he treats Eleanora, how he prioritizes his personal feelings over the welfare of his kingdom—”

Acheron’s eyes widened in shock as he stepped over the threshold and pressed a hand against her lips quickly. “Are you insane!” he hissed.

Carina scowled and shoved his hand away. “If you recall, I was sent here by the Countess of Hawthorne to serve and protect Eleanora.”

“Okay, okay, I see where you're coming from!” Acheron raised his hands and quickly retreated to the hallway. “But you cannot criticize a member of the royal family publicly, Lady Maura!”

“You asked,” Carina replied as she crossed her arms.

Acheron opened his mouth, shook his head, and tightened his lips into a weary smile. “I simply wanted you to be careful. Cleverly mentioning the future king’s mistress, in a magic show no less, is not being careful.”

“Well, I appreciate your concern.”

“Really?” Acheron scoffed.

“If you’ll excuse me, I am quite tired,” Carina said pointedly as she stepped towards the door. “It’s been a long day, and I would like to get off my feet.”

Acheron caught the door again as she pushed against it. “Don’t just live for the Crown Princess or the Countess, Lady Maura.” His worried tone grated her nerves even as she smiled at him politely. “Nicholas is my friend, but he has the temper of a king. He can smile at you one moment and order your execution the next.”

Carina blinked and lowered her gaze. The smell of blood lingered in her memory even as she envisioned the steps that led to the gallows. “Thank you for the warning, Lord Acheron, and good night.”

He stepped back and watched her shut the door between them. Carina slid the bolt in place, then turned and hopped over to the bed. She collapsed against the silk sheets and muffled her frustration into the fragrant soft pillows.

“Why do you hate the Crown Prince?”

“Ha!” she laughed as she rolled back up and sat on the edge of the bed. “At least the Selection is almost over.” All that remained was for Eleanora to make her final decision tomorrow.

“She will choose you,” Maura whispered against Carina’s hair, barely disturbing the ash-brown locks.

“If not—it will be difficult to approach Hana once I’ve been kicked out,” Carina murmured distractedly.

Ice-cold fingers slid over Carina’s shoulders and pulled her down onto the bed covers. “You are tired. You should sleep, what will come will come.”

“Not until we’ve talked about what happened. Your little prank went too far, Maura. What did you say to Nicholas anyway?”

“What’s done is done—”

“We have waited seven years for this! The plan means nothing if I have to worry about you playing ghost games,” Carina interrupted as she rubbed her empty stomach.

“You don’t need to worry.”

“Easy for you to say, you can’t die a second time,” Carina grumbled. She shivered as the ghost leaned over and kissed her forehead.

“I won’t interfere again. We only have each other. You know I would never betray you.”

Carina’s frustrations ebbed away as the ghost silently stroked her hair. She struggled to keep her eyes open even as the hunger in her stomach faded beneath a cloud of fatigue.

Between her fluttering eyelids, Carina studied the marble carved ceiling above her. “What’s it like being back?” she mumbled as she stared at the circle of white crows.

Maura’s fingers stilled for a moment then resumed their silent dance. “Everything is different now—and yet it all remains the same.”

Carina frowned and lifted her head. “What do you mean?”

“My past—your present—they are not alike.”

“Wasn’t that the point?” Carina slumped back against the bed. “The future will be different as well.”

“Yes, it will be.”

❆❆❆❆❆

Maura had long become numb to the clang of prison doors and screams of her fellow inmates. She barely stirred when the prison guard paused by her cell and banged the bars with his wooden stick.

“Still alive, half-blood?” the foul man sneered. “Won’t be much longer now. You and the rest of these filthy traitors will meet the ax soon enough.”

Her nails dug into the grime beneath the moldy straw upon which she lay, but she lacked the strength to stand.

“Oye!” the guard yelled and banged the bars again. “I’m talking to you, you ugly sow.”

Maura ignored him as she stared at the other naked women, who lay against the floor. Some asleep, some weeping, some barely clinging to life. All of them terrified of what was to come.

Warm liquid sprayed upon her back and stung against day-old whip lashes. Maura flinched and gagged as the smell of urine overwhelmed the already putrid filth that piled in the corner of the cell.

“There you go, half-blood, nice and fresh!” the guard taunted. “If you're thirsty, why don’t you lap it up.”

Maura’s lip bled as she bit down upon it and closed her eyes. Time no longer had meaning in this hell. Humiliation, pain, and hunger coated every poisoned breath even as she lay here and waited for her death.

The cell door behind her clanged, and Maura’s eyes snapped open as fear lurched through her body. She crawled onto her elbows and knees as the knights dragged in Poppy’s naked body and dropped her in the middle of the cell.

“Ventrayna bitch!” The knight snapped and spat at the unmoving prisoner.

“Enough, let’s get out of here—this place is worse than the plague in the slums.”

“You would know. Still visiting your lady friend down there? What’s her name—”

“Shut it—don’t get me in trouble with the captain!”

The cell doors clanged as the knights left. Their muffled voices disappeared behind another prison door.

Maura slumped against the ground and exhaled. If they hadn’t taken anyone else that meant interrogations were done for the day. She watched Poppy for signs of life, but the dark-skinned woman barely breathed behind her matted hair and swollen face.

The only way to determine day from night was when they were left alone. In the quiet shadows of the torchlight, Maura waited for the only glimmer of joy that remained.

The song began barely above a whisper as Hana’s voice silently filled the darkness. The foreign words meant nothing to Maura, and yet the comfort they provided made her soul flicker awake, and her dry eyes weep.

“Guess that means she’s still alive,” Poppy whispered hoarsely against the straw.

Maura ignored her as she inched her way towards the cell bars.

“Must she sing every night?” muttered another maid. “I can’t even understand what she’s saying.”

“A lot of good it will do her,” whispered another. “They’re only saving her for last.”

“Last?” Maura whispered. “What do you mean?”

“She was the queen’s lover after all,” Poppy answered through cracked lips. “And she killed the Consort’s unborn child.”

“That is a lie!” Maura hissed angrily.

“Does it matter?” Poppy snapped back and then wheezed with pain. “Now that Eleanora is dead—there’s no one left to protect her.”

The rattle of keys cut off the song as the women fell into a tense silence. Maura shrank down onto her belly and pressed her face against the floor as the torchlight moved.

The crown of Lafeara’s king glittered beneath the flame as Nicholas strode between the cells. Dark shadows emphasized the grief, paranoia, and lack of sleep etched upon his face. Nicholas waved the torch against the cell bars as he examined their occupants behind a handkerchief held over his nose. The light moved on as his shadow stretched across the floor.

“We meet again, Lady Hana!” His muffled voice echoed through the prison as Maura tilted her head to listen. “Confess your crimes, witch!”

"My only crime is loving the woman you hated!" Hana’s trembling voice replied. "And I am no witch."

"The Conclave of Cardinals found otherwise, Lady Hana.”

“They saw what they wanted to see—as do you. I did not kill Eleanora, nor did I harm your child!”

Nicholas laughed. “So, you will deny it to the very end.”

“If I am to die, so be it. Why punish the other servants? They have committed no crime against your Majesty!”

“They have all confessed to their crimes and yours.”

“Under torture and threats made against their families!”

“The result is what matters,” Nicholas snapped. “Death is all that awaits you now. Perhaps you'll even meet again to serve your queen in the afterlife."

“Then you are truly beyond redemption. What kind of king would torture and condemn the innocent while hiding the true killer?”

"I will do what I must to protect Lafeara," Nicholas growled. "A few deaths to save thousands more—I can live with that."

Hana’s bitter laugh echoed through the prison. "You called King Henrie a coward—yet look at what you've become!"

The torchlight flickered as it struck the prison bars. "Yes, I've become a monster, but it was your mistress and this cursed throne that made me thus." The torchlight flickered again as Maura strained to peer beyond the bars. “Give Eleanora my regards when you next see her. Your execution is tomorrow. May you both burn in hell."

‘Tomorrow?’ Maura sucked in a shallow breath. ‘Is that when we will all die?’

"It will be my pleasure to burn with my Queen—rather than live one more moment in the shadows of a false King!"

Maura's grip tightened on the bars as a long moment of tense silence followed.

"Even a bitch like you can't tell when to be silent.” Nicholas laughed softly. “Very well, let your pain and humiliation be my last gift to Eleanora."

The torchlight swept in her direction. Maura cowered against the floor as the king swept past. The prison doors opened but did not shut as the women waited nervously.

The muffled scuffle of feet proceeded another torch. Maura lifted her eyes as the four men sauntered past, their faces covered by white plague masks.

“Who-who are you?” Hana demanded.

Maura's grip slipped from the bars as a key turn in a lock, and a prison door opened.

She curled against the prison floor and wrapped bruised arms around her ears to shut out the panicked screams that followed, but her dirty, trembling limbs did nothing to block out the soul-shattering sounds of Hana’s rape.

[B1] Chapter 64: The Chill of Death

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Chapter 64: The Chill of Death

The great horned owl perched upon the rafters peered down into the dark slums in search of vermin. But even the experienced night hunter’s perceptive gaze could not detect Nero, who slithered through the shadows below. The witch hunter had learned the art of pursuing unseen during his early years in the order. After all, to be seen invited death.

Few people were as paranoid as a witch who knew they were being hunted. Arrogance was a witch’s greatest weakness. Hubris led to mistakes and exposed vulnerabilities. A cornered witch, however, could kill a dozen witch hunters. To someone who has nothing to lose, death becomes an ally.

The lantern Nero followed was not one of flame but moonstone. It provided just enough light for the five men and the woman who accompanied them to make their way through the slum's darker streets. Thanks to the enchanted piercing of his left ear, he could follow their movements and even catch a bit of their whispered conversations as he trailed behind them.

They were heading to the docks where the woman would take passage on a prearranged ship to leave Lafeara.

So far, the contents of the anonymous note Alden had received appeared accurate. Although, the idea of the Fox Den, a gang of reputed cut throats, protecting a witch had caught Nero by surprise. Still, anything was better than being penned up in the stuffy confines of the cathedral’s underground archive. So Nero agreed to check the information while Alden continued his search for the ellusive Turnbell name. A quest that had proven futile thus far given the only family record they had found belonged to a nobleman who had died two years ago and left no children behind.

The Foxes walked confidently through their turf, blissfully unaware of the predator at their heels. Nero remained in the dark, content to follow at a distance, as the presence of other Foxes on the rooftop above invited attention he did not seek.

The stench of the slums soon mingled with the cool breeze of the Serpentine River. His quarry had long given up any attempt of conversation and focused on the path ahead. Probably because the docks did not fall within the Fox Den’s territory, or so Nero reasoned as the presence of watchful vermin disappeared around them.

He quickened his silent steps and dashed the length of two buildings before he slid soundlessly behind a stack of crates. His attempts brought him close enough to check the woman’s scent, but the two men at the back of the pack turned instinctively and drew their blades.

‘Perhaps the Foxes deserve their reputation after all.’

“Whose there?” the first Fox challenged as his comrade strode purposely towards Nero’s hiding place. The other three men and the witch hasted their steps towards the harbor. “Show yourself, you worm-bellied rat!”

Nero chuckled as he stepped out of the shadows and raised his empty hands. The second Fox immediately lunged forward and swung his sword. The witch hunter ducked under the man’s blade and slid his needle-thin dagger into the man’s lungs. A neat little twist and the blade’s jagged end ripped a gaping hole through the organ before Nero pulled it free.

The Fox gasped, clutched his chest, and tottered to the side as his comrade switched from sword to pistol and aimed at the witch hunter.

“Now that won’t do at all,” Nero growled as he snapped his fingers.

Ice-magic twisted around the gun and coated the man’s finger on the trigger within a chunk of ice before the flintlock could ignite.

“Hells Teeth! He’s a witch!” The Fox gasped as he beat against the ice that crawled up his arm and staggered back.

Nero snickered even as he danced away from the second Fox’s futile attack from behind. The witch hunter caught the man’s wrist, sliced it open with his knife, then delivered a brutal kick to the Fox’s sternum that sent the man crashing into the stack of crates.

The man crumpled face-first onto the ground. His countenance contorted in silent agony as his lips darkened, and he flailed like a fish out of water amidst the crushed crates.

“Its amazing isn’t it? How the smallest wound can inflict so much pain,” Nero observed as he kicked the man’s sword away. “The very air you breathe is killing you even as its keeping you alive and overwhelming your senses with pain.”

A strained gargled response that escaped the Fox’s lips was intelligible, but the resolute look of disgust that battled against the pain in the man’s eyes spoke clearly.

“I suppose you accepted this kind of fate a long time ago,” Nero observed with a hint of approval. “After all, men who live by the sword will die by the sword—or magic in this case.” He extended his wrist, and the soft glow of magic stretched into a blade of ice that he held against the man’s throat. “I would ask if you had any last words but—”

Nero spun and sidestepped the blade of the first Fox. The man’s awkward attacks to skewer the witch hunter with the sword in his left hand, or bludgeon him with the frozen pistol in his right, were desperate and laughable.

With the flick of Nero’s wrist, three ice blades swept the man off his feet and impaled him through his heart, shoulder, and throat against the nearest building.

“Vermin should learn to die with dignity,” Nero commented as he turned back to the second Fox, who still wheezed upon the ground and glared at him with dark eyes.

Nero finished him off and left his already dissolving sword in the dead man’s chest.

The Serpentine River, which stretched nearly 100 miles in length, spread out before him like a black sea. The closed sails of fisherman slips and riverboats speckled the shoreline as their hulls knocked idly against the docks. Nero caught sight of the moonstone lantern beneath the open canvas of a small sailboat. The witch had already boarded while her three escorts appeared to be conversing with the boatman.

The witch hunter made no effort to mask his steps as he thundered down the pier. The moonlight illuminated his scarlet armor, rippled upon his flowing robes, and drew his quarry's startled gaze.

“Is that a bloody witch hunter?” growled the third Fox, who quickly drew his sword.

“Time to go, Marc!” shouted the fourth Fox even as he aimed down his pistol at the witch hunter.

‘This again!’ Nero dodged as the bullet sped past him and splintered against the dock boards. ‘No hesitation there.’ He waved his hand across the wharf. Ice spread beneath his feet and latched the two thugs in place as Nero slid under the blade of the second Fox and rose to plunge his needle blade through the fourth and fifth rib of the other.

The Fox bent over the witch hunter’s blade with an expression of stunned disbelief as he stared past Nero to the other trapped thug. “Darwin—kill this—”

Nero yanked his dagger free. The Fox collapsed awkwardly against the dock, his feet still frozen in place.

“You bastard!” Darwin howled as he struggled against the ice wrapped around his ankles. “You hag spawn witch cu—”

Nero flung his dagger across the short distance and smirked with satisfaction as it impaled the man’s throat. “You picked the wrong side of this one, vermin.”

He didn’t bother to watch the Fox bleed out. His quarry had already gained some distance from the dock. The boatman and Marc paddled furiously with a bucket and paddle as the wind swept them lazily from the shore.

Nero stopped at the edge of the pier and sniffed. 'Still nothing!’ Disappointment shifted to anger as Nero glared across the black waves at the pale, shivering woman. ‘Are you even a witch?’

With an impatient sigh, Nero swung his hand across the dark waters towards the ship. “Pulchritudo dolore!” Beneath his scarlet chest plate, a flash of light pierced the darkness and vanished. Then ice formed and crackled upon the choppy waves below. It spread at his command and wove across the river like a serpent, heedless of the tide as its icy coils wrapped around the sailboat and sealed it in place.

"Marc!" the woman cried. The men beside her stared at the frozen river around them then beat against their prison with their flimsy paddles.

Nero touched the jewel hidden beneath his robes with a scowl. ‘Even this much requires me to drain magic from the Witch Star?’ He stepped down onto the icy path and headed towards the sailboat. ‘No matter, as long as she’s a witch, I can regain what was wasted easily enough.’

At his approach, Marc flung aside the bucket, drew a dagger, and stood on wobbly legs. Rachael scrambled behind him with panicked sobs that only fed the growing rage in Nero.

‘Why doesn’t she use her magic? Why haven’t I felt so much as a spark? If this is another dead end…’

“What do you want?” Marc demanded with trembling bravado.

Nero barked out a laugh. "Isn't it obvious? I've come for the witch." He extended his arm, palm down, and the ice-magic twisted into a long sharp spear. Nero closed his fingers around the cold weapon, took aim, and released.

The ice spear glittered through the air and then buried itself in the pitiful man’s chest. Marc looked down, dumbfounded, as the knife slipped from his fingers and he tipped backward off the boat.

"Marc!" Rachael screamed. She reached towards his corpse, which slid away from her across the ice. The spear’s tip caught against the uneven edge of the frozen river and kept the body from tipping over.

Rachael cast one last terrified look at the witch hunter who had almost reached the boat and scrambled after the dead man. The shivering boatman remained seated. One hand wrapped around the hull, the other still gripped his paddle. Nero circled the vessel and, with another snap of his fingers, decapitated the boatman.

The witch hunter closed in on the sobbing woman as she clutched Marc’s head against her chest. Her terror and grief gave him no pleasure as he contemplated the cost of this fruitless hunt.

Rachael screamed again as Nero grabbed her hair and yanked her up towards him. He inhaled the scent of her raven locks and clenched his teeth with a growl of disgust. "Not a witch after all. Not even a flicker of one," he snarled as his grip tightened.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Rachael sobbed as her fingers clawed desperately against his leather glove.

"And yet here you are stealing away into the night like a thief," Nero hissed as he shoved her onto her knees. "And this—" he pulled the sack of coins from Marc’s belt. "—well, it's just a tad bit suspicious, don't you think?" Her brown eyes stared up at him in silent terror, and Nero yanked her head back. "Speak, woman!"

"Please! We—did it for the money," Rachael sobbed. "I don't know anything else—only that the Fox Master was willing to pay us 15,000 crescents to leave Lafeara."

"Why would he pay you to get out of the country?"

"To—fool the knights and the church," she whimpered. "He was going to leave—evidence at our house—enough to convince the church I was a witch."

Nero cackled as realization sank in. "So—you're a decoy. Well, I suppose 15,000 crescents is too much temptation for a mindless sheep like you. But where did the Fox Den obtain such exorbitant funds?"

"I'm sorry—I don’t know! I'm sorry! P-Please—Please don't kill me!" Rachael sobbed as he pulled her back to her feet.

"Now, now," Nero shushed. "I enjoy a good squeal as much as the next witch—but your tears have soured." His hand slid around her throat. "Even you should know that no mortal who has seen a witch can live to tell the tale." His grip tightened against the woman’s trachea as her skin turned pale blue.

"Pleas—" Her dark eyes glazed over with panic and frost as her last breath rattled free from purple lips and hovered in the air between them before it was carried away by the river breeze.

Nero wrapped his arm around her neck, twisted, and pulled the dead woman’s head cleanly off her shoulders. Her body slumped down against Marc’s corpse and dislodged the ice spear. The dead couple drifted over the edge and vanished beneath the waves of the black river.

Nero held the woman's head in his palm and smoothed the dark hair away from her frozen, blue pupils.

"So, the Fox Den is shielding the ice witch," Nero murmured as he twisted his fingers through her tangled locks. "I think I have the perfect gift to help them change their minds."

The moon silhouetted his red robes and the woman's head that dangled from his grip as Nero returned to the docks and the sleeping city beyond. Behind him, the ice cracked and crumbled, before it was carried out to sea with the empty sailboat and the dead boatman.

[B1] Chapter 65: A Garden of Secrets

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Chapter 65: A Garden of Secrets

The candidates ate their breakfast with tired eyes and pale faces. Only Evelynn appeared relaxed as she spread butter on her blueberry bagel, while Meredith picked out the berries and flicked them at her plate. Tiffany nervously sipped her tea at a volume much louder than necessary and then added her fourth or fifth cube of sugar.

Carina silently stirred her own tea as she contemplated Captain Beaumont’s absence outside her door that morning. No doubt, this was just the beginning of the repercussions for her predictions last night.

"Good morning, Candidates," Lady Elouise greeted as she entered the room.

"Oh, where is Lady Sabella?" Evelynn asked as she set down her bagel.

"She—" Elouise’s gaze shifted towards Carina then quickly away, "—had something urgent to attend to."

"I see," Evelynn also glanced at Carina with a curious smile. "That's too bad."

Carina sipped her tea and focused its fragrant mix of vanilla and spices. She sensed something was off with Sabella's absence, but as to what—well, she would likely find out soon enough.

"Excuse me, Lady Elouise." Another woman entered the room with vibrant red hair that, for a moment, reminded Carina keenly of her half-sister Sophya.

"Good morning, Lady Delphine," Elouise greeted the scarlet beauty with a smile. "Candidates, this is Lady Delphine. She serves the Queen Regent along with myself and Lady Sabella."

"Greetings, Lady Delphine."

"Good morning, candidates." Delphine flashed them all a friendly smile, then stepped closer to Elouise and whispered in her ear.

"Oh—I see," Elouise smile tightened as she drew back. "Lady Maura, it seems the Queen Regent would like to speak with you."

"If you'll follow me, Lady Maura," Delphine said as she elegantly waved her hand to the door.

"I—" Carina looked down at her wrapped ankle, which she had only just managed to slip into a shoe today. "I'm afraid it's still difficult for me to walk,” she explained apologetically.

‘Perhaps the Captain abandoning his post would be a double blessing.’

"Oh, of course, I almost forgot," Delphine said with a nervous laugh. "Captain Leo, will you come in, please?"

The dark-skinned knight entered the room and inclined his head respectfully to the Dowager's ladies-in-waiting.

"The Queen Regent sent the Captain along with me in case you required an escort. Captain, Lady Maura, is unable to walk,” Delphine explained as she gestured to Carina. “Would you mind assisting her? The Dowager has requested her presence."

"Not at all," Leo replied as he moved swiftly behind Carina and pulled out her chair. "Permit me, my Lady." Not giving her a chance to respond, he scooped Carina from her chair and carried her towards the door.

"Enjoy your breakfast, candidates!" Delphine said sweetly before she followed after them.

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Of the three men who had carried her in this life, Carina preferred Leo the least. His hand seemed to slide uncomfortably low on her back, which forced Carina to wrap her arms around his neck or fall.

Delphine paid no attention to Carina’s discomfort as she guided them towards the Royal Gardens. The palace walkways were quiet as most servants were busy indoors while their masters and mistresses enjoyed breakfast. The garden itself was oddly vacant and covered in lingering mist that clung to the hedges and covered the landscape in glittering dew.

Carina's unease only increased as the knight and lady-in-waiting led her down the path towards the forbidden corner of the garden. The paradise around them was quickly forgotten in the presence of the iron door. The suffocating feel of despair that exuded from its dark metal surface sent an ominous sharp pain through her chest.

As often as Carina had wondered what lay within the garden enshrouded by the spiked iron fence and dense box hedges, now the very thought of that door opening made her mouth run dry.

The wind rustled through the towering shrubs, and the distant echo of a thousand despairing sobs lingered in its breath. And then a woman, so transparent and pale she might have been a trick of the light, appeared through the gate.

The hair along Carina’s arms stood on end as the specter lifted the hem of her dress and ran through Delphine towards Carina and Leo. The ghost vanished before Carina could identify her face, but there was no mistaking the crown the woman had worn—that of Lafeara’s Queen.

“You’re trembling,” Leo observed as he adjusted his grip. His gaze remained focused upon the gate even as Delphine stopped beside a marble bench that waited outside the forbidden garden. “Not that I blame you. This place disturbs even a soldier like me.”

Carina glanced at him curiously. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“I’ve seen a thing or two on the battlefield,” Leo replied evasively. “Enough to believe there is more to death and life than what my eyes can see.”

“You may set her down here, Captain,” Delphine instructed as she glanced towards them with a curious smile. Leo complied and eased Carina down to the marble surface before he helped smooth out her dress.

“I’m fine, thank you, Captain,” Carina said sharply.

Leo raised his hands with a disarming smile. “Forgive me. You—remind me of my younger sisters. I meant no offense.” He straightened and turned to Delphine. “Shall I wait at the end of the path as usual?”

“Yes, thank you, Captain,” Delphine replied with a nod.

"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Maura." He offered a polite bow, winked at her, and then strode confidently away.

"Isn't he lovely?” Delphine murmured with a sigh. “If I was only ten years younger," She fanned her flushed cheeks and sat down beside Carina on the bench. "The hero of Dead Man’s Hollows. That accursed crater made by inbred pagan magic.”

“Indeed,” Carina murmured curiously, distracted by the iron gate. “That is the battlefield where Prince Tristan died, is it not?”

Delphine flinched and snapped her fan closed. “We do not speak that name within the Palace.”

“Ah—yes, forgive me,” Carina replied quickly as she turned to face the lady-in-waiting. “What was it you were saying about Captain Leo?”

Delphine smiled, but her gaze remained unsettled as she slowly unfurled her fan and continued. “That he is a hero, and a recently titled Baron as well. He’s also the bastard son of General Stryker.”

“Then he’s—Captain Beaumont’s brother?”

“More or less,” Delphine murmured with a frown. “I suppose you could say Leo is the General’s official son since his wife, Lady Verity, adopted him. In either case, the General clearly favors Leo more.”

“What makes you say that?” Carina asked curiously.

“Well, he’s about to be promoted again to a Colonel I hear. That’s why he was summoned back to the palace anyway. Can you imagine, skipping from Captain straight to a Colonel?”

“Mmm,” Carina responded distractedly. ‘Is that why Beaumont is so obedient to Nicholas? Because his own father refuses to acknowledge him.’

“—Did you know the pagans worship dragons? As if such creatures really existed. Captain Leo told me they built their palace around some old bones. Apparently, they sacrifice slaves and pray to this ancient dead being. Can you imagine? It’s probably the bones of some old bull or a wolf, perhaps.”

“Of course.”

“Captain Leo knows better than to believe in such fairy tales. He also quite a good conversationalist. A practical man of promising potential, despite his unfortunate birth—but if Lady Variety can look past the identity of Leo’s birth mother, then so shall I.”

“Oh, who was she?”

For a moment, Delphine appeared to struggle against the tide of her tongue, but then she edged closer to Carina as she shielded them both behind her fan. “A pagan woman—the one who gave General Stryker that scar on his cheek.”

Carina remained speechless as Delphine pulled away and continued her prattle unchecked. As much as she knew she ought to focus on whatever information leaked so freely from the Queen Regent’s aid—her mind instead focused upon the sudden perplexity of Beaumont’s family that had presented itself before her.

A child of pagan blood was considered lower than a slave. And yet, General Stryker had promoted such a son over Beaumont, who held the favor of Lafeara’s future King. ‘The question was—why?’ Carina could only imagine that the fault, as always, lay within the identity of Beaumont’s mother.

[B1] Chapter 66: A Test of Loyalty

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Chapter 66: A Test of Loyalty

“And it appears the Dowager—I mean, Queen Regent,” Delphine hastily corrected herself. “Is looking into a potential match for Captain Leo. Naturally, we can’t expect a true born daughter of Lafeara’s nobility to wed a half-pagan.” Delphine paused to brush away the hair that had slid inside the corner of her mouth and sighed. “Still, I’m sure the Dowager will find someone suitable. She has a soft spot for bastards and half-bloods.”

“I see,” Carina replied hesitantly. ‘Soft is not a word I would use to describe the Dowager.’

They had been waiting outside the iron gate long enough for Carina to circle all the possible reasons for the Queen Regent to summon her, none of which were favorable.

"I wonder if Lady Verity will throw a party to celebrate his promotion. I imagine she will. After all, she’s grown quite fond of Leo over the years and who can blame her since the poor woman could have no children of her own. But still, from Captain to Colonel? That skips over something—I can’t think of what rank though—but it’s certainly worth celebrating. Leo will become his Father’s right-hand man, which all but officially declares him as Stryker’s successor.”

“I believe the rank is Major,” Carina supplied when the woman stopped long enough to catch her breath. “Between Captain and Colonel.”

“What? Oh, yes, I suppose that’s it. How very clever of you to know. And to think some people believe the giant should be Stryker’s successor. Why though? He might be the elder bastard, but I swear I’ve never seen him so much as smile. And when he looks at you—” Delphine shivered, “—there’s something about his eyes that just isn’t human.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.” Carina had felt something quite similar during her first several encounters with Beaumont, but she had blamed that disquieting fear on Maura’s memories. She watched Leo pace at the end of the path with a weary sigh.

“Anyway, it’s no wonder Lady Verity chose Leo over him, even as a I child I heard he was as frigid as a block of ice. He never attended social parties until he became the Crown Prince’s bodyguard. Always training with the knights or looking after that invalid mother of his. But even when she died—he didn’t shed a single tear. Not one? Mind you he was about sixteen when she died—"

The iron door creaked open, and Delphine fell deathly silent even as Carina’s heart lept up the back of her throat. The Dowager appeared with a basket of purple roses draped over her arm and smiled warmly at them before she closed the gate and turned an iron key in the lock.

“Your Grace!” Delphine greeted as she curtsied. Carina stood slowly behind her and attempted a shallow curtsey on her ankle.

“Oh my! Please, Lady Maura, do rise child,” Octavia said quickly.

Carina obediently rose while Delphine remained awkwardly bowed.

“Thank you for bringing her, Lady Delphine. And now, please take these roses back to my room.” Octavia plucked a rose free and passed the basket to her lady-in-waiting. “I wish to speak with Lady Maura in private.”

"Yes, Queen Regent." Delphine curtsied again and left to complete her task.

The Dowager clasped her hands and studied Carina with a thoughtful smile before she motioned to the bench. "Please, Lady Maura. We must not keep you standing unnecessarily."

"Thank you, Queen Regent." Carina sat down and tried to appear as relaxed as possible, given the formidable opponent who stood before her.

"Let us suspend with titles for the moment," Octavia said generously as she sat down beside Carina and took the surprised girl's left hand. "I'll be blunt. I like you, Lady Maura. I see your potential just as Countess Constance did. You're strong, intelligent, you don't let men push you about—and from what I've gathered, you've survived a few battles before even coming to the palace."

Carina held back a laugh as she tightened the smile on her face. ‘So that’s the angle she’s going for.’

"So, before Eleanora makes her decision, I wanted to offer you a place at my side as one of my people."

Carina exhaled slowly as she looked away from the intimidating pair of cerulean-blue eyes. She hadn’t expected the Dowager to attempt such a move so soon, but then it made absolute sense to strike before she had formed any sort of loyalty towards Eleanora.

‘Unfortunately, you’re the last person on earth I would ever agree to serve.’

"I can see my offer has taken you by surprise," Octavia said with a soft chuckle. "But let me assure you, I am quite generous to those who serve me. I might even be able to arrange a marriage offer for you that would match or even rival that of your sister's."

The Dowager nodded down the garden path towards Captain Leo, and Carina felt her stomach clench. It was eerie how similar the Dowager’s recruitment methods mirrored that of Constance—although Carina had been the one to approach the Countess of Hawthorne initially.

"As humbled as I am to have the Dowager consider such a matter on my behalf—I would prefer to remain unmarried for the foreseeable future.”

Octavia's eyes narrowed as she assessed Carina critically. “I suspect it is not so much marriage that you oppose as it is the freedom you are reluctant to lose.”

Carina blinked, caught off guard by the Dowager’s perceptive intuition.

“I would caution you, child. If Eleanora does choose you, as I believe she will, your position will afford you many such offers.”

Carina swallowed as her free hand tightened into the folds of her dress.

“As long as you remain a child of that house, your parents can legally agree to any marriage on your behalf as suits them,” the Dowager continued with blunt honesty. “But if you had a powerful backer—” she smiled as she brushed the ash-brown curls behind Carina’s ear “—someone they would not dare to cross, then you may very well take your pick of the lot and have some semblance of future happiness.”

Carina pulled her left hand from the Dowager’s grasp as she cleared her throat. “Thank you for the advice.”

“Of course,” the Dowager murmured with a curious smile. “Still, marriage would have been the easiest way for you to escape that family of yours. To think you would choose the more difficult option.” She turned away and covered her lips behind her frail speckled fingers, but not before Carina caught a glimpse of her cunning smile. “I like you even more now, Lady Maura.”

“I’m humbled to receive your praise—but I’ve worked very hard to win this Selection, your Grace.”

"Tsk, you must not reject me so quickly, child," Octavia said with a laugh. "And I have no intention of removing you from Eleanora. No, I need you there at her side—" she leaned forward and caressed Carina's cheek with a knowing smile "—as my eyes and ears, Lady Maura."

'How does one become so conniving and cruel?' Carina wondered as she shivered beneath the Dowager’s gaze. ‘Then again, to underestimate a woman who has outlived four monarchs would be a huge mistake.’

"Can I—think about it?" Carina said hesitantly.

"Hmm," Octavia leaned back and studied Carina in silent contemplation. "I had hoped to convince you now, but I suppose you should take time to consider your future Mistress carefully. Very well, I shall give you a week, does that sound fair?"

"More than fair, your Grace.”

‘Even though I know you already have one spy among the candidates, it would appear that you don’t mind hedging your bets with two.’

"In the meantime, there's no need to discuss this with Eleanora," Octavia added as she lifted the purple rose to her curved lips and inhaled. "She already knows you're here with me—or will soon enough. I had a maid deliver the news of our little meeting with Ivy early this morning."

Carina bit back a laugh. 'It appears I’ve already underestimated you. To think you would prepare to this extent for a half-blood.’

"I understand," Carina replied with a tight smile. "I should be getting back, your Grace."

"Of course!" Octavia replied as she rose from the bench. "Captain!"

Leo trotted over and knelt before her. "Queen Regent."

"Take Lady Maura back to Lily Palace and stay by her side as her escort until the Selection is over," Octavia commanded.

'Well played. Even if I wanted to warn Eleanora that the Dowager has spies among the candidates—I couldn't tell her with Captain Leo there to observe me.'

"Lady Maura," Leo stood and extended his hand.

"Just a moment," Octavia interjected as she snapped the pure rose from its stem. She cupped Carina's chin and turned the girl towards her as she slid the royal rose into Carina's dark hair. "Now, you are properly adorned, my child."

It took every ounce of control for Carina not to rip that rose from her hair—but she endured and murmured her thanks. With Leo’s assistance, she stood and curtsied to Eleanora’s most deadly adversary. Then the knight captain lifted her once more, this time with his hands appropriately placed, and carried her back through the garden.

[B1] Chapter 67: Chosen by the Scorpion

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Chapter 67: Chosen by the Scorpion

"And she's back," Meredith observed with a note of disappointment as Captain Leo returned carrying Carina. "Oh, my if it isn’t Captain Leo Stryker!”

Leo smirked like a cat about to enjoy a free bowl of cream while Meredith fanned her suddenly flushed cheeks.

"Captain,” Carina said pointedly as she squirmed in his arms. “You can put me down now.”

"It's no trouble at all, Lady Maura. You're as light as a feather."

Carina’s polite smile tightened as she contemplated her chances of removing the Dowager’s shadow.

"Excuse me, but—" Tiffany spoke up hesitantly, "—are you the Captain Leo, the Lion who defeated the Tharyn horde at Dead Man’s Hollows?"

"I assure you those rumors are an exaggeration," Leo replied as he turned his confident smirk towards Tiffany. "And who might you be, my Lady?"

"I—Lady Tiffany, daughter of Baron Clemont."

"Ah, a new Baron family, much like myself!" Leo smiled warmly, and Tiffany's cheeks reddened.

‘Unlike his half-brother, he certainly knows how to charm people,’ Carina observed as she crossed her arms and sighed. Leo glanced down at her inquisitively, but before he could comment Lady Elouise rushed through the door.

"Candidates, it's time, follow me please."

❆❆❆❆❆

A maid greeted Elouise and the candidates at the front door of the Rose Palace and led them through to the courtyard. The banquet had been cleared away except for the stage that now sat in the far corner. Curiously enough, several servants could be seen cutting and ripping up strips of grass while others poured out bags of sand over the exposed soil.

"What on earth are they doing?" Meredith whispered to Evelynn.

A knight appeared from the far corner of the courtyard and moved towards them.

"Oh my, it's the infamous Major Garrett," Leo greeted with a hint of awe and curiosity.

The senior knight offered Leo a blank stare and then bowed stiffly to the rest of the group. "Greetings, candidates. If you will all follow me, I'll lead you to her Highness."

"Major," Elouise said as she walked briskly beside him. "Why is the Crown Princess tearing up the courtyard?"

"She's installing a life-size chessboard," Garrett replied calmly.

"A what?"

"You heard me."

Elouise blinked at the sharpness of his tone and then shrieked as servants walked past carrying uprooted rose bushes. "But—the garden! The roses! The Queen Regent herself had these installed—"

"Her Highness has no use for flowers," Garrett explained with a hint of impatience. "This way." He quickened his step and led them up a flight of stairs to a balcony that circled the courtyard from above. The major stopped beside an open archway door and gestured for them to enter before him.

Crown Princess Eleanora, dressed in man's pants, chain mail and armor turned to greet them with a broad grin. "Ah, the candidates!"

Carina hid a smirk as the other candidates gawked at Eleanora’s daring apparel.

"Y-your Highness!" They recovered and curtsied.

Carina wiggled uncomfortably in Leo's arms. "Please put me down now!" she hissed.

"As you wish, my Lady." Leo set her down but stepped in front of her as he bowed respectfully to Eleanora. "Your Highness, I am Captain Leo.”

"You've changed horses, Lady Maura," Eleanora observed with a twisted smile. "I think I preferred the other one."

Leo's jaw clenched, and his cheeks flushed as he straightened and stepped back.

Carina coughed as she smothered a laugh and stepped into line with the other candidates. “Greetings, your Highness.”

Eleanora’s amber eyes wandered up to the purple rose in Carina’s hair.

Carina cringed as she straightened. As often as she had considered throwing the Dowager’s mark away, she could not do so with Leo there to report her every move. And throwing away the Queen Regent’s flower was as good as throwing away her offer.

Eleanora smiled as she removed the black leather sparring gloves and then waved them at Elouise and Leo. "Thank you. I will speak to the candidates alone for a moment.”

"But—" Elouise stiffened as Eleanora pinned her beneath a golden stare. "Yes, your Highness."

Leo stiffly followed the Dowager’s lady-in-waiting outside. Garrett shut the door behind them both and stood on guard beside it.

"Lady Hana is not feeling well this morning," Eleanora explained as she paced around the four candidates. "Which is a shame as I value her opinion. But since the final decision would be mine—" she moved towards a table where an unfinished game of chess rested and studied the pieces critically.

The silence lengthened, and even Evelynn started to shift uncomfortably. Carina was just starting to feel a buildup of pressure in her left-ankle when Eleanora plucked three pieces from the board and turned to face them.

"I will accept three of you," the crown princess proclaimed with a confident grin. "First, Lady Evelynn!"

Evelynn breathed a sigh of relief and blinked as Eleanora placed an iron bishop in her hand. “T-thank you, your Highness.”

"Second, Lady Maura."

Carina curtsied and accepted the iron knight Eleanora held out to her. “I am honored, your Highness.”

Eleanora continued without comment as she held the small pawn between her fingers and studied the remaining two candidates. Tiffany stood rigidly with eyes lowered. Her hands trembled visibly against her dress. Meredith blinked rapidly as she struggled to maintain a confident smile. Both refused to meet the Crown Princess's gaze.

'And one of them is Octavia's spy. But wait—’ Carina studied the pawn in the crown princess’s hand, ‘—is it possible Eleanora already knows?’

"Lady Tiffany!" Eleanora announced as she stopped in front of the quivering blonde girl.

Tiffany gasped and wobbled as she blinked up at the chess piece Eleanora offered. “T-Thank you!” She accepted the token and curtsied. “Thank you, your Highness!”

"What?" Meredith gasped as she stared dumbly at the iron pawn Tiffany held. "But—you—she—" she clutched her chest as she struggled to draw in a breath of air and turned towards Evelynn, who only shook her head silently.

"This can't be—” Meredith protested as she spun towards Eleanora. “You would choose a baron's house over that of a viscount? And a half-blood over a true noble-born lady?"

Carina ignored the finger pointed in her direction as she watched the crown princess approach Meredith with a cold smile.

"I've made my decision, Lady Meredith,” Eleanora said firmly. “And I think it’s time you showed me some of that famous Lafeara etiquette by leaving quietly and gracefully. I will not tolerate another insult to my ladies."

"Ha!" Meredith spat bitterly. "This whole Selection has been nothing but a farce. No granddaughter of a maid would be the queen of anything if it weren't for the Emperor pressuring the Royal Family."

Eleanora stepped forward and, with frightening calm, brushed her fingers along Meredith’s bangs and down her cheek and throat. “I will remember those words, Lady Meredith.” Her voice was devoid of any hostility, and yet Meredith trembled as she hastily stepped back. "See the ugly thing out, Major."

"With pleasure, your Highness." Garrett grabbed Meredith's arm and pulled the still fuming girl towards the door.

"Don't think this is over—my father is friends with Marquess Borghese. You'll regret this—"

Garrett slammed the door in Meredith’s face and exhaled slowly.

"Let it be, Major," Eleanora said calmly. "When I am queen, she will eat her words, as will the rest of her family." She sighed and turned back to her new ladies-in-waiting. "Well, I suppose I should give you a tour of your new home."

"Your Highness!" Evelynn interjected. "Surely a maid would do—"

The door beside Garrett burst open. Carina turned, half expecting Meredith or Captain Leo. Instead, Lady Sabella swept inside with a triumphant look.

"Your Highness!" Sabella brushed past the new ladies-in-waiting and held out a rolled document. "I'm afraid Lady Maura can no longer take place in the Selection. She has been disqualified!"

[B1] Chapter 68: An Oath of Loyalty

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Chapter 68: An Oath of Loyalty

"Pardon?" Eleanora replied with raised eyebrows as she eyed the trembling document the panting senior lady-in-waiting held out to her.

Carina clutched the iron knight tightly as Sabella passed over a document sealed with the emblem of the Holy Church.

'What? How? Why?'

"This—" Eleanora frowned as she read silently and then offered it to Carina, "—perhaps you should read this?"

Carina stepped forward slowly. ‘This has to be a mistake.’ Her numb fingers wrapped around the document as she unfurled the stiff parchment and read over its contents. ‘What could possibly—'

Dissolution of Marriage sprawled across the top in elegant calligraphy awaited her as Carina's racing thoughts crashed into cold certainty that was confirmed by the names and signatures at the bottom of Lady Helena and Lord Josiah.

"They were divorced early this morning before Abbess Mercy, who witnessed the proceedings and then sent a copy of the official divorce papers to the palace," Sabella explained. "And since the Viscount of Gelwren disowned Lady Helena, she has no title of her own to claim which means—" Sabella turned to face Carina with a vindictive smile, “—that her half-blood has no title as well."

The parchment twisted beneath Carina’s stiff fingers as she swallowed back an angry laugh. 'It seems, to the bitter end, Maura's parents are determined to ruin her.'

"Nonsense," Eleanora muttered.

"Pardon?" Sabella turned towards the crown princess, startled.

"I said its nonsense," Eleanora repeated as she snatched the document from Carina and crumpled it into a ball. "I already choose Lady Maura as my lady-in-waiting. I don’t care when or if her parents are divorced. And I little care what you, the Dowager, or the rest of Lafeara's nobility have to say on the matter."

Eleanora tossed the rumpled paper at Sabella, who almost caught it with her gaping mouth.

"But—your Highness!"

"My decision is final,” Eleanora replied firmly.

"You—you can't! Tradition—"

"Oh, for the Love of Kritanta!" Eleanora stormed past Sabella to Garrett and pulled the knight's sword from his sheath.

Sabella dropped the divorce edict with a surprised whimper as she cowered away from Eleanora. But the crown princess brushed past her and stood before Carina once more.

"Kneel, Lady Maura," Eleanora commanded.

Speechless for perhaps the first time in her second life, Carina’s eyes darted from the sharp blade of the sword to the impatient gaze of the crown princess. Her throat tightened, but she managed to kneel, careful of the ankle that wobbled just before her knees found the floor.

"If a title is what is required for you to serve by my side, then I shall grant it." Eleanora tapped Carina's shoulders twice with the flat of the blade. "I name you Baroness of Averly—a small estate which belongs to my family—raise your head, Lady Maura."

Carina looked past the blade now placed at her throat to meet the amber eyes of the crown princess.

"As your future queen, I grant you title and land, and with these all the privileges and responsibilities of nobility. I command that you obey me, that you remain loyal until your death, and that should the need ever arise, you will die to protect my body, my crown, and my country."

Every plan Carina had painfully pieced together over seven long years crumpled beneath the weight of Eleanora's gaze.

"I swear my life, fealty, and body to your Majesty," she whispered.

The blade moved aside, and Eleanora extended her hand. "Rise Baroness," she commanded.

Carina obeyed, with difficulty as her ankle caught halfway up, but Eleanora's grip steadied her. No sooner had she regained her balance, then Eleanora stepped forward and kissed both of her cheeks.

"I will ensure you keep that oath, Lady Maura," the crown princess whispered as she plucked the purple rose from Carina's hair and crumbled it in her fist.

"You—you can't!" Sabella protested.

Eleanora sighed as she stepped back and tossed Garrett his sword.

"Your Mistress has meddled in my affairs long enough, Lady Sabella," Eleanora replied coldly. "If she continues to do so—" Garrett sheathed his sword with force and stepped up beside Eleanora and Carina "—I will retaliate."

Sabella backed away and then, with a feeble expression of disdain, hurriedly retreated through the open door.

“Major Garrett, please take Lady Evelynn and Lady Tiffany outside. I wish to have a private word with the new Baroness.”

“Yes, your Highness.” Garrett bowed. Evelynn and Tiffany clutched their chess pieces as they hastily curtsied and followed the Major. A servant shut the door behind them, and Carina barely had a moment to catch her breath before Eleanora spoke.

“Do you know why I choose you, Lady Maura?”

“Your Highness,” Carina said hesitantly. “I am not certain—”

“Really?” Eleanora smirked as she returned to her chair and crossed her legs. “Surely, you could at least guess at something.”

‘Because I performed a magic act? Because I insulted Nicholas?’

Carina studied the knight in her fingers and focused her thoughts. “Because of my connection to the Countess of Hawthorne?”

Eleanora studied her thoughtfully then shrugged. “That, of course, weighed heavily in your favor. If I am certain of one thing, its that the Hawthorne family wish me to succeed as queen.”

“Then—was there another reason?”

Eleanora shrugged and smiled. “Fatum.”

Carina blinked as her hand tightened around the chess piece. “Your Highness?”

“It is something the Vetrayna people hold in high regard,” Eleanora replied as she toyed with the iron black queen. “Not everyone can control their future. For women, that goes doubly. We must rely on our families, our husbands, or even our children to secure our place in this world.”

Carina remained silent as she studied the foreign beauty.

“I thought I was in control of my fatum, my future, but then I lost—” Eleanora sighed as she flicked over the black king and moved the white king in his place.

“You lost the First Prince,” Carina murmured.

Eleanora’s amber gaze regarded her with a faint smile. “You are insightful, clever, bold, and a bit reckless, Lady Maura. I admire those qualities. Even more so because I understand what you had to overcome to get here.”

The crown princess picked up the white king and rose to her feet.

“I have not given up on my fatum. I want to build a world where women don’t have to bend the knee simply because of our sex.”

“Your Highness,” Carina murmured with a worried glance about the room. “You should be cautious of what you say within the palace walls.”

“Because even these walls have ears?” Eleanora smiled. “Not for much longer.” She tilted her head as she studied Carina. “Your visit with the Dowager—”

Ice-blue eyes met gold amber flames, and Carina refused to be the first to blink. “It was at her request.”

“She wished to recruit you.”

“Yes.”

Eleanora smirked. “She even gave you one of her precious roses.”

“She knows how to manipulate someone with a flower,” Carina replied with a sardonic smile. “She is not to be underestimated.”

“Indeed.” Eleanora reached up around her neck and pulled a necklace from beneath her jacket. “Well, it is not a flower, but—” she extended the black-golden pendant of a scorpion.

“Your Highness—I do not need—”

Eleanora took Carina’s hand and pressed the necklace into it. “Your oath was not lightly given nor lightly taken, Lady Maura. What I aim for—I can not attain it on my own.”

Carina studied the detailed scorpion as Eleanora withdrew. “Then may I ask, your Highness, what it is you wish to obtain?”

“Power,” Eleanora replied as she settled back into her chair. “I may have the Emperor’s backing, but I am alienated on all sides by Lafeara’s nobility because of it. I need my own source of power here within Lafeara’s court if I am to survive as queen.”

“Of course,” Carina was quick to agree. “You have the Hawthorns, and Viscount Hendrix, as well as the newly titled and wealthy Clemont family.”

“Yes, obviously they have their advantages,” Eleanora said dismissively. “But the favor of nobility can come and go. Only one thing will ensure my crown.”

“Oh!” Carina hesitated, “Does your Highness mean—”

“I need a child,” Eleanora stated bluntly. “But I can make no progress there while Nicholas refuses to share my bed and spends his seed in some commoner’s barren womb.”

‘Blessed Saints, had she always been this blunt?’

Carina twisted the chain of the necklace around her fingers. “I understand, but—”

“My aunt tells me you are knowledgeable in poisons, herbs, and powders—perhaps even the sort to help stimulate a man into bed.”

Carina sucked in a sharp breath. It was an option she had considered—and dismissed, given the risks it involved. “Wouldn’t it be better to build a more natural relationship, your Highness.”

“I don’t have the time nor the stomach for such games.” Eleanora shook her head. “Anyway, between us, such forced emotions would never feel genuine or real. I need a prince, Lady Maura. And you will help me get one.”

[B1] Chapter 69: A Mother's Love

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Chapter 69: A Mother's Love

"I can't believe you, Mother," Sophya sobbed angrily as she scooted across the rented carriage seat away from Helena. "Getting divorced! How could you do this to me? How could both of you do this to me! You should have asked me first!"

Helena fingers curled around the small silk purse with what little remained of her worldly wealth, a mere twenty-five crescents, and smiled sympathetically at her only remaining child. "My darling, I did this for your good as well as my own. Your father has squandered away all our savings, your dowry, even Lincoln's inheritance—"

"Lincoln is dead, Mother!" Sophya snapped. "And now, Father hates me!" She wept wretchedly into her hands.

"He doesn't hate you," Helena said gently as she reached across the carriage towards her.

Sophya slapped her hand away. "Then why did he let you take me away?"

'Because I gave him all of my savings to divorce me and let you go.'

Helena took in a deep breath and exhaled. "Because he knows as well as I do, this is what's best for you, Sophya."

"What's best? Where are we going, Mother? We don't have any money. You don't have a title—I barely have one. Asher won't want me. He—" she broke off as she looked out the window.

The carriage turned through the open entrance gates. Iron wheels rolled along the gravel road that led them to a familiar Manor that stretched across a well-groomed lawn with manicured gardens and two water fountains.

"Mother—" Sophya clutched the carriage door as she craned her neck to look out and confirm their location, "—why are we at the Winslet Manor?"

"To finalize your engagement to Lord Asher and ensure your future as Winslet's next Baroness," Helena explained with a patient smile.

‘I will not let Josiah ruin your future the way he did mine.’

"What?" Sophya sat back, her face suddenly pale. "Seriously, Mother! Have you gone mad?" She moaned and buried her face in her hands. "Turn us around! His mother didn't want me before she'll only laugh and kick us out now."

"I may not have a title, but I am still the daughter of a Viscount," Helena said sternly. "And you are my daughter. Besides, I've already informed her of our visit." She reached over to take Sophya's hands and pulled them away from the girl's tear-stained face. "Now, clean yourself up. We must not give Lady Florence any cause to find fault with you."

"You’ve gone mad, haven't you Mother," Sophya said wearily as she accepted Helen's offered handkerchief and dried at her face. "What did I do to deserve this humiliation?"

"Hush now, child, no more tears," Helena murmured reassuringly. "Your Mother has everything handled; you should trust me more."

Sophya laughed bitterly and continued to sniffle into the handkerchief. Helena pulled out a small powder mirror to check her pale reflection, tired brown-hazel eyes, and tidy her ash-blonde hair. Then, with a nervous hand against her empty stomach, she straightened her spine and raised her chin.

‘There is no shame in knowing my worth—I am still a Gilwren.’

The carriage driver opened the door and assisted them down without comment. Helena swept forward confidently across the gravel and up the steps towards the manor.

Sophya, with an anxious look at the driver, hastened after her. "Mother," she hissed frantically. "You forgot to pay him!"

"It has already been handled," Helena said as she took Sophya's hand and held it firmly. "Chin up, eyes forward, and smile."

❆❆❆❆❆

Sophya watched with trepidation as Helena reached up and banged the copper door knocker. A moment later, an elderly butler appeared and inclined his head in recognition.

"Lady Helena, Lady Sophya, please come in. The Baroness is waiting for you."

Sophya stiffened when he addressed Helena by her formal title. ‘Do they not know? I suppose word has not yet reached them about the divorce. But we can’t exactly hide it either!’ She kept her lips sealed as the butler led them further inside the Winslet Manor.

As always, the difference in family wealth was noticeable, one of many reasons Sophya was too ashamed to ever invite the baroness or Asher to Turnbell Manor. Today would surely be the last day she'd ever be permitted across the threshold. Sophya bit her trembling lips and mourned her rapidly fading dream of one day being mistress of this beautiful home.

'Will they even let me say goodbye to Asher?'

Despair and anguish threatened to break free as Sophya turned away from Helena’s worried gaze to fan her face. The butler stopped and knocked on a closed set of double doors.

"Come in!" commanded the all too familiar dominating female voice.

Sophya tensed, but Helena rubbed her arm reassuringly as the butler opened the doors and prededed them into the drawing-room.

"Lady Helena and Lady Sophya are here to see you, Baroness."

"Thank you, Jasper. I will see them both now."

Helena pulled Sophya along with her as she swept into the room and inclined her head respectfully to Lady Florence. Sophya hastily dipped a curtsey beside her mother and glanced hesitantly at the baroness.

Lady Florence was older than Helena, with gray already appearing in her chestnut-brown hair. Her plump lips, which only ever smiled at her son, remained expressionless as she surveyed them both with rapidly calculating gray-blue eyes.

"Ladies," Florence greeted as she set her cup of tea aside. "Please—do be seated."

The Baroness gestured gracefully to the cushioned sofa that faced the regal chair upon which she sat. Sophya and Helena took their seat while Florence glanced down at the open letter in her lap.

"I assume you have news for me, Lady Helena?" Florence inquired curiously.

"Indeed, I do, Lady Florence," Helena replied as she folded her hands gracefully. "I am divorced as of this morning. You need not address me as Lady of anything anymore."

Sophya strangled on a gasp as she stared at her mother, horrified. 'Is she trying to get us tossed out immediately?'

"I must say—I'm very touched at the extents of your efforts to ensure your daughter's happiness, Lady Helena," Florence murmured as she folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope. "And I applaud your bravery. To choose divorce so soon after losing your son—I can only imagine what a difficult time this has been for you both."

Sophya gaped at the Baroness in complete confusion. 'What is going on? She has never been this kind before. Was this sudden sympathy genuine?'

"Then," Helena said hesitantly. "I hope you won't think me too forward if I ask whether you have decided on the matter of Lord Asher’s engagement?"

Florence raised an eyebrow and chuckled, “How very forward of you, Lady Helena. But it would be unkind of me to delay my answer after you have traveled all this way.” She turned her gaze towards the butler. “Jasper, you may fetch my son now. Since my decision concerns him as well."

"Yes, Baroness." The butler bowed and left the room.

Sophya turned towards Helena, wanting desperately to ask—yet equally terrified her last remaining hope would soon be snatched away.

Helena smiled at her reassuringly and continued to hold Sophya’s hand tightly.

A few tense moments later, Asher appeared. The handsome young baron with his mother’s chestnut curls bowed respectfully to the baroness before extending a warm, affectionate smile to Sophya as he greeted them both. "Lady Helena, I am so sorry for your loss. Lincoln was an admirable lad and shall be missed. Lady Sophya—" he knelt beside her and took her free hand "—I know you must feel his absence, especially."

"Thank you," Sophya whispered hoarsely. It felt like an eternity since she had last seen those ocean-blue eyes, his boyish dimpled cheeks, and that heroic chin and jawline. She could feel the tears burning down her cheeks as she soaked in Asher’s gaze and face—perhaps for the last time.

“My sweet Lady, your distress pains me,” Asher murmured as he swiftly provided a handkerchief, squeezed her fingers around it gently, then stepped back and moved to the baroness’s side. "Mother.” Asher bent down and kissed her cheek. "You summoned me?"

"Lady Helena has just divorced her husband—that dreadful peddler, Lord Josiah," Florence explained with a note of satisfaction. "Not that he was much of a businessman, husband, or father, I imagine."

Sophya inhaled sharply, a protest on her lips, but Helena yanked her hand with a warning glare.

"Indeed?" Asher turned towards Helena with a curious expression. "Then, I suppose—congratulations are in order, Lady Helena."

"Please," Helena murmured. "I no longer own a title, so there is no need to address me so formally."

"If you are to be mother-in-law to the Winslet's future Baron and Baroness, you will need to retain your status, such as it is," Florence replied with a quick smile.

"Mother?" Asher turned towards the baroness in surprise.

Sophya hiccupped and clutched her throat. Embarrassment and the flicker of hope trembled within her numb chest.

"Then—" Helena said cautiously "—may we have your answer?"

Florence held out her hand, and Asher hastened to assist his mother from her seat. The baroness glided regally towards Helena and Sophya as the pale mother and daughter rose stiffly from the sofa to greet her.

Sophya flinched as Florence swept her into a gentle embrace.

"You have had a harrowing ordeal child, but your mother's courage and foresight have carried you through it," Florence said firmly. "Be grateful to her."

The baroness drew back and patted the young woman’s cheek. Sophya could only nod meekly in reply.

"Mother, are you—saying yes?" Asher said, with a note of disbelief and hopefulness.

"Well, since my opinion is so important to you," Florence replied with a wink to her son. "Then, yes, I will make your engagement official after the mourning period for Lincoln has passed."

"Mother!" Asher rushed forward to kiss Florence's cheek enthusiastically.

Sophya gave a tiny squeak when he kissed her lips and embraced her tightly. Her mind spun as she clung to his strong arms and looked past him to where Florence and Helena stood holding hands. The baroness offered a handkerchief to her mother, who appeared to be crying happy tears.

'She said yes—but why? Why now?’

"Welcome to my home, Lady Helena," Florence said as she took Helena’s arm and guided her away from the young couple. "But just to be sure—" Florence leaned in closer with a somber expression, "—other than the half-blood, there will be no more family embarrassments to worry about in the future?"

Helena lowered the handkerchief as her lips drew into a thin line. "No, of course not, Baroness."

[B1] Chapter 70: The Treachery of History

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Chapter 70: The Treachery of History

Ivy had never felt more like a fraud than she did sitting in Percy’s carriage. It wasn’t just the new, fashionable, surprisingly well-tailored, mint-green dress that Percy had obtained for her to wear. Nor was it the jealous looks the other Hawthorne maids had given her when Percy offered his arm to escort her outside to the carriage.

It was how easily Ivy remembered the lessons of her childhood. How quickly the habits of being a noble returned the moment her fingers touched the luxurious silk skirts, laced bodice, and sleeves.

‘A slave would never be permitted to ride in the same carriage as their master—let alone enter the palace.’

Ivy still remembered her mother’s slave, Mop. Molly was her real name, but Lady Miranda had changed it to Mop because “it suits her hair and will remind her of her place.” Mop had offered no protest, but even now, Ivy’s cheeks burned with the shame the slave woman must have felt.

Mop had worked for nothing and was fed only the scraps from their table. The dress they had bought her in was the only piece of clothing Mop owned. It soon grew tattered and soiled until even Lord Koresh had protested. “We are her owners. It is our responsibility to feed and clothe her.”

Ivy remembered feeling relieved for Mop when Koresh returned the next day with three simple but pretty dresses. Mop had been given the day off to eat, rest, and bathe. The next day, Ivy’s father returned to the palace, Ivy returned to her lessons with her etiquette tutor, and Mop received the first of many beatings from Ivy’s mother for the sin of “lust.”

They stopped at the first checkpoint at the outskirts of the capital. Ivy stiffened as knights circled the carriage. She flinched at every sound as she waited for them to throw open the carriage door, drag her out, and arrest her for daring to pass herself off as a noble.

Opposite of her, Percy crossed and uncrossed his legs, his brows furrowed in thought as he played with the signet ring on his left hand. When a knight knocked on the window to check their identity, Percy turned towards him with a polite but cold smile.

“Saints blessing to you, my Lord.” The knights saluted him and waved them through without so much as a glance at Ivy.

By her third checkpoint, Ivy accepted that her presence was of little importance. She fidgeted with the fabric of her white gloves, grateful her calloused skin and worn fingernails were hidden from view, and focused on the object of their visit.

It had been three days since Ivy had last seen her mistress. Three draining, dark days of worrying over Gus and Maura in turn. If it hadn’t been for Percy’s insistence, Ivy might have exhausted herself by Gus’s side right up until the moment of departure. Instead, she had gone to bed just after nightfall and slept so soundly another maid had to shake her awake this morning and help her get dressed.

"You look nervous," Percy observed, breaking the silence of their journey.

"I've—never been to the palace," Ivy said hesitantly.

“Oh? I suppose you were still quite young when your father worked there,” Percy murmured as he tilted his head. “He was a chronicler, I believe.”

“Yes,” Ivy replied softly, then cleared her throat and lowered her gaze.

Percy studied her for a long moment and then resumed his silent observation out the window.

Ivy turned and stared into the distance where the fortress walls of Lafeara’s Royal Castle became clearer with each passing minute.

As a child, her father had promised to take her to the palace one day. Lord Koresh had just become an official himself then, and a world of promise lay before him as the newest royal chronicler.

“What is a chronicler, Papa?”

“Well, my little bunny. A chronicler is someone who sits in a room with history and writes it all down.”

“How do you do that?”

“Ivy, stop pestering your father,” Lady Miranda said as she set down her prayer book.

“It’s fine, dear,” Lord Koresh interjected. “Ivy has a sharp mind. Maybe one day, she will follow me into the palace.”

“That den of wolves? She’d be far better off entering the nunnery.”

Lord Koresh’s smile tightened as he regarded his wife without comment. Then he turned back to Ivy and scooped her up into his lap. “As a royal chronicler, I observe the House of Lords and the Royal Family and record their every word and action.”

“You have to write it all down?”

“Every single bit of it.”

“Even if they do something bad?”

“I record the truth, no matter how ugly or cruel.”

“But what if they don’t want you to write something down?”

“Well, then they burn what they don’t want history to remember.” Koresh smiled and tapped his forehead. “But they can’t burn what’s in here.”

“They can try,” Miranda commented sourly. “And you should not tell a child such things.”

Ivy stared wide-eyed from her mother to her father and threw her arms around Koresh’s neck. “I don’t want them to burn Papa!”

Koresh stiffened for a moment, but then he hugged her back gently and chuckled. “No need for tears, little bunny. Your Papa will be just fine…”

"Are you worried about Lady Maura?" Percy asked.

Another checkpoint flashed past as Ivy looked up with an apologetic smile and straightened her posture. “Ah, yes—I will feel better when I see her again.”

Years of watching her young mistress battle and prevail against the Turnbells had shown Ivy Maura’s adaptability and tenacity. If anyone was capable of outshining the other noble family daughters, it was her mistress.

‘How little she needs me now.’

Regret and loneliness ached beneath her chest as the fortress walls closed in on them. The royal family seal—embellished on the banners, knight’s shields, capes, and even the stone sculpture that adorned the gate itself—glared down at her. Three wolves tearing into each other as they formed a circle of power.

The fear at the back of Ivy’s throat hardened as she recalled the first time she had seen that seal on her father’s death notice weeks after he had been imprisoned for treason. The carriage wheels rattled as her fingernails dug into her arms, and the jaws of the wolves’ den opened to devour them.

❆❆❆❆❆

"Congratulations, Baroness!"

Carina flinched as Tiffany squealed into her ear. After receiving an unexpected mission from the Crown Princess, she and the other ladies-in-waiting had been released to retrieve their belongings from the Lily Palace and then settle into their new rooms at the Rose Palace.

"I can't imagine receiving a title at only sixteen,” Tiffany continued to gush. “Even the Lords of nobility must wait until they are Twenty to inherit their parent's title. Oh my, but what will your parents think? I expect they’ll just explode with shock and pride!”

Carina smiled weakly even as the image of Josiah and Sophya’s faces, simultaneously exploding with rage, filled her imagination.

Evelynn sat across from them in the Crown Princess’s carriage with her arms folded. Only the sharp tap of her fingernail against the base of her fan gave away her displeasure as Tiffany prattled on and on about Carina’s promotion.

Carina didn't have much to say herself. If anything, it felt like her mind might explode from the number of surprises she had encountered since breakfast.

First, the Dowager’s move to recruit Carina, a problem she still had to resolve in the future. Then Lord Josiah and Lady Helena’s divorce, which had not happened in Maura’s previous life and had almost sabotaged all of Carina’s future plans.

Eleanora had quickly solved that problem by making Carina a Baroness. The Oath of Loyalty Carina had given in exchanged seemed like mere lip service, until Carina found herself tasked with helping the Crown Princess conceive an heir by drugging Lafeara’s future King—a crime punishable by death.

Carina rubbed her neck and sighed. She had considered such an option before while drafting her plans for the future but quickly ruled it out. For one, she had no intention of dying to save Eleanora’s position as queen. Also, the Crown Prince’s meals were closely monitored by his exclusive royal staff and his bodyguard, Captain Beaumont.

Even if Carina succeeded in administering the drug, the odds of Nicholas not noticing—and the punishment anyone connected with such a deception would face—was not worth the risk.

‘Just because they sleep together once doesn’t mean Eleanora will get pregnant either. The Crown Princess is too reckless; I’ll have to find another way to convince her. The last thing I came here to do was set myself up to die the same way Maura did.’

Carina rolled her neck and tried to ignore the wave of fatigue that washed over her. She hadn’t exactly slept well lately, even with Ghost's dagger under her pillow. The Selection was finally over with her position beside Eleanora secured, but Carina could not ignore the fact that a priest and witch hunter were still on her trail.

‘I’ll look for Stitcher later and see if he’s heard any news from Ghost.’

"We're here!" Tiffany sang as the carriage pulled up in front of Lily Palace. She practically glowed with joy and relief as she reached for the door handle.

Evelynn’s fan jabbed into Tiffany’s chest as she rose and shoved the startled girl back into her seat. "Don't get ahead of yourself," the older girl snapped as she opened the door and took the footman's offered hand.

“What—” Tiffany blinked and composed herself. “Of course, I-I should have let her go first. You should go ahead too, Baroness.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Carina replied as she stared after Evelynn’s retreating figure. “We’re all the Crown Princess’s ladies-in-waiting. While we serve the same mistress, we share equal status.”

“I’m—not sure Lady Evelynn would agree with you on that.” Tiffany smiled and shook her head. “But I am so grateful the Crown Princess chose you and not that awful Lady Meredith.”

After one more attempt to get Carina to disembark first, Tiffany gave up and stepped down from the carriage. Sir Malcolm appeared from behind the gate to sweep her up into a hug.

Tiffany squealed and beat him half-heartedly with her fan. “Put me down—you’re embarrassing me!”

“I can’t believe you did it! Father and Mother will be so proud!” Malcolm said as he set Tiffany back down on her feet.

“Could you sound less surprised?” Tiffany sniffed but linked her arms in his as they chatted their way towards the palace doors.

Carina watched them silently. For a moment, she saw not the Clemont sibling’s golden-blonde hair but the scarlet hair of Sophya and Lincoln, arm in arm, supporting each other.

‘So that is what it's like to have family on your side.’

[B1] Chapter 71: The Color of Desire

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Chapter 71: The Color of Desire

It took Carina a moment to find the energy to stand. The last thing she had expected after successfully becoming Eleanora’s lady-in-waiting was to feel tired and alone. She waited until the Clemont siblings had gone a safe distance down the path before opening the door. The footman stepped forward instantly and helped her down. Carina thanked him and tested her injured foot against the gravel path.

Even with the secure bandage and her shoe, her ankle still wobbled every few steps. Carina sucked in her bottom lip as she attempted to rein back her frustration. She could feel the tightly wound ball of nerves in her gut constricting with each near tumble.

“Patience is the key to victory.” Countess Constance’s words rippled through her as Carina straightened her spine and continued forward slowly. Her body felt heavy and fatigued. Her mind as scattered as the chessboard of plans she had so carefully arranged. ‘Focus, I just need to focus.’ But the next step eluded her as the sun beat down and the path before her stretched forward like an endless nightmare.

"Lady Maura!"

Carina stiffened, unable to believe her ears, then turned slowly towards the familiar voice.

"My Lady!" Ivy rushed towards her; arms outstretched. Before Carina could blink free from her daze, she was wrapped in the warm comfort of an old friend.

"Ivy?"

"Yes, silly." Ivy pulled back. Her jade-green eyes shown with tears that spilled down her cheeks even as she smiled and laughed. "Who else would it be?"

Carina took in a ragged breath and then hugged Ivy fiercely. She buried her uncertainty and fears in the nostalgic scent of Ivy's honey-blonde hair—the smell of home.

'Why couldn't it always be like this? Just me and Ivy. No more plans, no more revenge, no more constantly looking over my shoulder and waiting for the future to change.'

No sooner had she thought the words—then a cold chill tightened around her heart painfully.

"I missed you too," Ivy murmured as she patted Carina’s back. "And someone else is here to see you."

Carina blinked slowly and looked over Ivy's shoulder. For a moment, all she saw was Maura’s pale ghost, who stared back at her with soulless eyes. Then the pain in her chest lifted, the sunlit garden path emerged, and Percy stood before her with a soft smile and a bouquet of coral-colored roses. "Lord Percy?"

Ivy stepped back and wiped her tears as the Earl moved closer. "I assume congratulations are in order, Lady Maura,” Percy said with a confident smile as he held out the roses. “Not that I ever doubted you.”

Carina hesitated. Her tired ice-blue eyes hovered over the vibrant red-orange colors questioningly as her mind flipped habitually to the pertinent information. Coral roses had a dual meaning. While they might innocently imply Percy’s intentions to celebrate her success, coral was also the color of desire and secret affection.

‘But—surely, it is simply the former.’

Keenly aware of Ivy's gaze that bounced between them with excitement, Carina accepted the bouquet. The roses smelled heavenly as she brushed her nose against them and inhaled their refreshing fragrance.

"They are lovely, thank you, Lord Percy. And yes—" she met his winter-gray eyes with a satisfied smile "—I am officially lady-in-waiting to Crown Princess Eleanora."

"Oh, Maura!" Ivy gasped. She squealed and embraced Carina again, nearly crushing the roses as Carina’s ankle gave out beneath the unexpected weight.

Percy caught them both and held onto Carina’s waist as Ivy backed away hastily.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean too—"

"It's fine," Carina cut in with a tense smile. She attempted to place weight on her ankle again, but it caved almost instantly.

“Oh, no!” Ivy gasped as she covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry! I—”

"No, Ivy—I hurt my ankle early on during the Selection—while dancing. This isn’t your fault,” Carina explained hastily.

"What?" they both replied with varying degrees of shock.

"It's nothing. It is getting better.” Carina tried again to put weight onto her ankle, and again it failed to support her. “Okay, it was getting better—”

Percy scooped her up quickly with a reproachful glare. “You shouldn’t be walking alone with an injury like this,” he stated sharply. “And if the Selection is over, why aren’t you resting?”

"We were sent to collect our things," Carina explained coldly, annoyed by his tone.

"That is a task for servants!" Percy snapped as he spun towards Lily Palace. "Miss Ivy, will you assist me in collecting Lady Maura's belongings?"

"Of course!" Ivy answered as she hastily followed them. Carina glanced over at her, anxious to reassure Ivy—only to find her former maid smirking quite happily behind them.

'What is she so delighted about?’ Carina clenched her jaw and suppressed a groan as she glared into her armful of roses. ‘Damn you, Captain Beaumont, this is all your fault!’

The palace maids looked up in surprise as Percy entered through the front doors with Carina in his arms.

"Where is Lady Maura's room?" the Earl demanded. His sharp tone quickly sent the maids scrambling to bow before him.

"If you please, my Lord, I can lead the way," one of the older maids suggested hesitantly.

Percy nodded and followed her to the staircase. Carina buried her face behind the roses as more eyes peered curiously over the railing above.

‘As if a half-blood becoming the crown princess’s lady-in-waiting and Baroness wasn’t enough to fuel gossip—now this!?’

They swept down the second-floor hallway like some grand procession as the servants scrambled to clear a path and gawked after them silently. Tiffany, who stepped out of her room with a plate of cookies, coughed out a mouthful of crumbs when she caught sight of them.

‘Well, I suppose it can’t get much worse.’

A bang came from ahead of them in the hall. Carina lowered the roses cautiously and caught sight of a pale Evelynn, who glared in their direction with a small pile of books scattered at her feet.

"Lord Percy," Evelynn greeted through clenched teeth. Her hazel eyes flashed like a viper about to strike as they settled in on Carina. “What are you—”

"Lady Evelynn," Percy replied coldly as he continued past her without the slightest hesitation.

'I was wrong—it definitely just got worse.'

[B1] Chapter 72: The Shackles of Pride

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Chapter 72: The Shackles of Pride

"Lord Percy!" Evelynn greeted, her gaze accusing as it shifted from Percy to Maura in his arms. “What are you—”

"Lady Evelynn," he cut her off coldly, not caring for her tone and continued forward—but he didn’t miss the way Maura tensed in his arms. He frowned as he focused on the maid who stopped in front of a door on the right.

“Here we are, my Lord.”

Percy nodded curtly, then stared at the maid pointedly, expecting her to open the door.

“It’s locked,” Maura explained bluntly as she shifted the roses in her arms. “Could you set me down please so I can get my key.”

The harshness of her tone caught him off guard. ‘Why was she upset?’ Still, he complied with her wishes and stepped back as Ivy moved forward to support her mistress.

Maura pulled a key from her small handbag, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. “Thank you for your assistance, Lord Percy.”

Once more, the coldness of her tone grated against him as Ivy guided Maura into the room. Ivy shot him a confused look but quickly refocused on Maura, who was having difficulty staying upright.

‘Is it possible that Maura has misunderstood something?’

Frustration cut through Percy as he took a step forward—then stopped at the threshold of the room. There were too many eyes, and he could hear all too well the pair of footsteps headed sharply in his direction.

“Lord Percy!” Lady Evelynn stopped, so close beside him that Percy could hear the annoying sound of her breath as it hissed between her teeth.

Percy half-turned in her direction as the fingers of his left hand curled around the door frame.

Maura murmured something to Ivy, who returned to the doorway, and with an apologetic look at Percy, shut the door between them quietly.

Percy’s fingers curled into a fist as he withdrew his hand. He stepped back as Evelynn promptly moved between him and Maura’s door. The disapproval in her light-hazel eyes only made his knuckles pop with irritation.

"What?" he snapped.

"What?!" Evelynn echoed sarcastically. Her eyes widened in disbelief. "What are you doing carrying around that half-blood when you're about to be officially engaged to me!"

‘Veles Breath. So you’re the reason Maura’s behaving this way.'

Percy ran a hand down his cheek and jaw as he took another step back and inhaled slowly. Annoyance, anger, and temperance battled within him. Evelynn wisely remained at a distance though she raised her chin slightly higher as if daring him to make a scene.

'Because she knows that even I can’t afford to make a scene inside the palace.’

Percy unclenched his jaw and offered his signature smile, which was enough to make Evelynn shiver and drop her gaze.

"It seems there is a matter we need to discuss, Lady Evelynn,” he observed coldly. “Perhaps you’d care to join me in my carriage? I had planned on paying my cousin, Crown Princess Eleanora, a visit while I was in the palace after all.”

"I—I have other things to do right now," Evelynn said timidly. “I still have to pack.”

"Oh, but surely the palace servants can handle that," Percy replied as he stepped towards her. Evelynn bumped into the door just as his fingers circled her right wrist. “And the sooner we clarify the matter between us, the better.”

He turned, pulled her along behind him down the hall, and glared at the servants who gawked at them as they passed. The palace staff hastily resumed their duties or took cover inside the candidate’s rooms. Even the blonde-haired strumpet quickly turned and fled with her plate of cookies, leaving a trail of crumbs behind her.

"Lord Percy!" Evelynn hissed as they descended the steps. “You are going too—Oh!” She tripped and stumbled against his back. He steadied her and dragged her on as soon as Evelynn regained her feet. "Lord Percy!" she begged.

The ballroom flashed past them, with even more servants, and then they were outside. Evelynn whimpered but held her tongue as the Hawthorne carriage driver and footman bowed politely and opened the carriage door.

Percy assisted the pouting woman inside, gave the driver his orders, then climbed in and shut the door.

"You didn't have to be so forceful!" Evelynn hissed, tears brimming against her lashes as she rubbed her wrist. "You could have asked me nicely. Is this how you intend to treat your fiancé—"

"You are not my fiancé."

Evelynn flinched as the carriage pulled forward. She blinked rapidly and wiped a tear from her cheek as she hastily composed herself. "No—but I will be—"

"Let me make myself perfectly clear," Percy continued mercilessly as he leaned back and crossed his arms and legs in an effort to restrain himself. "You will never be my fiancé."

Evelynn gasped softly. Her hand fluttered to her throat as she swayed weakly to the side as if to faint. But Percy had seen this performance many times before and made no move to assist her.

Evelynn caught herself against the cushion, took a deep breath, and straightened with a reproachful glare in his direction. "Lord Percy, do you honestly think you can just end this because of a half-blood?"

"There is nothing to end because there was never anything between us," Percy replied with a shrug.

"But our parents have agreed! The Dowager has even given us her blessing!"

"All premature and useless without my consent," Percy reminded her with a malicious smile.

Evelynn shook her head incredulously. “But I am a perfect match for you! The right title and bloodline, but not too much power to draw unwanted political attention. That is exactly what you need to maintain the Hawthorne’s power and position.”

“Maintain?” Percy echoed with a mocking smile. “The right bloodline?” He snorted as he plucked a handkerchief from his jacket and wiped the hand that had held her wrist. “I have no intention of polluting the Hawthorne bloodline with that of a smuggler.”

“My grandfather was not—”

"Your father should have dropped this matter the first time I turned him down, but instead, he went behind my back to the Countess. A waste of flattery and effort as I have no intention of obeying Mother in this matter. You, Lady Evelynn, will never be Countess of Hawthorne."

"You really think you have enough power to defy the Dowager?" Evelynn shot back with a sneer. "Even if you are the Earl of Hawthorne, she won't forgive you so easily."

"Unlike the Crown Prince. I know when to cave to a woman's demands and when to stand firm."

Evelynn’s smile faded as the carriage pulled through the Rose Palace gates. Uncertainty replaced confidence as her face grew pale. Her unfocused gaze swept towards the door as the carriage stopped.

"I trust there will be no more misunderstandings like this in the future," Percy said bluntly as he opened the door. "I would hate for malicious rumors to ruin your chances of a happy marriage with someone else, Lady Evelynn." He stepped down and didn’t bother to assist her from the carriage.

"Don't patronize me!" Evelynn shouted after him as the footman hastened to assist her.

Percy laughed as he continued down the path, purposefully lengthening his strides, which forced Evelynn to run after him.

"Don't do this to me, Percy," she pleaded as she clung to his arm. "Don't do this to my family."

"Those who dare to climb beyond their position must be willing to risk the fall if they fail.” Percy pushed her hands away as they entered the foyer.

"Cousin!" Eleanora said with a hint of surprise as she descended the stairs, dressed more like a soldier than a crown princess.

‘Honestly, was she trying to fit in at all as Nicholas’s wife?’

Percy shook himself and cleared his throat. "Your High—"

His greeting was cut short as Evelynn flung her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his startled mouth.

❆❆❆❆❆

"These dresses!" Ivy said with a sigh as she removed the spring blue gown from the wardrobe and ran her fingers timidly down the sheer cloudy lace that adorned the bodice. "They're too beautiful to wear."

Carina laughed as she took the dress and held it beneath Ivy's chin. "You should pick one," she suggested quickly. "I'll have it altered for you. We're almost the same size now," she added with a wink.

"My little mistress has grown," Ivy confirmed with a proud smile. "And now she has become a court lady." She looked down at the gown and sighed. "But such dresses are not meant for slaves like me, my Lady."

"You won't be a slave for much longer," Carina promised as she added the dress to her chest.

"Even then, I will just be a commoner who was once a slave."

Carina sighed as she grabbed the last dress from her closet. "Don't let the titles others give you limit your happiness." She turned and handed the dress to Ivy. "Afterall, I will always be a half-blood, but I still made my way into the palace."

Ivy smiled ruefully and shook her head. "I do not have your cleverness, my Lady."

"Cleverness does not always bring happiness."

Ivy’s smile faded as she folded the dress. She placed it in the chest and shut the lid. "Are you not happy here?"

Carina laughed at the worried look on Ivy’s face. She took the older girl’s hand and hopped over to the bed, where they sat together upon the soft blankets. "I am happier here than I was at Turnbell Manor."

Ivy smiled with relief, but a shadow still lingered in the dark circles under her eyes.

"What's wrong?" Carina asked quickly. "In all the excitement, I didn't notice at first—but you look overly tired."

"It's—it's Gus, Miss," Ivy murmured.

Carina tightened her grip on Ivy's hand. "What happened?"

"After you left. Lady Sophya and Lord Josiah—they whipped him."

"No—"

"But Lord Percy saved him!" Ivy added swiftly. "He all but threw your family out on the streets! He took away the servants, slaves, and the estate—though the Countess made him give the Manor back. He even took Josiah's business."

"Wait—What?" Carina gasped, trying to follow Ivy's rapid conversation.

"And Gus is getting better. His fever broke this morning, so the doctor, Mr. Hayes—the same one who looked after us—he says Gus will be fine now. He'll be on his feet in a few weeks or sooner as long as he gets rests and proper care."

"Oh, Ivy!" Carina whispered as a tear ran down her babbling friend's cheek.

"He's strong, Miss," Ivy continued as she hastily wiped the tear away. "I’ve been praying—I don’t know what else to do—I’ve been so afraid—"

"Shh!" Carina pulled her into a hug. "You have been so brave!"

"I wasn't—I didn’t know what to do without you—I really thought he might die!" Ivy sobbed.

Carina closed her eyes and tried to hold back the fists of pain and guilt that hammered at her chest. "I'm sorry," she choked out. "I thought he would be safe. I thought the Countess would get him out before anything happened."

"We don't blame you, Miss!" Ivy’s muffled voice protested quickly. "We would never blame you."

'You won't, but I will—because I will always know I could have prevented this—even if it came at a cost.'

[B1] Chapter 73: The Shadow of Grief

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Chapter 73: The Shadow of Grief

Ghost stared across the vacant rooftops of the slums with wary trepidation. A scattered murder of crows watched him from the broken chimneys as smog rolled across the patched rooftops of mismatched brick, thatch, and even tattered blankets that attempted to keep out the elements. Above the gloomy district, summer rain clouds added their own ominous canvas. And yet, no matter how far or long he searched the wretched landscape before him, not a single member of the Fox Den was visible.

'It's not like Alex to pull his eyes from the street like this.'

The black crow beside him emitted a mangled screech as Ghost leaned over the edge of the roof to check the alleyways below. The uneasy breeze hurled specs of straw across the empty mud-splattered street. Even the usual vagrants and drunks were suspiciously absent.

Ghost climbed down by way of a broken ladder, which only reached the mid floor of the three-story building. He lowered himself to its last rung, then swung to the nearest window ledge and steadily descended until he could safely drop to the street below. He landed with a faint grunt, straightened, and scanned the roofs once more. The shadow guards remained discreetly out of sight, but he could sense their magic nearby. He left them to follow as they pleased while he quickened his pace and headed towards the heart of the slums.

The Fox Den's bar came into view, surrounded by a tight circle of armed thugs. Ghost counted twenty as he stepped out of the shadows—more than a few aimed pistols in his direction as he stopped and raised his hands.

“Ghost,” Troy greeted as he walked past the barrier of men and waved them to lower their guns. “Bad time to be lurking about.”

“Apparently,” Ghost muttered as he moved closer to the Fox lieutenant. “Is Alex inside?”

Troy sighed as he hocked his thumbs through his belt. “Yeah, he is.” The mercenary rolled a toothpick around his thin lips, then shrugged and motioned for Ghost to follow him. “I’ll take you to him.”

The protective circle of Foxes glowered even as they yielded a small opening for Troy and the rogue assassin to step through. Ghost could practically taste the anger and unease in the air as he followed his escort past the doorman and halted at the threshold.

Alex sat cross-legged in the middle of the bar. The Fox Master’s bowed head rested against his right hand, while his left clutched the shoulder of the dead man laid out on the stained wooden floor. Two other bodies covered in sheets lay on either side.

Ghost focused in on the corpse's face. With its eyes and lips stitched closed by a black thread, it took him a moment to recognize Darwin. He took another step forward, and Alex looked up.

The Fox Master's coal-black eyes burned with fury as he regarded the ghoul assassin. "Ghost."

Around them, the dimly lit bar lanterns illuminated the masked specters of the Fox Den's elite assassins, who lingered in the shadows, their fury and bloodthirst palpable.

"What brings you?" Alex asked dully.

Ghost shook his head slowly. "It doesn't matter now." He gestured towards Darwin. "What happened?"

"The hell if I know!" Alex snapped and covered his face. "But I will find out."

Ghost stepped closer, cautious of the unfriendly gaze from around the bar. The stench that lingered around the bodies was not just decomposition. Beneath his mask, he drew in a cautious sniff. Then his gaze traveled down Darwin’s chest to the odd lump at the dead man’s torso covered by a sheet. "What is that?"

His question ignited the animosity that coated the air like a deadly vapor. Dark curses broke from the otherwise silent assassins. Two of them stepped from the shadows, their black masks covered in white scratches that marked the number of successful missions they had performed for Alex. These were the Fox Den’s captains. If they had been called back, then the foxes were planning a war.

One of the captains stared at Ghost as his fingers danced idly over a set of knives stitched along the leather binds of his arms. Heat sparked along the hairs of Ghost's neck and arms and coiled in his gut. He suppressed the dangerous magic even as he reached reflexively for his dagger and shifted his stance.

"Stop!" Alex’s command cracked off the walls like a gunshot, and the assassins fell silent. The Fox captain raised his hands submissively and retreated into the shadows. Ghost turned back to the Fox Master as Alex gestured towards the cloth draped over Darwin’s torso. "Why don't you take a look and see for yourself."

Ghost blinked behind the mask. Instinct told him that disturbing Darwin's body in any way might set off the dead man's comrades. And yet—defying Alex at this moment was equally dangerous.

He approached the body with care as he removed the hand from his dagger, knelt, and pulled aside the cloth. It took every ounce of control to stop himself from gagging or pulling away. Behind his mask, Ghost closed his eyes, unable to shut out the image, took a breath, and refocused on the cruelty before him.

A woman's severed head had been attached to Darwin's crotch; her open mouth stitched over his—

Ghost dropped the sheet and stepped back. He had seen enough. "Who—" his stomach flipped unpleasantly, and Ghost took a moment to clamp down his lunch before continuing, "Who is that?"

"That—" Alex said with a heavy sigh, "Would be Rachael. The woman I convinced to act as a decoy for your witch."

And now Ghost understood the resentment being directed towards him from every corner of the bar.

"I don't blame you," Alex said wearily as he rose slowly to his feet. "Afterall, it was my clever idea."

An apology rose to the tip of Ghost's tongue, but he bit it back. Empty words were worthless to men like this. The only thing that would ease their grief was vengeance. "It's not a coincidence—is it?" Ghost asked instead.

"No," Alex confirmed with a shake of his head. "We arranged for Rachael and her husband Marc to come here tonight. Darwin took them to the docks. My men watched from the rooftops, but—I should have sent more men."

"It wouldn't have mattered," Ghost replied bluntly.

A hiss of angry whispers circled the bar as Alex's dark gaze fixated on Ghost.

"A witch did this," Ghost explained with a shrug of his shoulder. ‘A foul soulless bastard from the stench of his magic.’

"You don't say," Alex said with a sneer. "Her—She—That was frozen solid to his parts when I walked into the bar this morning." He circled Darwin's corpse and approached Ghost, who stood his ground warily. "Tell me this wasn't your ice witch."

"It wasn't Ma—" Ghost caught himself. "It wasn't Lady Aconitum."

Alex's tense face tilted as he glared at the blue mask that covered Ghost's face and blocked the Fox Master’s ability to detect if he was lying. "How can you be sure?"

Ghost clenched his jaw shut. As much as he would like to tell Alex the truth, he knew that would likely end their partnership. While the old assassin knew more about Ghost’s past than anyone else in the Fox Den, even Alex didn’t know Ghost was a witch. "You'll have to trust me on this."

The Master of the Fox Den smiled cynically at Ghost but nodded as he turned and walked towards the bar. "I'll believe you—but in return, you'll pass on a message to that ice witch of yours. She is no longer welcome here. From this moment forward—the Fox Den shall not shelter nor protect any witch."

Rumbles of approval circled the room as Alex pulled a bottle of Black Death from behind the bar and poured it into a single glass.

"I will pass on your message," Ghost said as he backed slowly towards the exit.

"And tell her to run," Alex advised coldly then tossed back his drink. "Hells Teeth!” he growled and smashed the glass beneath his fist on the bar. The Fox Master took in a deep, forceful breath as he shook the shards from his hand. “Whoever or whatever did this, they were after her—and I don't want to imagine what they'll do when they find her."

The demon in Ghost snarled in anger and anticipation. "I will find them first," Ghost promised. "And bring you their severed head."

Alex laughed as he raised the green bottle in a mocking salute. “Not if we find them first.”

Another round of approval rumbled throughout the room as the Fox captains piled towards the bar to drink and plot their revenge. Ghost quietly slipped away. He put as much distance between himself and the Fox Den as he could before he signaled the shadow guard.

This was now a race, one he intended to win—if only to save the Foxes and Alex from a massacre.

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There were times Gus felt as if he were laid out on burning coals with a giant boulder pressed against his chest and arms. He flailed helplessly in the dark, for hours on end, unable to move, breathe, or break free.

And then there were times when his body felt weightless, numb, and the fragrance of flowers chased away the smell of his burning flesh. If he could just open his eyes, he knew she would be there.

"Ivy?"

Gravity shifted, and he lurched from darkness into blinding light. A field of wildflowers opened before him like an endless ocean. A woman's voice he barely remembered called his name as she stepped down from the sun's glittering chariot. Her hand beckoned him closer. Her heavenly smile promised him safety and freedom from pain.

"But—what about Ivy?"

The storm clouds crackled behind her as the sun faded, and with it, her smile. The air turned frigid. The flowers shattered and scattered as the woman withdrew her hand, her expression shadowed by grief. Then she shook her head and pointed behind him.

Gus turned on unsteady feet. A white desert awaited his gaze. Not a desert of sand—but a wilderness of snow.

The cold crept through his toes and fingers and spread across his limbs as the storm of petals turned white and clung to his eyelashes, cheeks, and lips before melting away. The strong wind died, but the soft snowfall continued, illuminating the woman in red.

She knelt in the center of the pure white field with her back to him. Her scarlet dress clashed against her snow-white hair and the frozen landscape. She stood slowly, and half turned towards him, but Gus could not see her face, no matter how hard he tried. The surface of it glittered like snow caught under the sun and blinded him.

But he saw what she held in her hand—and the sight of the freshly harvested human heart made his blood run cold. His horror only magnified as his gaze was drawn to the young woman laid out in the snow at the scarlet witch's feet.

Ivy was dressed in white. The sort of white dress he had imagined her wearing a thousand times in his childish dreams. Queen Anne's Lace flowers haloed her blonde hair. Her gentle jade eyes stared unseeingly into the falling snow, and her chest had been ravaged and torn open by a beast.

Gus staggered towards them. A frantic scream ripped free from his chest and howled past his swollen throat, only to be snatched away by the breeze.

The angel at his back restrained him gently. "She cannot be saved."

Gus shook her grip free and plunged forward.

But the closer he got to the witch and Ivy, the heavier his numb limbs became, until his feet froze against the ground, and his body went rigid.

A shadow fell over Gus and loomed across the white snow towards the witch and Ivy. The heavy thud of footsteps shook the earth behind him. A torrent of air rushed past him as the witch turned and smiled. She held out Ivy’s heart, encased in a sheet of ice, and whispered, “Sancte mors est.”

[B1] Chapter 74: The Solace of Friendship

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Chapter 74: The Solace of Friendship

Thankfully, Lily Palace’s head of staff had already arranged a transport carriage to move their belongings. Once the luggage had been loaded, Tiffany, Carina, and Ivy took the Crown Princess’s carriage back to Rose Palace. Both of the new court ladies were grateful not to have to share the ride back with Evelynn, who, along with Percy, was nowhere to be found when it came time to leave.

Carina dismissed them both from her mind as they arrived at Rose Palace. She paid one of the servants who accompanied their luggage to drop off a message at the Knight Compounds for Physician Samael to drop by. Something needed to be done about the instability of her injury. Carina couldn’t continue being carried from place to place for much longer.

‘Something like a brace that can be strapped around my shoe would be the most effective method.’

The head of staff at Rose Palace was Mrs. Poppy. A native of Ventrayna, who had accompanied the Crown Princess and Lady Hana to Lafeara.

“You may just call me Mrs., none of that Lady this or that,” Poppy informed them as she led Tiffany and Carina to their rooms. “In any case, I only take orders from her Highness, so don’t even try to boss me around. And I don’t care if you’re a duchess or a half-blood, if I tell you to do something, you can be sure the words came from the Crown Princess. If you need something done, ask one of the other servants. As far as the Royal Palace goes, I oversee all of her Highness’s meals and needs. Lady Hana will explain your responsibilities in full later.”

Poppy dropped Tiffany off at her room with a servant to help her unpack and then led Carina to the other end of the hall. “You’ll be across from Lady Hana. Her Highness’s room is just at the end of the hall. She requested that you have this room, so no matter what any of the other ladies say, this is your room—even if you are the youngest.” Poppy surveyed Carina critically, with noted attention to her limp. “I suppose you better get in and rest. Lunch will be brought up later, but you will be required to dine with her Highness at dinner.”

“Yes, Mrs. Poppy,” Carina replied obediently.

Poppy unhooked a key from the ring tied to her belt and passed it over to Carina. “This is yours, Lady Maura, don’t lose it. And if you don’t want the servants rifling through your things, keep the door locked. You are expected to maintain and clean the room yourself. Washing is done twice a week after prayer. A servant will collect whatever needs doing the day before, but otherwise should not enter your room without permission.” Poppy turned her gaze towards Ivy and narrowed her eyes. “Today is an exception since we’re busy, but from now on, you’ll need permission to receive guests at Rose Palace. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mrs. Poppy.”

“Get settled in then. The servants will bring up the luggage once they’ve sorted it out.” Poppy nodded sharply and turned down the hall, her key of rings jingling as she strode towards the stairs.

The interior of Carina’s new room was more than double the size of her room in Turnbell manor. The structure and furniture were similar in position and location as the guest room in Lilly Palace, though the new room came with an added window balcony, and a much larger closet and vanity desk. The bed was also much larger in size with canopy draped curtains pulled back and tied to bedposts that almost touched the ceiling. Carina hopped towards the comfortable looking silk blankets as Ivy stood, mouth agape, gazing up at the artistically sculpted and painted ceiling.

“You’ll get a better view from here,” Carina muttered as she slumped back against the deep, soft pillows and rested her feet over the edge of the bed. She regretted lying down the moment her tired muscles relaxed. Like a dam one push away from breaking, all her exhaustion seemed to seep out, and her body went limp.

Ivy leaned over and brushed the ash-brown locks of Carina’s hair from her cheek. “This is the palace, my Lady,” she whispered. “It can not be as it was before.” She took the door room key from Carina’s hand and tucked it into the top drawer of the nightstand.

Carina grimaced and nodded. ‘Of course, I know that.’

“You should rest, I’ll see to the unpacking,” Ivy said as she reached down and unlaced Carina’s shoes.

“Wait,” Carina caught her wrist. “My chest of books—”

“I’ll make sure it arrives,” Ivy answered as she pulled off the first shoe, and then carefully attended to the other injured limb. “You locked it before we left, no one can open it without the key. Now stop worrying and rest.”

Carina sighed as Ivy wiggled the last shoe free from her wrapped ankle and placed both shoes on the floor at the foot of the bed. A knock on the door confirmed the luggage had arrived.

“I’ll wake you when it's done,” Ivy murmured as she unwound the summer blue curtains surrounding the bed and draped her mistress in shadows.

Carina listened as the door opened, and Ivy’s soft but authoritative voice instructed the palace servants where everything was meant to go. The muffled tread of footsteps back and forth soon lulled Carina’s eyes closed. She curled against the pillows, inhaled the fresh fragrance of the recently washed sheets, then stiffened as her hand brushed against something beneath the pillow.

Her fingers wrapped around parchment, and she pulled out an envelope. The wax seal of three wolves circling and devouring each other stared back at her. Carina sat up as she quickly broke the seal and opened the letter.

A single piece of paper with a painted purple rose stared up at her, and beneath it, a single word had been elegantly inscribed. Congratulations.

‘The Dowager? When did she—’

Carina turned and quickly flipped over the other pillows but found nothing else suspicious. She rechecked the letter, sniffed it suspiciously, but detected nothing ominous.

‘Perhaps this is her way of telling me that my oath to Eleanora means nothing and that her offer still stands?’

She tucked the letter inside a pillowcase, resolved to burn it later. Then she slumped back onto the pillow as the footsteps outside the curtains receded, the door shut, and the room grew quiet. “Ivy?”

The curtain pushed back, and Ivy gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, were they too loud?”

“It’s fine,” Carina sat up and smoothed out her dress. “I should be awake in case Physician Samael gets here before lunch.” She glanced about the organized room and sighed as she patted the bed beside her. “Sit, you’re here as my guest, not as my servant.”

Ivy glanced hesitantly towards the closed bedroom door and sank slowly onto the mattress. “I had everything arranged similar to the way you had it in Lilly Palace.”

Carina smiled as she leaned over and rested her head against Ivy’s shoulder. “What am I going to do without you?” She wrapped her hand around Ivy’s as the older girl turned and kissed Carina’s forehead.

“If it gets too hard—you can always ask Lord Percy for help.”

Carina groaned softly and sat up. “The Countess would prefer I kept my distance, and I agree with her.”

“But why?” Ivy asked with an audible pout. “He really does care about you, Maura.”

“He’s engaged,” Carina replied with a dismissive shrug.

“What?”

Carina laughed at Ivy’s startled expression and shook her head. “Most noble lords are married by the time they turn twenty. It only makes sense that the Countess has a suitable wife picked out for him.”

“But—” Ivy broke off as she sucked in a breath and sighed. “I thought the Countess liked you.”

“She treats me well because I am useful to her. Just like how the Crown Princess has given me this room because she intends to make use of me,” Carina corrected even as she glanced towards the pillow with its hidden letter. She turned back to Ivy and repressed a laugh at the dejected expression on her friend's face. “There now, put such silly thoughts from your mind. You should be focused on your own future. If either of us should be worried about marriage—”

“I just find it hard to believe,” Ivy interrupted. “But if Lord Percy really has hidden an engagement from you—from both of us—then I shall never forgive him.” She shook herself and picked up Carina’s hand with a determined expression. “Now—tell me about the Selection.”

Carina recounted her path through the Selection while tactfully ignoring all of Ivy’s inquisitive questions about Lord Acheron and Captain Beaumont. Before either of them knew it, the morning had passed, and a servant knocked at the door. Ivy rose quickly to open it.

“Will you need a tray brought up for lunch, Lady Maura?” The maid at the door asked politely.

“Oh, is it already mid-day?” Ivy moved to the closed balcony doors. “I should probably see if Lord Percy wants to return.”

“I’m afraid that we do have to head back, Lady Maura,” Percy answered as he appeared behind the maid in the doorway. He looked somewhat distracted, and even a bit annoyed as he flicked a glance over about the room and returned his gaze to the servant. “And do bring Lady Maura a meal tray. She will need to rest for the remainder of today,” Percy instructed with a dismissive flick of his hand.

“Yes, my Lord.” The maid curtsied and withdrew.

Carina frowned at his domineering behavior but quickly hid it with a smile as Ivy returned to her side.

"Promise me that you’ll look after yourself and be very, very careful," Ivy urged.

"I will," Carina replied as she took Ivy’s hand, pulled herself up, then embraced her friend tightly once more. "And you must take care of yourself as well. I know you're worried about Gus, but your body still needs time to heal."

"Don't worry. Lord Percy is making sure I rest when needed,” Ivy replied with a subtle nudge and a pointed glance towards Percy.

Carina frowned but relented. ‘I do owe him for saving Gus even if he shouldn’t have meddled in my family’s affairs.’ She turned towards the Earl and offered him a grateful smile. "Thank you, Lord Percy, for looking after Ivy and Gus for me."

"Of course, Lady Maura,” Percy replied quickly with an apologetic smile. "I’m sorry to have to cut your visit short. I hope you won't mind if we drop by later—perhaps when Gus is feeling better?"

"That—" Carina shook her head. "—I might be busy here for a while, but I will try to visit Hawthorne Manor as soon as I can. I owe the Countess a visit and report after all."

‘After today’s events, there will be too much attention on me, and I still have to figure out a way to get Eleanora an heir without drugging Lafeara’s next King.’

"Very well,” Percy replied with a note of disappointment as he adjusted his neck scarf and rubbed at a conspicuous red smear against his collar. “We’ll still have the chance to see each other when I come to visit my cousin in either case.”

Ivy glanced between the two of them as a hopeful smile returned to her face.

‘Damn it, Ivy, stop fantasizing, can’t you see the lipstick mark on his shirt!’

"Well," Percy said reluctantly. "We should probably be heading back, Miss Ivy. For all we know, Gus may have woken up in our absence and be looking for you.”

"Have a safe journey," Carina said brightly as she leaned against the bedpost. "And remember to write, Ivy!"

"I will!" Ivy promised with tears already glistening in her eyes as Percy extended his arm to her.

‘Don’t cry. If you cry—’ Carina locked her smile in place even as her dear friend and the Earl turned and headed down the hall. ‘Be safe and happy for me, Ivy.’

[B1] Chapter 75: Scent of a Witch

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Chapter 75: Scent of a Witch

The carriage rocked gently along the road, and before Ivy knew it, they were once more descending through the dark tunnel towards the capital. She should have felt relieved to be free of that terrifying place, but instead, she felt hollow and guilty for leaving Maura behind—alone.

Percy remained seated stiffly in silence. He hadn’t smiled nor spoken once since they’d left Rose Palace. Then again, he had been oddly absent while Ivy had helped Maura move to her new rooms. More than once, her gaze shifted to the odd red stain on the Earl’s collar as her dreams wilted into disappointed bitterness.

Ivy waited until they reached the other side of the gate tunnel before she broke the awkward silence. "So—Lady Maura tells me you're engaged?"

"I am not!"

Ivy’s heart nearly jumped up the back of her throat as she flinched against her seat. The Earl hadn’t moved, but the tone and weight of his voice had been murderous.

"I'm sorry.” Percy hastily apologized. “It's just—" he gestured at the air in frustration. "There are others who wish to see me engaged to Lady Evelynn, but I have no intentions of caving to their demands."

"I see," Ivy murmured as she pressed a hand against her fluttering heart. She took a breath, cleared her throat, and folded her hands nervously against her lap. Despite his surprising outburst, she was relieved to hear him adamantly deny it, but also wary of speaking further on the matter.

"Perhaps I should have clarified this rumor with Lady Maura before leaving," Percy muttered as he crossed his arms, and let out a frustrated sigh.

"Lady Maura is clever enough to work it out," Ivy replied encouragingly. "And perhaps, in my first letter to her, I might hint at your position regarding Lady Evelynn.”

Percy raised his gaze and offered a crooked smile. "I am grateful for your support, Miss Ivy."

Ivy nodded, content to be of help, and reassured once more in Percy’s affection for her mistress. It was nice to have something positive to focus on while her own future seemed uncertain. Imagining Maura as the next Countess of Hawthorne was as good a dream as any.

The capital rattled lazily past her window as she contemplated seeking a position as Maura’s attendant—or perhaps as governess to Maura’s future children. Ivy had always been fond of children. Even now, her memories of the young, intelligent, but cautious Maura remained as bright and vibrant as ever.

The loneliness Ivy had tried to bury resurfaced as she leaned closer to the window and spotted a familiar shop sign up ahead. ‘Bartimaeus’s Miracle Herb Shop.’

"Wait!" She sat up. "Could we stop here, please!"

Percy knocked his signet ring against the glass window above his head, and the carriage pulled to a halt. The young Earl leaned forward to examine the modest herbal shop that had caught Ivy's eye with uncertainty.

"They sell medicinal herbs here," Ivy explained as she rummaged through her cloth purse for the coins Maura had given her. "I thought perhaps they might have something to help Gus."

"Physician Hayes has already provided more than enough medicine to—" Percy broke off at her hopeful stare and sighed. "Of course, we're already here. What could be the harm in looking?" He opened the door, stepped down, and offered her his hand. "See if they have what you need. I'll pay for it."

Ivy’s heart fluttered as she looked from his gentle winter-grey eyes to his open hand. ‘He's only a kind noble who is being nice to a slave because of her mistress,’ she admonished herself quickly as she placed the tips of her fingers against his open palm.

"You don't have to pay, I have money,” Ivy protested as she stepped down. She pulled her hand away, but Percy caught it and wrapped her arm around his.

"Humor me and don’t worry about the cost, Miss Ivy," Percy repeated as he led her towards the stalls outside the shop.

The closeness of his voice and the warmth of his arm sent a blush to Ivy’s cheeks as she dropped her gaze. More than a few commoners passed by them with admiring looks and whispers, which only added to Ivy’s shame.

She attempted to hide the unsightly cloth purse beneath her ruffled sleeves, embarrassed by the way its poor linen quality clashed against the expensive dress she wore. ‘Why am I so foolish? I know I am not worthy of this dress—or him.’

"Evening my Lord and Lady!" greeted the elderly bearded shopkeeper, seated beside the herb stalls with his pipe. "Bartimaeus is the name. Provider of Miracles and Cures. What might such lovely fine youngsters require today? A cure for headaches, stomachaches, toothaches?" He inhaled on his knotted smoke pipe and blew out a long rope of bitter red vapor. "Perhaps a remedy to help the Master last longer in bed? Or—" his lewd gaze sized up Ivy with a sinister smile "—a potion to help the Lady remove an unwanted bastard?"

"W-what?!" Ivy choked out as she clutched her handbag tightly.

Bartimaeus squinted. His chair squeaked as he leaned forward to examine her face. “Seems to me, you might even be a repeat customer, Miss.”

“Y-you are mistaken!”

“To be sure, the girl I remember was younger, a slave serving as a maid as I recall,” Bartimaeus continued with a musing tone. “Shabby dress, shabby shoes, but good coin.” He eyed her up and down again as he tapped his pipe against the corner of his sinister smirk. “You know, I never forget a face.”

‘This—was a mistake,’ Ivy realized even as she pulled away from Percy’s arm and stepped back.

Bartimaeus eyed her movements with a calculative gleam in his dark-brown eyes and slid the end of the pipe back between his stained black teeth.

“It would appear the Church has been neglectful in its duties,” Percy observed in a casual tone, as he remained unmoving by the herb stalls. “Not only do you claim to sell miracles, but the remedies you offer sound dangerously close to witchcraft.”

Bartimaeus choked on his smoke and scrambled to his feet. "Now see here—" he coughed, "—just herbs, no magic at all. Don't be getting me in trouble with lies like that!"

"Herbs or magic, surely you are aware that The Holy Church and Royal Edict hold the killing of an unborn child as a criminal offense!" Percy reminded him grimly.

"It ain't murder if it ain't breathing." The disgruntled shopkeeper snarled and spat at Percy's feet. "Now, are you here to buy something or just be a nuisance?"

"Perhaps we should leave," Ivy whispered, keenly aware of the gathering crowd of eyes around them.

"I think you're right,” Percy muttered with a disgusted glance at his soiled boot. He turned and wrapped Ivy’s arm gently around his as he led her back towards the carriage.

"Bah! Go ahead and run off then.” Bartimaeus barked after them. “See if you can find another remedy for your little whore's problem."

Percy's grip on Ivy's arm slipped away. She barely registered its absence before she heard a thud followed by a loud bang from behind her. Ivy turned and gasped as the shop table of herbs caved beneath the shopkeeper's weight and crashed to the ground.

Percy straightened and unclenched his fist. The shop door swung open as a middle-aged woman raced outside. She glanced between Percy and the groaning shopkeeper then rushed to Bartimaeus, who rolled onto his side with a groan as blood dripped from his nose onto the herbs below.

"Dad? Dad! What's he done to you?" the woman cried.

"Noble wanker—broke my nose!" Bartimaeus spat as he sat up and fumbled with his bleeding red snout. The shopkeeper’s daughter handed him a handkerchief, which Bartimaeus pressed tenderly to his injury as he turned slowly around to assess the damage to his store. "And look—look at what he’s done to my shop!"

A crowd of onlookers doubled in size as the shopkeeper staggered to his feet.

"It's a wonder you get any business at all with that foul mouth of yours," Percy remarked as he wiped his hand and flung his own dirtied handkerchief on the road. "Consider this payment for insulting the lady."

"Payment?" Bartimaeus leaned heavily on his daughter's arm as he stumbled towards Percy with a threatening finger. "Oh, you will pay up, my Lord." His greedy gaze quickly sized up Percy's garments and the carriage behind him. "And you'll pay handsomely if you don't want this matter taken before the Capital Knights and the Prime Minister!”

Percy scoffed and hid a smile. Ivy eyed the crowd of commoners who grumbled and gestured at the Earl with evident disapproval. “Lord Percy—” She stepped towards him hesitantly.

"You really ought to learn the name of a noble before you threaten him in public," called out a voice from the crowd.

They turned as a priest in charcoal-gray robes walked through the suddenly silent crowd towards them. The holy man's solemn but benevolent gaze swept over the shopkeeper and his daughter with a pitying look. "Forgive them, Earl Hawthorne, they know not whom they offend."

"H-Haw-thorne?" Bartimaeus strained to form the name as his daughter grabbed his arm and dragged him down to his knees beside her.

"A-Apologies, my Lord,” the woman shouted before pressing her forehead to the road. “We beg your mercy!”

Ivy glanced from the trembling father and daughter to the Earl, who seemed to have forgotten both as he narrowed his eyes at the priest.

“What is a priest of Zarus doing in Lafeara?" Percy asked coldly.

"Forgive my boldness, but I am Father Alden," the priest replied with a formal bow. "And regrettably, I've been sent to Lafeara to hunt down a witch." The priest's gaze flickered towards Ivy, who shrank behind Percy.

"My servant is no witch," Percy growled.

"Oh! Pardon me, my Lord!" Father Alden raised his hands with an amused chuckle. "Of course, I would never accuse you or your servant of such a thing. I leave the sniffing out of witches to my hound since his instincts are keener than my own."

The priest gestured behind them, and Percy spun around, nearly knocking Ivy off balance as they came face to face with the man in red robes and armor who stood casually beside Percy's carriage.

The witch hunter’s shrewd electric-blue eyes ran over Percy, then Ivy, and returned to Percy. "So, you're the Earl of Hawthorne?" The cynicism of his tone matched the man’s smile as he stalked towards them and inhaled deeply. "That's a pretty maid you have there, my Lord."

Ivy clutched Percy's arm, and the Earl stepped swiftly in front of her as he stared down the stranger before them. The air seemed to tighten as the crowd scampered to safety, and a flock of crows descended ominously on the rooftops about the street.

"Lord Percy, this is my witch hunter, Sir Nero," Alden said offhandedly as he walked past the quivering shopkeepers towards the broken stalls. "Hmm." Alden knelt to examine the scattered herbs. "Witch Bark, Toadstools, and—ah!" He held up a twisted black vine, "Devil's Root. Most commonly used to terminate early pregnancies."

"I—that—has other uses as well," said Bartimaeus quickly. "Such as—ahem—clearing infections from the lung and—ah—liver."

"Well, I'm no physician, that's for sure," Alden observed wryly. "But I'm sure the Capital Knight's would be interested to hear about the services you tried to offer the Earl and his servant just now."

"No, no!" Bartimaeus laughed nervously, "It was just banter! Harmless fun, nothing serious."

Alden snorted and turned to Percy. "Would you be willing to support my report, Lord Percy?"

Percy, whose gaze remained focused on the witch hunter, shook his head. "I have better things to do with my time."

"Shame," Alden said with a sigh as he tossed the Devil Root at the shopkeeper. "Ready to go, Nero?"

"Not just yet," Nero asserted, his eerie gaze still focused on Ivy. "This one—" he gestured towards the trembling maid, and Percy smacked his hand aside.

"Restrain your hound, or I’ll put him in his place," Percy snarled.

"Easy, Lord Percy," Alden cautioned as he narrowed his eyes at the Earl. "I'm sure Nero is merely curious. Unless—" he glanced at the witch hunter "—you think she is a witch?"

The priest's tone, though indifferent, sapped the strength from Ivy's legs. She clung to Percy's arm for support as the blood ran from her head.

Nero's electric-blue eyes shifted from Ivy to Percy, then to the carriage beside them. He shook his head. "No, she's no witch."

Ivy whimpered with relief.

"Then stop frightening the poor girl," Alden scolded, followed by an exasperated sigh. "Apologies, Lord Percy, sometimes he gets overzealous. We've been after a witch that's proven rather difficult to track down."

"What a shame," Percy muttered with the hint of a sneer. "Well, then I won't delay you from your search any further." He pushed Ivy firmly towards the carriage and opened the door.

"Ah, before you go, Lord Percy!" the priest called after them. "Might you be familiar with a noble Lafearian family that carries the surname Turnbell? Specifically, one that might have had a son who went by the name Lincoln Turnbell?"

Ivy stumbled on the carriage step as Percy all but shoved her through the door. She caught herself against the seat as the Earl turned to face the priest and his witch hunter.

"Doesn't ring a bell," Percy said coldly. "Good day to you, Father Alden."

[B1] Chapter 76: Secrets of a Lady

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Chapter 76: Secrets of a Lady

"I trust you are all moved in and comfortable with your rooms?" Eleanora said as she greeted her new ladies-in-waiting in the foyer. She had changed from her men’s apparel to a light-gold evening gown that shimmered like armor in the candlelight.

"Yes, your Highness," the three newly appointed ladies-in-waiting replied. Carina curtsied carefully behind Tiffany and Evelynn, mindful of her ankle. Stitcher had double wrapped the injured joint earlier that evening. Her inquiry into Ghost’s efforts to throw off the church had yielded only vague answers, and Ghost’s continued request that she remain invisible.

‘Well, I can certainly try to lie low for a few days until this ankle becomes stable again.’

"Shall we have dinner first?” Eleanora murmured with a tired smile; her amber eyes distracted as she fidgeted with one of her heavy, gold diamond earrings. "Unfortunately, Lady Hana still is not feeling well, so I will do my best to provide you with some guidance in her place. I trust you are all hungry?”

"Yes, your Highness.”

"Excellent, then if you'll follow me." Eleanora proceeded to lead them down the hall towards the dining room.

Carina glanced worriedly up the twin stairs case as she passed by. 'I wonder if this is the same illness Hana suffered from before?' She shook her head and followed the other ladies silently. An opportunity would present itself soon enough for her to evaluate Hana’s condition.

The grand dining room was three times the size of the foyer with ample space for a grand piano as well as the long, dark oakwood table that seated ten. A majestic crystal chandelier hung overhead. Its flickering candles illuminated the polished redwood surface below and the purple decorative table runner that ran down the middle.

Eleanora took the seat at the head of the table and gestured to the chair at her right. "This is Lady Hana's chair. Lady Evelynn if you would sit on my left, please."

Evelynn beamed as she stood behind the indicated seat. Only earlier, she had been quite distraught to learn Carina had been given the room closest to Lady Hana and Eleanora’s.

‘Perhaps this is Eleanora’s way of balancing her favor between us.’ Beside Carina, Tiffany sighed worriedly, as she played with her diamond bracelet.

‘Still, it’s to be expected,’ Carina mused. ‘Eleanora may wish for me to be her poisoner, but out of all of us, Viscount Hendrix has the most political support to offer.’

‘Not to mention, Evelynn also has the potential to become the Countess of Hawthorn, which will secure Hendrix’s support in the future.’

"And then Lady Tiffany, if you'd take the seat next to her. Lady Maura, you will be seated next to Lady Hana."

Carina bowed her head respectfully and moved around the table behind her chair. She could feel Evelynn’s cold gaze focused upon her as Eleanora motioned for them all to be seated. The new ladies-in-waiting quietly pulled out their chairs and sat down. 'Just what I needed to start this new journey, a new enemy and an awkward first meal.'

"You ladies are in for a treat. Major Garrett and I stumbled upon a boar early this morning. I shot it myself," Eleanora said with a nod to Mrs. Poppy. "I should warn you that you may find the flavor of the food at Rose Palace different from your traditional Lafearian palate. My chef comes from Vetrayna’s royal kitchen. While he has learned a few popular Lafearian dishes for when we have important guests, he is accustomed to preparing what I hunt or whatever he can dig up in the royal food storage.”

“Your Highness is fond of hunting?” Evelynn asked curiously.

“I shot my first desert rabbit at eight-years-old and my first rebel at ten,” Eleanora replied with a wry smile. “Do any of you ladies care to hunt?”

“I’m afraid it is not customary practice for noble ladies too—” Evelynn hesitated “—stain our hands with blood.”

Eleanora snorted. “And yet I hear poison is quite the commodity among noble ladies.”

A quiet tension settled upon the room as Carina choked on a startled laugh and cleared her throat, Tiffany went pale, and Evelynn lowered her light-hazel eyes to the silverware before her. The staff appeared with plates of mouth-watering dark red meat, slabs of cheese melted between skewered slices of potatoes, and an assortment of raw vegetables that had been scrubbed and peeled.

The ladies-in-waiting eyed the hefty portion before them timidly while Eleanora surveyed the food before her with pride.

“While you ladies dig in,” the Crown Princess said with an encouraging smile, “I'll give you the rundown on some of the rules here at the Rose Palace. You will eat breakfast and dinner in this room with me every day, except when I must entertain guests. And then it will depend on their rank and relationship to the Royal family.

“Naturally, when it comes to the Dowager, Nicholas, members of the House of Lords, and high-ranking visiting dignitaries—you will not be permitted to eat with us. Instead, your job will be to attend and serve these guests in place of the regular palace staff." Eleanora gestured to the maids and footman, now carrying in baskets of fresh bread and pitchers of wine. "The same is true if I were to visit the Dowager at the Iris Palace. You would be present as my attendants and would help serve my food if needed but would not share a meal nor have a seat at the table.”

“We—will be treated like servants?” Tiffany asked uncertainly.

“It is a long-standing tradition of the royal families,” Evelynn cut in quickly as she lifted her glass to the maid who carried the wine bottle. “The nobles serve the monarchs and members of the House of Lords, while commoners and slaves serve the nobles.”

“Indeed,” Eleanora murmured, her attention preoccupied with the empty seat to her right. “In any case, Lady Hana will explain the finer details of etiquette involved when serving such high-ranking guests. I expect all of you to respect her experience and seniority in such matters. Regardless of your titles and positions in Lafeara, in the Rose Palace, I am King, and she is my Queen—is that clear?"

Evelynn's smile twitched faintly, but she joined the others in responding affirmatively. “Yes, your Highness.”

"Excellent." Eleanora raised her glass with a satisfied smile. “Then please, enjoy your meal.”

❆❆❆❆❆

After a satisfying supper, Carina followed Evelynn and Tiffany as Eleanora led them towards her private study that adjoined the library. "Feel free to browse and read the books here as much as you wish in your spare time," the crown princess said with an open gesture to the shelves of leather-bound volumes that covered the walls around them.

"Perhaps you can brush up on your poetry," Evelynn whispered smugly with a side glance at Tiffany, who blushed but said nothing.

"And this is my study where we will end tonight's tour as I have work to do." Eleanora pulled on a rope tassel, which opened the heavy curtains of the study window. The fading sunlight illuminated the piles of letters and documents stacked haphazardly across the regal desk, which had served many of Lafeara’s past queens.

"Is there anything we can help you with, your Highness?" Carina inquired. A glance at an open letter before the throne-like chair confirmed they were written in the Vetrayna language.

"Well—" Eleanora hesitated as she took a seat behind the desk "—as I'm sure you’ve all heard, my uncle, the Ambassador of Vetrayna, will be visiting within a few days. As his niece and Lafeara's future queen, I am expected to host a dinner party during his three-day visit. Lady Hana and I have already begun preparations, but I am hoping to ease the burden on her now that you ladies are here."

"Of course, your Highness," Evelynn agreed brightly, as she stepped forward and blocked Carina’s view of the crown princess. "Anything we can do to help."

"The banquet meal has already been planned by Chef Robbi, who is familiar with my uncle's tastes and preferences,” Eleanora explained. “We have already stocked the necessary ingredients along with his favorite wine.

“Lady Evelynn, if you could help by preparing a list of suitable nobles to invite as well, aside from the royal family and members of the house of lords who are already on the list of guests. There is also the matter of entertainment. My uncle has a fondness for dancers, but I have yet to track down anyone suitable. If you could look into alternative forms of dinner entertainment, that would be helpful. Keep in mind most of the courtyard will be off-limits while my new chess-field is under construction."

"I'm sure I can come up with something to satisfy the Ambassador," Evelynn said confidently. Behind her, Carina raised her eyebrows and gently bit her lip to hide a smile.

"The Ambassador will also be traveling with his wife, Lady Lavinia, and his third oldest son, Lord Marco.” Eleanora picked up the opened letter and tapped it against the desk. “Now Marco may be only eighteen, but unlike the men of Lafeara, who don't get married until they reach twenty—in Vetrayna, eighteen is old enough for a male to marry and take in concubines.” She paused and folded the letter absently before slipping it inside her desk. "So I would highly recommend that all of you avoid being alone with Marco at any point as he—is quite bold for his age when it comes to pretty women, especially blondes." Her gaze settled on Tiffany as she finished, and the timid girl blushed.

'Like father like son,' Carina thought darkly as she limped out from behind Evelynn. "Is there anything I can help with, your Highness?"

“I believe I’ve already given you an important matter to think over,” Eleanora replied as her amber gaze dropped to the foot Carina was favoring. "As it stands, your injury still needs time to heal, so I would prefer that you rested. It would be a shame for you to miss the banquet due to further injury.” A cunning look flickered behind the crown princess’s eyes as she rose to her feet. “Lady Evelynn and Lady Tiffany can manage the normal day to day duties here at the Palace while you recover."

‘She’s not—planning on me drugging the Crown Prince at the Ambassador’s royal banquet—is she?’ Carina maintained her demur expression as Eleanora’s gaze returned to the paperwork on her desk.

"Perhaps when you’re no longer a hindrance to the rest of us, you can be of some use, Lady Maura,” Evelynn whispered with a faint smirk.

“This is the list of nobles already invited to the dinner,” Eleanora explained as she passed the rolled document to Evelynn. “Lady Maura, my aunt tells me you’re fond of reading and that you’re quite familiar with Ventrayna’s language, culture, and beliefs. Perhaps you can help Lady Evelynn narrow down a list of other ideas to entertain our guests."

Once more, that cunning expression flickered across Eleanora’s face, and now Carina was certain she knew exactly what the crown princess had planned for the royal banquet.

"Happily, your Highness," Carina replied. Beside her, Evelynn rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh. Carina ignored the annoyed older girl as she folded her hands against her stomach. As long as she had an excuse to be involved in the banquet, her original plans would remain intact.

‘I’ll worry about drugging the crown prince after we survive your first obstacle to becoming queen, Eleanora.’

"Well then, we can go over the other arrangements in more detail tomorrow. I am sure the Selection must have worn you all out," Eleanora said with a dismissive smile. "Feel free to explore the Rose Palace as you like, but make sure to retire by the evening bell. I rise early to ride or hunt, depending on the day. And then there are my palace duties that begin after breakfast. I shall have Mrs. Poppy wake you all come first light tomorrow so you may begin your duties."

“Yes, your Highness.”

Evelynn swept out of the room, holding the scroll of guests like a torch of victory. Carina followed slowly behind, preoccupied with the complicated future that lay before her.

“Here, lean on me,” Tiffany whispered as she took Carina’s arm. “And don’t worry about Evelynn or the banquet. The sooner your foot recovers, the better for all of us.”

‘If only it were that easy.’ Carina smiled as she accepted the girl’s assistance. ‘If only I knew for sure that you weren’t the Dowager’s spy.’

[B1] Chapter 77: A Matter of Trust

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Chapter 77: A Matter of Trust

Ivy still clung to Percy's arm as the Earl’s carriage pulled up in front of Hawthorn Manor. The footman approached their door, but Percy waved him away. A silent tension filled the carriage that accented Ivy’s pounding heart as she self-consciously unhinged her fingers and shifted away from him.

“S-sorry,” Ivy whispered.

"Why is the church involved in Lincoln's death?" Percy asked sharply, his posture still rigid. The shadows that outlined his handsome features filled her with a strange sense of trepidation.

Ivy shivered and shook her head. "I—I don't know."

Percy slowly exhaled as he rubbed a hand down his face. "I know Mother invited Knight Commander Quentin’s wife over for tea recently. I thought it strange at the time." He pressed a finger to his tense lips thoughtfully. "If she got involved with the investigation—this must be linked to Maura somehow."

Ivy swallowed in an effort to calm the telltale beating of her heart that filled the silence between his words.

"The Holy Church only involve themselves in Lafeara’s affairs when a great atrocity has been committed—or if they suspect the use of witchcraft.” He turned towards her, and Ivy quickly lowered her gaze to the floor. “Miss Ivy, if Lady Maura is in danger, you need to tell me what you know so I can protect her.”

His words lacked anger, desperation, or any hint of threat. Instead, his patient tone laid an invisible weight upon her conscious. Ivy twisted the cords of her purse around her fingers as she battled against her conflicting instincts to trust him and protect her mistress.

"I—" Ivy sucked in a breath "—I really don't know what happened. Lady Maura came home upset and—and the next day, Lincoln was dead. That's all I know." Her words trailed off as the anger and fear of that night returned to her. Her fingers tingled numbly with guilt as the cords tightened painfully against them.

"Why was Maura upset?" Again, his patient, tender tone pierced through her troubled emotions, but Ivy shook her head silently and glanced towards the carriage door.

‘I can’t tell. I can’t tell. I can’t tell!’

"Ivy, please!” Percy’s tone turned suddenly anxious as his warm fingers wrapped around her wrist. "I know—I know Maura's a witch."

Ivy's neck snapped towards him so sharply that she saw stars. She ignored the flickering pain as she tried and failed to form words into a question or answer that would not betray her mistress.

"I told you before I saw her dance," Percy explained patiently. "Sometimes, when Maura danced, she would let out a little ice magic—I'm not even sure she knew she was doing it."

'Ice magic? He knew—He really knew!' Ivy gaped at him as disbelief, hope, and terror overwhelmed her ability to speak.

"I have known for a long time now. So please, Ivy, if something has happened to her, you have to tell me."

His hands were gentle as they wrapped around her numb fingers. His winter-gray eyes filled with such tenderness, worry, and an unquestionable desire to protect her mistress.

The familiar cold ache in her chest shook Ivy free of his gaze. She looked down at his signet ring.

‘Why am I hesitating? This is the Earl of Hawthorn, one of the most powerful families in Lafeara. He already knows Maura secret and he wants to protect her!’

She exhaled, shut her eyes, and whispered. "Years ago, Lincoln raped me.” She could feel his confusion as the pressure of his fingers around her wrist slackened for just a moment.

‘Forgive me, Maura, but I cannot protect you on my own.’

"The night he died—Maura returned home covered in blood and bruises." Percy's grip tightened painfully, but Ivy kept her eyes closed as she continued. "I believe—that Maura killed Lincoln."

❆❆❆❆❆

"And with that," Attwood said with satisfaction, "I think our preparations for negotiations with Vetrayna’s Ambassador are complete."

Around the table of the House of Lords, a mixed reaction of tired sighs and disgruntled complaints wove into each other as Attwood took his seat and glanced towards Nicholas. The Crown Prince sat in a relaxed manner with his chin resting in his right hand as he silently watched the noble lord’s bicker and snipe at each other.

It had been a weary round of discord and arguments as the divided lords could never seem to reach a unanimous agreement. Attwood sighed as he tossed down the documents that he and Nicholas had prepared with the new list of terms before the meeting.

As usual, the House of Lords was divided down the middle with just enough support behind Marquess Borghese that Nicholas would have to compromise—again—in order to bring this discussion to a close.

‘If only we had one more vote on our side.’ Attwood glanced towards the empty seat between himself and Acheron. The last position in the House of Lords was a seat of power desired by many nobles.

But prominent lords on both sides of the divide had blocked Attwood’s many attempts to fill that seat over the years. “It belongs to the House of Hawthorne,” they would remind him bluntly before unanimously shutting him down. Even Borghese could not muster enough votes to steal the seat reserved for the young Earl.

"I don't understand why we have to yield so much," Marquess Borghese ranted as he rose from his seat. "Remind me again, why Nicholas agreed to marry that savage?"

A few of the Lords that surrounded the Marquess rumbled their agreement.

"Marquess Borghese," Attwood replied with strained patience. "Certain conditions attached to the royal marriage have yet to take effect and won't take effect until she is crowned Queen."

"Like what?" Borghese demanded with an incredulous smile. “Such worthy accomplishments should have been brought before the house before they were married!” He gestured to the lords around him as the voices backing him increased. “Are these conditions worth the unhappiness this marriage has placed upon our future King?”

Even Acheron appeared swayed by the Marquess’s argument. ‘At this rate, Borghese will have no trouble mustering support for a bill of divorce.’

"The Emperor will cut our taxes in half," Nicholas interjected coldly. "How's that to start?" His sharp response quickly silenced the Lords, who glanced at each other in stunned surprise.

"Then the Emperor is quite generous to his adopted niece," Borghese replied as he bowed courteously to Nicholas. “We have tired your Majesty. I suggest we adjourn this discussion for today.”

Nicholas waved a hand permissively, and the other members of the House of Lords rose from their seats and bowed in unison. "Saint's blessing upon you, your Majesty." They filed through the double doors one by one, a few still murmuring their dissatisfaction on the way out.

"Thank the gods that's over," Acheron groaned as he slid his chair back and stretched.

"Ha!" Nicholas shook his head as he handed the scroll of Lafeara’s negotiation terms over to the Prime Minister. "By tomorrow afternoon, Borghese will have riled up half of them to protest or appeal the conditions of these negotiations again.”

“Then your Majesty will simply have to veto their demands as we are drawing too close to the Ambassador’s arrival,” Attwood said firmly.

"Do that, and the Marquess will create an even bigger fuss saying you don’t listen to the House of Lords,” Acheron cautioned as he loosened his neck scarf. “Perhaps if you yielded on the issues of increased taxes for the nobles. If the Emperor is reducing our yearly tax, that leaves a bit more coin in the treasury for us to work with. And if we reduce the amount you wish to spend on increasing the size of the army—”

“No, I need to strengthen Lafeara’s military forces so I can ensure the nobles stay in line,” Nicholas returned sharply. “You know as well as I do the Marquess has been building a private army. Though where he obtained this sudden flow of funds remains a mystery.”

Acheron scratched his neck and shrugged. “Even if the Marquess dared to revolt, General Stryker would cut him down in a heartbeat. And no private army of slaves is getting past him.” He gestured to where Beaumont pushed the giant double doors closed with little effort and then took his position beside them.

“Regardless, I will ensure my reign and the Royal Palace remains well-fortified in the face of any attack,” Nicholas continued. “And the additional funds we gain from this marriage will be put to another purpose. Lafeara’s finances have been stretched thin for far too long. Many of the schools, hospitals, orphanages, and shelters my mother built have been neglected and abandoned over the years. And yet the burden on Lafeara’s churches to feed the poor has never been greater.” He dragged a hand through his hair and stood up. “I intend to bring back the charities both Queens established during their reign.”

“That—will be expensive,” Acheron observed.

“Your father and I have a plan to cover the difference.” Nicholas turned his gaze to Attwood. “If the Prime Minister can manage to find a certain individual.”

"That task may prove more difficult than I originally anticipated," Attwood confessed as he gathered up the documents from their meeting. "It would appear Mr. Frost has gone to ground recently. Even his lawyer doesn't know when he will emerge."

"Is that so," Nicholas muttered with a flicker of irritation. "Well, as long as he's not dead, he'll resurface eventually. Make sure both Merchant Guilds pass on my request when he does show himself."

"Yes, your Majesty."

[B1] Chapter 78: The Color of Betrayal

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Chapter 78: The Color of Betrayal

Acheron groaned as he rolled his neck and stretched. "Enough talk of politics and finances, can we go out tonight, Nicholas? I need a drink and a beautiful woman in my arms."

"Acheron!" Attwood growled with a sharp glare in the direction of his wayward son. ‘Honestly, when will he grow up and take this position seriously?’

"What?" Acheron muttered sourly. "I'm not married, and I'm certainly not a priest."

"Perhaps I should change that," Attwood replied sternly.

Acheron grimaced. "No, thank you, but both of those vocations are a little too permanent for my taste."

"I can't tonight," Nicholas interjected with a sigh, his expression downcast. "I promised Grandmother I would meet with the new leader of the Aristocratic Party early tomorrow morning."

Attwood’s left eye twitched as he turned towards the crown prince. “The Earl of Hawthorne?”

"Percy?" Acheron echoed with surprise and a hint of worry. "The Dowager isn’t trying to pin marriage on him now, is she?"

"No," Nicholas snorted. "We'll just be going over these negotiations again so Percy can convey our goals to the other nobles and hopefully rally enough support to keep Borghese in check."

Attwood rubbed his tired eyes with a soft sigh. ‘Right, how could I forget.’

Two parties governed the power of Lafeara. The Sovereign Party, which supported the interests of the crown, and the Aristocratic Party, which supported the interests of the nobles. The Dowager reigned over the Sovereign Party, though Marquess Borghese was its more public figure when it came to enforcing the sovereign’s will. Traditionally, the Earl of Hawthorne had always maintained control over the Aristocratic Party, which consisted of many powerful Lafearian families. Up until recently, that position had been granted to the Countess of Hawthorne by King Henri, but now that Lord Percy had come of age, the Countess had relinquished her position to him.

‘The power of the Aristocratic Party is not to be underestimated. Especially since Percy will clearly support the interests of his cousin, the Crown Princess. How much longer will the young Earl patiently wait for us to offer him a seat at the table that is his birthright?’

"Which is why we should just nominate him as a member of the House of Lords,” Acheron stated as he impatiently drummed his fingers on the table. “Save yourself the extra meeting. Percy will have more of an impact here where more than half the lords respect his family name and power. I guarantee you there will be fewer meetings and arguments.”

Nicholas grunted as he interlocked his fingers, rested his chin upon them, and glanced towards the Prime Minister.

"As commendable as Lord Percy’s intellect and politics are," Attwood said quickly. "Percy is not his father and still lacks experience. I have advised his Highness to give Lord Percy more time to take over the reins of the Aristocratic Party and Hawthorne estates before we add another burden to his shoulders."

"Ah—Well then!" Acheron slapped the table and stood up. "Since you're all busy saving the world and plotting against those of us that remain single—I'll go make good use of my remaining days of freedom."

"Perhaps you should take Beaumont with you," Nicholas suggested with a mischievous smile.

Acheron flinched and glanced hesitantly towards the unfriendly expression carved upon his cousin’s stony face. "I said freedom, not premature death," Acheron joked with a wry smile as he circled the table and exited through the back door.

Nicholas snorted and stretched with a yawn.

"Do I even want to know what they're fighting about this time?" Attwood asked with a baffled shake of his head.

"They both got rejected by the same young woman," Nicholas answered with a hint of annoyance.

"Beaumont?" Attwood’s eyebrows shot up as he glanced towards the silent giant in astonishment. ‘When did this happen? How did I miss it?’

"I wouldn't worry about it too much. The lady turned them both down before it became anything serious," Nicholas explained as he picked up his ceremonial sword from the back of the chair and headed towards Beaumont.

"What a shame," Attwood muttered as he watched Beaumont open the double doors before Nicholas and head outside. ‘It would be nice to see him settled down with someone who could at least make him smile a bit more.’

Attwood still remembered the tall, lanky boy who had buried his mother without a single tear. It was at that point Attwood made an effort to try and get to know the solemn, silent boy. If Stryker wouldn’t look after his bastard, then Attwood would. He refused to let any member of the Hargreve family be treated like a vagrant.

‘It’s time they were both settled down. Though Acheron seems no closer to giving up his promiscuous activities no matter how much his mother and I reprimand him for it.’

Attwood sighed as he finished gathering his papers. "Still, I wonder who she was?"

❆❆❆❆❆

Sunlight greeted Acheron's bleary eyes as he stared up at yet another unfamiliar ceiling. "Pope's Balls," he growled and rolled over to blink languidly at the platinum-haired woman who slept soundly facing away from him. "Yeah—that happened, didn't it."

He sat up carefully and slid towards the side of the bed, where he stopped to support his throbbing head and waited for his stomach to settle. Strangely enough, he barely remembered much of the previous night after he arrived at the Jaded Vougal’s Tavern. A peculiar place where nobles could purchase a drink, a tongue lashing, and a bit more if coin and the flirtatious bar maid’s mood worked in one's favor.

He muffled an uncomfortable burp with his fist as his stomach bubbled. Nausea sharpened the edge of his headache. 'Whatever they served me at the bar last night—I need to avoid that drink in the future.'

Acheron glanced between his legs and confirmed that he had spent the night successfully enjoying the pleasures of his "sinful conquests" as his mother called them. In either case, what he did remember more than made up for a queasy stomach and pounding headache. ‘Red dress, mysterious mask, ample curves, and plenty of experience in bed. A good time by all accounts.’

Still, lingering any further—even for a bit more fun—went against his moral code. ‘The longer you stick around, the more they get their hopes up—or raise their price.’ He scanned the room for his clothes, spotted his trousers, located conveniently next to the bed, and cautiously stood up to retrieve them.

The bedroom appeared modest but clean with pale blue walls stenciled in flowers and an assortment of expensive vases and roses on nearly every surface. ‘She must get around,’ Acheron observed with a rueful grin. ‘That would certainly explain her performance last night.’

The furniture was tasteful, and the red gown he vividly remembered taking off suggested his mystery woman was already well kept by a man of wealth.

‘Not a member of nobility—thank the Saints!'

Acheron pulled on his last boot and located his shirt under the dress of his recent conquest. He scooped up both and returned to the bed.

He was debating whether to wake the seductive blonde angel and discuss payment when he caught sight of her clover green eyes staring at him from beneath those platinum blonde curls.

'Oh, shit!’ Acheron’s morning wood wilted as realization sank in with a cold dose of reality. ‘I know her!'

Rosamund flung her disheveled curls aside as she jolted upright. Her expression equally horrified as she stared from his half-dressed state to her dress in his hands and then down at her exposed breasts.

'Oh—Fuck—I'm so dead.'

[B1] Chapter 79: A Shadow of Deception

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Chapter 79: A Shadow of Deception

Several awkward moments later, Acheron and Rosamund were both dressed and now sat on opposite ends of the bed. The rogue held a piss pot between his knees, which he had already thrown up in twice but was not quite willing to part with.

"I can't believe it was you of all people," Rosamund whispered hoarsely.

"You sound like you've done this before,” Acheron observed cynically.

"Oh, shut it! You’re in no position to lecture me!”

"I'm not the one in a relationship with the future king!"

"What relationship?" Rosamund demanded. "He's married now in case you forgot. I barely even see him!"

"So—did you start these nightly seductions before or after he married Eleanora?"

"I will not have my private life judged by the capital’s infamous rogue. Just because you’re a man and can flaunt your conquests doesn’t make you any less of a whore!”

"Yes, fine—I'm a manwhore, and I accept that. Excuse me if I'm unprepared to accept the fact that I've slept with my best friend's mistress!"

"You think this is any better for me?"

"I don't know—From what I can tell, I may not be your first affair since Nicholas."

"Don't you dare speak his name!"

"Are you being serious right now?" Acheron glared down at the contents of last night's many poor choices. All of his mother’s warnings about the “consequences of sins” collided between his ears. ‘Women will be the death of me.’ He shook his head, set the pot down, and turned to face her. "Honestly, instead of wasting time on pointless dramatics and blame—can we just talk about what we're going to do now?"

Rosamund half-turned towards him, her face curtained beneath her platinum hair as tears rolled down pale cheeks and spilled over her sultry lips. Even in this state, she was strikingly beautiful—and yet all Acheron could feel looking at her now was the immense weight of guilt that made him want to retch again.

"You-You're not going to tell him—are you?" she asked weakly.

"Fuck!" Acheron slid his hands into his cinnamon curls as he turned away from her. "No," he admitted with a groan.

"Then—you need to leave," Rosamund said as her timid tone turned suddenly forceful. "Before the maid comes back."

'Shit—right—Nicholas mentioned getting her a maid.’

Acheron wasted no time gathering every piece of clothing that belonged to him before he hastily scrambled towards her bedroom door.

"Wait!" Rosamund hissed as she rose from the bed. "Too late to go that route, she's here."

"What?" Acheron scowled even as he heard a door open below them.

"Shh! You'll have to climb down the back ivy." Rosamund circled the bed and opened a window that led to the yard. "I'm sure you can handle escaping unnoticed," she commented with an acid tone.

Acheron brushed past her and glanced over the window ledge. Sure enough, a dense growth of ivy had woven itself up the walls stone crevices.

"Nothing I haven't tackled before," he admitted as he climbed over the ledge. He paused just as his descent brought his gaze level with Rosamund's womanly curves. "Ah—" he swallowed and glanced up towards her clover-green eyes that stared back with evident displeasure. "You might want to fix your hair," he suggested with a faint grin. "And your lipstick. Pretty sure you left some of that on my—"

She slammed the window shut in his face, and Acheron almost lost his grip as he scrambled to save his fingers. He bit back a curse as he seized a fist full of ivy in each hand and hugged the wall as the vines creaked against his weight. A heart-stopping moment later, the ivy held, and Acheron carefully made his way down the wall.

At the top of the kitchen window, the sound of running water and moving dishware forced him to stop. Twice he saw the maid’s reflection in the windowpane as she prepared a tray of food for her mistress upstairs. His stomach grumbled at the smell of eggs and fresh bacon, but instead of hungry, it only made him nauseous again.

A crow cawed mockingly from a dogwood tree as Acheron contemplated jumping down the rest of the way. A quick recollection of his last experience jumping through a window changed his mind. Unlike Maura, he had an aversion for pain.

The moment he thought of that cold little lady, Beaumont’s menacing scowl came instantly to mind. Acheron beat his forehead softly against the stone wall. ‘Perhaps celibacy is the way to go—at least I’ll live longer.’

The maid finally left the kitchen, and Acheron quickly scaled down the wall and darted through the bushes out of sight towards the road—like a rogue.

❆❆❆❆❆

Russell beamed with evident approval as Percy descended the stairs of Hawthorne Manor dressed in ceremonial court robes. “Good morning, Master.”

Percy accepted his hat, and the late Earl’s cane then stood still as Russell fussed over the official gold medal that marked Percy as the Leader of the Aristocratic Party. “Good morning, is Mother not up yet?”

“The Countess already left, my Lord.” Russell stepped back to retrieve his master’s summer cape.

“Left?” Percy turned so the servant could place the garment around his shoulders. “I wasn’t aware she was going out.”

“She mentioned visiting Lady Maura now that the Selection is over.”

Percy’s grip on the cane tightened. He nodded, checked the clasp of his cape, and headed for the door. “I’ll be heading out then.”

“Veles blessing upon you, Earl of Hawthorne.”

The Hawthorne carriage and servants waited for him outside. The footmen opened the door and bowed as Percy climbed in. He settled into the cushioned seat as they shut the door behind him and hastened to take their post at the back of the carriage.

“Morning, Master.” Captain Flint, leader of the mercenary group that Percy had hired to handle his public protection, tipped his hat as he bowed courteously from atop his energetic mare.

“You and your men will not be permitted inside the palace-fortress, so wait for me in the capital,” Percy reminded him.

“Understood, Veles blessing upon you, my Lord.”

Percy nodded dismissively then tapped his cane against the driver’s window. The light flick of a whip proceeded the evenly paced hooves of a well-trained team. ‘Only the best for a meeting with Lafeara’s future king.’ Percy smiled thinly as he balanced the cane beneath his forefinger and studied its black-metal crow sculpted head.

It had been some time since he had last spoken to or even seen Nicholas. Not since the capital funeral for Prince Tristan.

‘I was your brother’s friend and strongest supporter back then. I watched your family bury an empty coffin while you took his crown and Eleanora. What a shame you can’t win the support of the Aristocratic Party that easily.’

While the nation grieved the sudden death of Queen Rosalind a week after the Earl’s funeral, only Tristan remembered Percy. After the Countess all but locked her young son away inside Hawthorne Manor, the crown prince had made every effort to visit, even if that meant scaling the walls and climbing through windows to avoid the Countess and servants.

Percy had found these unexpected visits annoying at first, especially with the added risk of Tristan bumping into a member of the Coven of Crows. He knew full well that each Monarch relied on the Earl of Hawthrone to control the nobles of Lafeara. But it didn’t take him long to realize that Tristan had no agenda, other than mutual empathy that stemmed from the loss of his own mother, Queen Catalina.

Percy had made use of that kindness to the fullest—until Constance banned Tristan from coming anywhere near Percy. “This is all for your protection,” his mother had promised.

It was around that time that the Countess had stumbled upon Lady Maura and taken an instant liking to the half-blood. Percy began to see the funny-faced girl everywhere, though Maura had taken great pains to avoid approaching or intruding into his space.

Back then and even now, her ice-blue eyes always held a wary expression whenever she looked at him. As if she could see past the mask that he wore for everyone else.

Percy’s lips twitched with a mocking smile as he drew in a deep breath. The carriage slowed as instructed, a safe distance from Hawthorn Estate. The footman alighted and opened the door so that a woman, shadowed in a black cloak, could enter.

“Have you anything to report?” Percy asked as the coven witch settled into the seat opposite him.

“Our eyes on the crown prince’s whore reported another stray dog leaving her room,” the woman replied as she arranged the cloak, crossed her legs, and brushed her ankle against him intentionally. “It seems the whore’s desperation has made her even more reckless.”

Percy moved her leg away with his cane as he dispelled the bewitchment charm that gave her voice an alluring power. “Behave.”

She chuckled but uncrossed her legs and sat in a more dignified manner. “As you wish.”

“So? Was it anyone notable this time?”

Beneath the shadows of the cloak’s hood, her seductive lips formed into a thin line.

Percy tapped the window again with his cane and waited until the carriage continued its journey. “What is it?”

“My sisters and I are concerned,” the coven witch replied as she glanced out the carriage window.

“About the priest?”

“And his witch hunter.” She tapped a gloved finger thoughtfully against her cloak. “Perhaps it would be more beneficial to our long-term goals to give them the witch they’re looking for?”

Percy’s grip tightened around his cane as he searched the magic that shadowed her face. “You know that is impossible.”

Her smile twisted with amusement. “Why, have you become attached?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” he reminded her bluntly. The witch's anger rippled through the air around them as shadows stretched from her dark figure. “And the coven is more than capable of dealing with a curious priest and his hound.”

“True,” she murmured with a faint sneer. “But—to attack them directly could draw even more attention—possibly the Pope’s gaze.”

“We have safety measures in place should Jericho wish to strike Lafeara with an inquisition. Besides, I don’t think Nicholas has the stomach for public burnings.”

“Your father once said the same thing about Henri,” she pointed out with a shake of her head. “And yet, after the Earl died, Henri burned four of our sisters and blamed them for the Earl’s death.”

“There are causalities in every war.” Percy shrugged. “We got rid of Henri. We can do the same to Nicholas if needs be.”

“It isn’t Nicholas, but the old bitch that worries us.”

“Ah—” his gaze sharped as he offered her a cold smile “—you know I have special plans for the Dowager, be patient. Meanwhile, remind your coven that if anything unfortunate should befall Lady Maura, I will hold them and you personally accountable.”

Her scarlet smile revealed pearly white teeth as she leaned against her hand towards him with a leer. “If you truly want her protected, why not make Maura your bride?”

“There is time enough for that,” Percy replied stiffly.

“To see you so worried about another woman’s feelings—I feel a bit jealous.”

Percy’s winter-gray eyes focused warily on the shadows of her face.

“I could always invite Lady Maura to join the coven. She would be much safer—"

“No, I will handle that,” Percy interrupted sharply. “I have someone more capable and trustworthy in mind. You already failed to keep her from passing the Selection.”

The woman shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze. “How was I to know she’d continue despite her injury.” She pouted as she sat back and toyed with the ruby necklace at her throat. “Though I must say, her tenacity is a trait I quite admire.”

“Have the crows keep watch and keep a discreet distance,” Percy commanded. “She is far too valuable to lose to that cunt or the crown prince.”

“As you wish.”

“What of the poison I asked you to look into?”

“Poison?”

Percy’s gaze narrowed at the odd ring in her tone. “Yes, the one that Lady Helena used when Maura was injured.”

“Ahh, yes.” Her hooded gaze returned to the carriage window, but he didn’t miss her displeased frown. “My sisters detected nothing unusual. It might have increased her chances of having a scar, but there was nothing life-threatening.”

“So, unless the person is already injured, it serves no purpose?” Percy sighed with disappointment. “Then again, if Hayes could pick up on it so easily, a royal physician would likely spot it even quicker. Shame, such an unusual poison for such a simple result.”

“If the Earl requires a more lethal, discreet poison, my sisters and I are happy to oblige.”

“I’m aware, but your poisons involve the use of magic.” Percy tapped his signet ring against the cane’s black crow head. “Now, before we arrive at the first checkpoint. Tell me, who did Lady Rosamund fuck this time?”

[B1] Chapter 80: A Brotherhood of Sorrow

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Chapter 80: A Brotherhood of Sorrow

The morning breeze barely subdued the heat of the rising sun as Nicholas arrived at the Iris Palace, accompanied as always by Captain Beaumont. The Hawthorne carriage, with its immaculate twin white raven crest, was parked beside the palace gate. The Earl’s retainers bowed their heads respectfully as the Crown Prince approached.

‘To think I haven’t seen Percy in person since Tristan’s funeral.’

Nicholas shook off the gloom that memory carried and offered the servants a faint smile as he urged his horse to canter past them. The palace steps loomed towards them. Nicholas couldn’t help but remember a time when he and Percy had played here under the watchful eyes of servants.

Once the boys had gotten older and wise enough to slip away from their escorts, they spent their time chasing after Tristan. The eldest prince was always climbing up one building or another, locked away in his studies, or mastering the sword under Colonel Durante’s tutelage. How jealous Nicholas and Percy had both been of Tristan, the golden Crown Prince.

But Nicholas had also been envious of Percy. Earl Ethan Hawthorne had no greater love than that for his country and his son. The Earl brought young Percy to the palace as soon as the boy could be separated from his nursemaid. He even went so far as to parade Percy on his shoulders during meetings before the House of Lords, a move which had inspired King Henri to invite Tristan into those meetings as part of his education to become Lafeara’s future king.

‘I was the only one who remained invisible.’

Nicholas dismounted and fidgeted with his ceremonial robes and sword. He didn’t have to dress up for such a small meeting, but this was Percy Hawthorne. King Henri had always treated Earl Ethan, his friend, and political ally, with the utmost respect.

“The jewel in every king’s crown is his queen, his strength is the might of the Lafearian Army, but the security of his reign lies in friendship to the House of Hawthorne.”

Those had been King Henri’s final words after yielding the crown and throne to Nicholas on his death bed. As if Nicholas needed further reminding that he was unworthy to be Henri’s successor.

Since childhood, Nicholas had grown up under the shadow of two names. One, his deceased older brother, the other, his estranged childhood friend. Now the added weight of the crown, and the ghosts it carried, rested uneasily upon his head.

‘And I haven’t even been officially coronated.’

“Your Majesty,” Beaumont said patiently as he waited behind the crown prince at the foot of the stairs.

“Have you got the documents?”

“I have.” Beaumont held out the white leather satchel. “Nervous?”

Nicholas snatched the bag of official documents. “No.” He slung the strap over his shoulder—decided it looked ridiculous against his ceremonial robes—took it off and adjusted the golden chain which bore the royal sigil of Lafeara’s three circling wolves. “You carry it.”

Beaumont accepted the satchel and tucked it under his arm without comment. Nicholas glared at the knight captain’s masterfully blank expression and turned to march up the steps.

‘Perhaps I should have worn something less formal. Will Percy think I’m trying to throw my position about?’

Captain Leo greeted them at the door of the Dowager’s palace with a respectful bow. "Good morning, your Majesty." His gaze shifted past Nicholas to the silent giant. “Captain Beaumont.”

Nicholas glanced curiously over his shoulder, but Beaumont’s impenetrable expression remained in place as he ignored his half-brother’s greeting. Nicholas turned back to Captain Leo and loudly cleared his throat. "I assume the Earl of Hawthorne is already inside with the Queen Regent?"

"He is, your Majesty. The Countess of Hawthorne is also here."

‘Lady Constance?’ Nicholas frowned but did not comment as the knight led them through the foyer. If there was one person that could match the Dowager’s imposing presence, impossible to please personality, and cold disapproving sneer—it was Lady Constance.

‘And to think, my reunion with Percy would be in a room with them both.’ Nicholas sighed and rested his hand on the hilt of the ceremonial sword.

Captain Leo bowed and stepped aside just outside the open dining room door. Nicholas stepped past him, trying to appear confident, even as he peered around the frame at the room’s occupants. A glance revealed his grandmother, the Countess, and Lord Percy all seated silently together as a servant poured tea. And Lord Percy, Nicholas noted with a flood of relief, was also dressed in his official ceremonial robes.

The page, who had been patiently waiting for Nicholas’s permission, caught the crown princes signal and announced, “His Majesty, Crown Prince Nicholas!”

The Countess and Earl both rose courteously to greet him. "Good morning, your Majesty."

"Good morning, Countess," Nicholas inclined his head to Percy’s mother and then turned to greet the Earl with a warm smile. "Lord Percy, it’s been a long time."

"It has, your Majesty," Percy replied with deference. "I apologize for not visiting sooner."

"No need to be so formal," Nicholas joked as he moved around the table to greet his old friend with a quick embrace. "You’ve been busy taking over leadership of the Aristocratic Party and doing an excellent job of it, I hear."

"Thank you, your Majesty." Percy stepped back from Nicholas’s reach and inclined his head respectfully.

Nicholas frowned as he lowered his arms. ‘Is this how things will be now between us?’

Compared to the two princes, Percy had always been better at following the rules of court, but he had never let them stand in the way of his friendship with Tristan and Nicholas.

Nicholas studied the young man before him. They were the same age, and both shared similar education, overly dominating mothers, or grandmother in Nicholas’s case, and the expectations of title and office. Still, by all reports, the Earl was a perfect model of noble ambition, intelligence, and perseverance—minus the temper he inherited from his father.

‘When this meeting is over, I should make some excuse to take him about the palace. Perhaps a visit to the royal library or the House of Lords? Somewhere he can relax and come out of his shell.’

Nicholas glanced between the Dowager and Countess, who watched them with unnerving concentration.

‘Somewhere not here…’

"Now that his Majesty has arrived," Octavia said as she signaled the servant to prepare a drink for Nicholas. "We are ready to begin."

"Some breakfast would be wonderful," Nicholas grumbled as he moved over to kiss the Dowager’s cheek and then took his seat between her and Percy.

"The tea is more than sufficient for me," Constance said with a stiff smile. “Thank you, your Grace.”

"And I also have another matter to deal with once we’ve finished here," Percy replied apologetically. "Another time, your Majesty."

‘So much for catching up later.’

“I’ll hold you to that,” Nicholas replied ruefully. He glanced between the Earl and Countess, not missing the awkward tension between them. "I suppose we should just get started then. These are the terms for renegotiation with Ventrayna. They passed through the House of Lords only yesterday, with some difficulty, so one or two minor things may change before Ambassador Haemish arrives." Nicholas snapped his fingers, and Beaumont stepped forward to present the file from the satchel he carried. "But I believe the main points will remain relatively unchanged."

Nicholas passed the document to Percy, who opened it without hesitation and read its contents with interest.

"Actually," Octavia interjected as she stirred her tea. "There was another matter we wished to discuss with Lord Percy before we moved onto that."

Nicholas turned towards her with a perplexed frown. “Was there something else we needed to discuss?” ‘If so, she certainly neglected to inform me.’ Nicholas shifted in his seat uneasily.

“It is an important matter the Countess and I have been working towards with the greatest hope and patience.”

"Indeed,” Percy remarked with a hint of cynicism as he rolled up the negotiations and turned his cold gaze towards his mother.

‘What on earth is going on between those two? I thought he was the perfect son.’

"Yes," Constance replied with an unwavering smile of confidence. "The Dowager and I would like to move forward and officially announce Percy's engagement to Lady Evelynn."

[B1] Chapter 81: A Vendetta of Power

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Chapter 81: A Vendetta of Power

A sense of deja vu washed over Nicholas as he studied the three people seated at the table around him, and recalled a similar scenario where Octavia, the Prime Minister, and King Henri had sabotaged him with Eleanora's marriage proposal. He slumped back into his chair with a sigh. ‘Good luck, Percy.’

The Earl offered his mother a benevolent smile before he replied, "I am not getting engaged to Lady Evelynn.” His rejection and expression were in such disharmony that Nicholas took a moment to register what he said.

The Countess recovered much faster. "Percy!" she snapped in a tone filled with reproach.

The Earl ignored her as he turned his attention towards the Dowager. "As much as I appreciate the Queen Regent's interest in the future of the Hawthorne family, respectfully, I think your Grace should focus on Nicholas and Eleanora's coronation and other matters—" he tapped at the document before him "—that are important for Lafeara's future."

Nicholas clamped his lips together as a laugh threatened to prick the dangerous bubble of tension that enveloped them all. He covered his traitorous lips with a hand as he watched his old friend with begrudging respect. Right now, the best thing Nicholas could do for Percy was to remain silent. Though he would be happy to step in if the Earl so much as looked in his direction for help, something told him, this would not be the case.

Lady Constance’s usually guarded topaz-blue eyes flashed with barely contained rage as she attempted to pin down her rebellious son. Whatever plan she had laid out by bringing up the engagement in front of the Dowager, Percy was clearly unwilling to comply.

Octavia raised a single elegant grey eyebrow and offered Percy an amused smile. The Earl continued to ignore the beams of wrath radiating from his mother as his gaze remained locked with that of the Queen Regent.

"No one is suggesting we rush towards marriage, Lord Percy," Octavia said with a tone of reassuring calm. "But your mother and I both agree that Lady Evelynn is a good match. And the Hawthorne and Hendrix households have been in talks for some time as well. It would be ignoble of you to drag the matter on any further, only to break the poor girl's heart."

"Your Grace," Percy responded without a flicker of guilt or reproach. "You know as well as I do that an engagement cannot be made official without the intended groom's consent. More importantly, I already rejected Lord Hendrix's initial offer of marriage three months ago, so I am bewildered as to why the matter bares any further discussion. I have not changed my mind since then, nor have I given Lord Hendrix or Lady Evelynn any cause to believe I would."

"I see," Octavia replied as her gaze shifted to Constance. "Then, do you have another bride in mind?"

"I am very focused on my new responsibilities at the moment, your Grace. But I will be sure to let you know when I find a woman equal to the task of being the next Countess of Hawthorne," Percy answered without hesitation.

"Nonsense," Constance interjected, finally breaking her silence. "Lady Evelynn is refined, educated, resourceful, and comes from one of the most eligible noble families of Lafeara."

"Hendrix is only a Viscount, Mother," Percy replied with a hint of restraint.

"So, the young Earl is aiming for someone higher?" Octavia commented with a calculating tone. "Perhaps, the daughter a Marquess?"

Nicholas doubled over sharply as he choked down a laugh. He hastily coughed and reached for his tea in an effort to cover his unwelcomed interruption. Fortunately, the Dowager and Countess remained focused on the obstinate Earl.

There were only two women of marriageable age who belonged to the house of a Marquess, and one of them had been his father’s secret mistress. That left the daughter of Marquess Borghese, Lady Priscilla.

‘Percy and Priscilla?’ He considered it for a moment then rejected the idea altogether. It was, perhaps, a match even more disastrous than his own marriage. ‘Though it would be an interesting way to keep the Marquess in check.’

Percy interlocked his fingers and pressed them against the document before him. "Again, your Grace, I respectfully ask that we focus on the matter of Lafeara's impending future."

"I simply don't understand why a young man of twenty years is so intimidated by the thought of marriage," Octavia replied with a teasing smile.

"Perhaps because I wish to live longer than my father did.”

This time Nicholas not only choked on his tea but managed to dump half of it down his ceremonial jacket. Beside him, the Countess sucked in a sharp breath as her cup clinked against the saucer plate. ‘Pope’s Balls, old friend, so much for keeping your cool.'

Around the room, the Queen Regent's attendants quickly retreated to safety. Nicholas cast an anxious glance between the silent Dowager and the Earl as he hastily wiped down his jacket and the royal medallion. The tension between those pairs of ice-blue and winter-gray eyes was enough to send a familiar, foreboding chill down Nicholas’s spine.

The Dowager smiled, a sight about as cheerful and reassuring as a wolf spreading its fangs. Percy wisely lowered his gaze, though from the locked position of his jaw—the Earl didn't appear ready to recant those words any time soon.

"Lord Percy," Octavia murmured with deadly calm. "Would you care to expound upon that statement."

"Certainly, your Grace," Percy replied without a shred of hesitation.

‘Has he gone mad?’

"I think—" Nicholas quickly interjected as he grabbed Percy's wrist and squeezed tightly "—that it's been a while since my friend and I have seen each other. If you'll excuse us." He pushed back his chair and yanked the Earl from his seat.

"Nicholas." Octavia's calm tone only solidified the fear in his gut. “We still have to—”

For the first time, in a very long time, Nicholas blatantly ignored his grandmother as he led his old friend from the wolf’s jaws towards the nearest exit.

"Percy, wait!" the Countess called after them as she rose from her seat.

Beaumont opened the doors ahead of them and followed at their heels as Nicholas dragged the rigid Earl in the direction of the front doors.

Once they were outside on the palace steps, Percy shook his grip loose. "Thank you, your Majesty,” he growled and brushed past Nicholas down the steps, “but I can leave on my own.”

"Wait a minute!” Nicholas grabbed the Earl's shoulder and turned him around. "Are you out of your mind, Percy?"

"I am not you, your Majesty," Percy replied coldly. "I refuse to be manipulated by that woman."

"You! You're still holding onto those unfounded suspicions, even after all these years?" Nicholas scoffed as he ignored the sting of Percy's words.

Percy inhaled slowly and brushed Nicholas's grip from his shoulder. "I may barely remember my father's face—or the sound of his voice, but I have not forgotten who had the most to gain from his death."

"Percy!" Nicholas shook his head. "Do you honestly believe Lady Constance would support my grandmother if she believed the Dowager had anything to do with your father's death."

Percy stared back at him, frustration and anger slipped past the mask the Earl had learned to wear from a very young age. Then he stepped closer. "Do you still believe it was a coincidence Queen Catalina died a week after my father was murdered? Do you even remember how she looked like when she died, your Majesty?”

Nicholas's hands curled into fists, and Beaumont moved warily closer.

"You know what?" Percy continued with a dismissive, cold smile. "I don't need an answer."

Beaumont's hand caught Nicholas's shoulder as Percy turned his back on the crown prince and continued down the steps.

“By the way,” Percy paused at the bottom step and turned back, his political mask once more in place. “Belated congratulations on your marriage to Princess Eleanora. Please be sure to treat my cousin with the respect she deserves. Her happiness and security are of the greatest importance to the Hawthorne family.”

‘Was that a threat?’

Nicholas's fists tightened as the Earl turned around once more and continued towards the palace gate. Beaumont maintained his gentle grip long after the Hawthorne carriage pulled away from the entrance.

Nicholas jerked free as he pulled out his ceremonial sword, stormed towards the nearest garden bush, and hacked it to pieces. “Bastard!”

‘You bloody fool! Don’t you realize, digging into the death of the queens is what got Tristan killed!’

[B1] Chapter 82: A Clash of Wills

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Chapter 82: A Clash of Wills

The bustle of servants greeted Eleanora and her ladies-in-waiting as they circled the courtyard on their way towards the stables. Men and women, dressed in leather aprons of green and brown, poured and scraped fine gold and white sand into the squares of the chessboard carefully outlined in red string.

“Ahh, they’re finally getting it laid down today!” Eleanora exclaimed as she paused to survey the work. “And they’ve completed a fair amount already.”

A quarter of the field now gleamed in a pattern of shimmering gold and pearl-white sand as the sun crept closer to claiming the full courtyard below.

"Excuse me, you Highness," Evelynn said as she nudged past Carina to stand beside Eleanora. "But why such a large chessboard? Surely a garden would be better for entertaining guests."

"You Lafearians and your love of flowers," Eleanora scoffed as she moved closer to the glittering squares with a distracted frown. "Major, would you ask Lord Lane why they have not applied the glue yet? It should be done square by square to ensure the lines remain intact.” She gestured with a black satin riding boot to where white sand had blown under the red string onto the gold square.

"I'll inform the Lord Architect," Garrett replied and stepped carefully through the red thread squares that had not been filled, towards the nobleman making a fuss over a bucket of white sand.

"Honestly, what is that architect thinking? If the wind doesn't make a mess of it, the servants will," Eleanora muttered as she continued her stroll of the courtyard. She had been in a tense, distracted mood since breakfast that had prompted her decision to go for a ride to “clear my head.”

“I suspect it’s the first life-size chessboard Lord Lane has ever installed,” Carina replied as she pulled Tiffany out of the path of two servants carrying small buckets of white sand.

“How do they give the sand that rainbow-white color?” Tiffany murmured curiously. “It almost looks like crushed pearls.”

“Crushed opals, not pearls, Lady Tiffany,” Eleanora corrected as she stopped one of the servants, lifted a pinch of white sand from the bucket, and dropped it into Tiffany’s hand. “Not as precious as a diamond but highly valued by artists as a more practical medium for creativity. My father sent them from Ventrayna when I told him of my plans for the courtyard, but they have other uses. For example, I know of a designer here in Lafeara who uses black opal to paint detailed designs onto her gowns.”

“You are referring to Lady Aconitum!” Tiffany guessed quickly. “I have two gowns designed by her! My mother has about seven!”

Carina coughed and cleared her throat as Eleanora smiled down at the beaming girl.

“Indeed, it was her subtle designs that lured me into becoming the Patron of The Holy Maiden’s Boutique,” Eleanora explained as she waved the servants on and continued towards the back door of the courtyard. “The owner, Sir Everly, sent me a purple muslin gown to wear for the royal honeymoon. Of course, every designer in Lafeara sent a gown to represent their store of either gold or purple, but it was the black scorpions painted onto the sheer sleeves of Sir Everly’s gown that caught my attention. No other designer bothered to present the aesthetics of Ventrayna in my gowns. Opals are also a natural resource from Ventrayna, so for me, it was like receiving a gift of home.”

They reached the arched doorway, which led out to the back entrance of the palace. Eleanora stopped again to wait for Garret, who was carefully making his exit through the field of red thread.

"Anyway, to answer your original question, Lady Evelynn, I simply wanted to repurpose the courtyard with something that I could enjoy. The Royal Palace has plenty of gardens as it is, and while I may not be able to hunt and duel as freely as I could in Vetrayna, I shall endeavor to keep my mind sharp with whatever tools available to me.”

“Of course, your Highness,” Evelynn replied with a defeated sigh.

“It was my uncle, Ambassador Haemish, who taught me to play chess.” Eleanora’s gaze grew distant and withdrawn as she considered the incomplete battlefield before them. “I have yet to beat him, but one day, I hope I will be in a position to claim victory.”

Carina silently glanced at Eleanora’s clenched jaw and determined gaze.

"Perhaps the Crown Prince also plays chess?" Tiffany remarked with her usual naive optimism.

Carina frowned as a vision flashed before her eyes. The completed chess field stood before her lined with servants dressed in gold or white to match the pieces of the board, and at its center, Eleanora and Nicholas faced each other with swords drawn. She shook the foreboding thought from her head.

"I suppose he at least knows how to play," Eleanora replied with a disinterested shrug. "But I have never had a match with him. Not many people in Lafeara appear to have an interest in chess—except for Lady Hana, of course." Her expression grew pensive as Major Garret jogged up and bowed before her.

“Apologies for the wait, your Highness,” Garrett said as he raised his head.

“Is he going to fix it.”

“Naturally, your Highness.”

Eleanora nodded and turned to her attendants. “So, which of you will ride with me today?”

“I would be delighted too, your Highness,” Evelynn volunteered quickly.

Eleanora flicked a glance over the eager lady-in-waiting and nodded. “Garrett, would you see to it the stable prepares a comfortable lady’s saddle for her.” She turned to Tiffany and Carina. “And you two may do as you wish as long as you stay inside Rose Palace. Please see to it that no one aside from Mrs. Poppy disturbs Lady Hana while she’s resting.”

“Yes, your Highness.”

“Crown Princess!” Mrs. Poppy’s clear voice proceeded the visage of the Ventrayna woman running towards them. “Thank—Kritanta—I caught you.” She stumbled to a halt with what might have been a curtsy or an attempt to catch herself. “The Dowager sent a knight—Captain Leo—to summon you—an invitation for tea.”

“Ahh, no doubt to put me in my place after thwarting her servant’s attempts to have Lady Maura dismissed,” Eleanora muttered. The distracted worry that had clung to the crown princess’s expression all morning vanished as her lips twisted into a smile of acceptance. “Well, this will certainly be a lot more fun than hunting rabbits.”

“Should we go greet the Dowager’s messenger?” Tiffany asked hesitantly.

“You may if you wish, Lady Tiffany,” Eleanora said with a permissive wave. “Lady Maura do go with her to receive the invitation officially. Lady Evelynn, it appears that I shall need to change.” She glanced down at her men’s pants with a rueful chuckle. “Grandmother is a bit old fashioned when it comes to appropriate garments for young ladies.”

“Of course, your Highness.”

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Captain Leo turned towards them with the faintest glimmer of disappointment, before his usual charming smile took hold and beamed upon Tiffany and Carina with equal measure. “Good morning, beauties.”

“C-Captain Leo.” Tiffany blushed and quickly dropped her gaze as the knight directed his attention towards her.

“You have an invitation for her Highness?” Carina asked pointedly as she stepped forward and held out her hand.

“I was instructed to deliver it to her Highness personally, Lady Maura,” Leo replied with a flirtatious wink.

“A servant does not dictate the actions of their master or mistress,” Carina answered with a polite smile. “I am here on my mistress’s behalf to receive the invitation.”

Leo scoffed. “Dowager trumps Crown Princess, Lady Maura. So, I’ll have to insist.”

“Queen trumps Dowager; perhaps you should reconsider, Captain,” Carina returned as she stepped closer and folded her arms.

“She’s not queen yet.” Leo smirked as he closed the distance between them. “But I do admire your stubbornness, Lady Maura.”

“What a shame,” Carina murmured, then shrugged as she sighed. “If you are not going to hand over the invitation, then I must ask you to leave now, Captain.”

“What?” Leo blinked down at her as his smile faltered. “You can’t—”

“This is the Rose Palace, and I represent its mistress, who was instated here by marriage and the full authority of Lafeara’s future King and the House of Lords,” Carina chided with a note of boredom. “Since you have refused to hand over the official invitation, I shall inform her Highness that she may resume her earlier plans, which will take her away from Rose Palace for most of the morning. Do convey this unfortunate turn of events to the Dowager on your return trip.”

She spun around and caught a glimpse of Tiffany’s goldfish stare before the knight captain caught her arm.

“No, wait!” Leo firmly pushed the invitation into her hand. “It seems the Crown Princess’s servants are just as arrogant as their mistress,” he muttered as he stepped back. “I’ll be taking my leave then.”

“Do try to remember your place in the future, Captain,” Carina advised him with a cold smile. “Although—I do admire your stubbornness.” She held up the invitation between her fingers and smirked at his enraged glare.

Only after the palace doors had closed behind the knight captain’s stormy retreat did Tiffany speak up. “Did you have to treat him so coldly?”

Carina turned towards her with a frown. “Should I have asked the Crown Princess to come down and greet a simple servant?”

“N-no,” Tiffany murmured. “But you—didn’t have to provoke him.”

Carina tapped the invitation against her open palm as she considered the golden-haired young woman, who was physically a year older than Maura, but mentally still a child in many ways.

“In court, if you yield an inch, you only reveal your weakness,” Carina explained patiently.

Tiffany blinked her lilac-blue eyes and sighed. “Maura, I am only worried that you have made an unnecessary enemy when you already have plenty in the palace.”

Carina smiled ruefully as she turned towards the stairs. “I suppose that’s true.”

“But not me!” Tiffany added as she caught up and linked her arm through Carina’s. “At least, I hope we can be friends.”

Carina felt her chest tighten as she considered Tiffany’s hopeful and innocent gaze.

‘But are you truly naive and innocent, though? Is it just a coincidence that you become engaged to Captain Leo in the future and escape before the queen’s death?’

“Of course,” Carina replied, ignoring the painful twist in her gut as she lied.

‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’

[B1] Chapter 83: A Lover's Cursed Fate

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Chapter 83: A Lover's Cursed Fate

Eleanora scanned the contents of the Dowager’s invitation and then motioned for Carina to sit beside her at the vanity desk.

“You are limping again, Lady Maura,” Eleanora commented as Evelynn brushed through her hair. Beside them, Tiffany prepared a set of amethyst gemstone earrings and necklace to go with the dark wine-purple taffeta dress Eleanora now wore. “I think it would be best you remained behind to rest.”

Carina didn’t miss the victorious smirk on Evelynn’s face and suspected some conversation had gone into this decision. “As you wish, your Highness.”

‘Better for me anyway to avoid the Dowager a little while longer. Out of sight, out of mind.’

“Still, while you are resting here, there is a favor I would like to ask of you,” Eleanora continued as she accepted the earrings from Tiffany and slid them into place.

“Yes, your Highness?”

“Would you keep Lady Hana company for me? She is beginning to mend, but I would feel more at ease with someone I trust beside her while I am away.”

“Of course.” Carina blinked, surprised to be considered someone trusted so quickly. ‘And what about Mrs. Poppy?’

Still, it was an opportunity Carina was only too eager to seize, though she was careful to remain calm on the surface. If she was to save Hana for Maura, winning the young woman’s trust was paramount, and time was already running dangerously close to Hana’s first brush with death.

“Excellent, are we done, Lady Evelynn?” Eleanora’s amber gaze flashed with a hint of restrained impatience as she stared into the mirror at the woman, who struggled to tame the Crown Princess’s luxuriant black hair.

“Ah—just about—umm.” Evelynn’s focused expression shifted from a scowl to panic as the diamond hair clasps, meant to pin Eleanora’s hair up into a voluminous bun, repeatedly popped open one after another, until the neatly styled hair had begun to resemble a disheveled bird’s nest.

“Your Highness, perhaps I should—take over?” Carina offered as she rose from her seat.

“If it gets this mess tidied up faster, please do,” Eleanora replied with a note of relief. “Once you’ve finished, I’ll take you upstairs to meet Lady Hana.”

Carina nodded as she moved into the spot behind the crown princess, which Evelynn relinquished with a deflated expression as she returned the hair clips to the open desk drawer.

A quick removal of more than half the pins Evelynn had left behind, a light brush, and a few deft twists, settled Eleanora’s wild hair into a simple yet refined curled braid. Tiffany supplied a woven black-pearl band to tie at the end and a few pearl hairpin ornaments, which Carina slid into Eleanora’s mane to finish her work.

“So, the Countess taught you Ventrayna hairstyles as well?” Eleanora observed as her lips twitched between a laugh and a smile of approval. “I shall have to thank my aunt for choosing such an excellent protégé when next we meet.”

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A strange sense of anticipation prickled along Carina’s skin as she followed Eleanora down the hallway to the door that waited across from her own room.

"Hana," Eleanora called out gently as she knocked. A muffled response answered, and Eleanora quickly opened the bedroom door. “Wait here for a moment, Lady Maura.”

Carina nodded and remained outside the threshold as Eleanora half closed the door behind her.

"Elly?" Hana’s faint voice slipped through the opening. The sound of glass and other objects being moved aside filled the growing silence.

“I have to leave Rose Palace for a while, Hana,” Eleanora’s voice explained. “The Dowager has dragged me out to another one of her tea parties. Lady Maura, would you come in please.”

Carina pushed the door fully open and entered. The bedroom mirrored hers in nearly every way as far as size and orientation, though the drapes and furnishings had a distinct foreign look to them that was not quite Ventrayna. Carina focused her attention on the young woman, only two years her senior, who lay against the pillows with a pale, confused expression.

“Lady Maura is going to look after you while I’m gone,” Eleanora said reassuringly as she sat upon the bed and took her lover’s hand. “Do try to eat something in the meanwhile.”

Hana’s eyes closed for a moment as her hand wrapped tightly around Eleanora’s. A shadow of pain flickered across her features before she opened her weary turquoise-blue eyes and nodded. “Please—don’t worry about me,” she whispered. “You should—be wary of the Dowager.”

“I am more worried about you than that old wolf,” Eleanora replied as she brushed away the damp light-golden locks of Hana’s hair from her forehead.

“You are making a big fuss out of nothing—again,” Hana reproached wearily. She turned toward Carina and offered a ghost of a smile. “It is simply my moon cycle that makes me fatigue too easily. It will pass in a few days.”

Carina nodded and offered a sympathetic smile, aware of Maura’s specter that lurked in the doorway behind her.

“Do you mind if I inquire as to what medicine Lady Hana has been taking for her condition?” Carina asked as she turned towards the table across from the foot of the bed, where an assortment of herbal teas, a porcelain pestle, and a few untouched plates of food lay in plain view. Beside the pestle, a fresh pile of daisy-like flowers lay sprawled across a wooden board, a few plucked petals scattered about the floor.

‘Feverfew, she must be getting headaches.’

“Lady Maura is familiar with medicine?” Hana murmured with a hint of worry.

“Lady Maura has many useful talents,” Eleanora affirmed. “My aunt has been training her with great care since she was young.” She sighed as she glanced at the clock on a nightstand. “I must go now, or I’ll be late for tea with grandmother.” She leaned over, kissed Hana’s forehead lightly, and rose. “Please see to it she eats something.”

"Of course, your Highness," Carina replied as she kept her gaze discreet.

"I'll check in on you when I get back," Eleanora promised. "Do you want me to fetch you anything while I'm out?"

"Just be careful,” Hana murmured.

Carina turned as Eleanora headed towards the door with a confident grin. “I’m sure I’ll have an entertaining story to tell you when I get back.” The crown princess waved, shut the door—and then they were alone.

Carina glanced towards the ghost, who floated over to the bedpost to stare longingly at Hana. ‘Stalker much, Maura?’

“I’m sorry,” Hana said with a sigh as she turned towards Carina with an apologetic smile. “You probably would have preferred going to a tea party over babysitting me.”

"Not at all," Carina replied with a wry smile as she circled the bed and cleared a chair nearby of books. “How frequent have your headaches been?” she asked as she stacked the novels neatly beside the nightstand.

Hana blinked and followed Carina’s movements as she cleared away the half-finished cup of cold tea. “I suppose you really do know medicine.”

“I’m not a physician by any means, but I have taken an interest in herbs and common illnesses. Would you mind if I made you a different tea? Something a bit more specific to your needs?”

Hana grimaced as she pushed herself up against the pillows. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, Lady Maura.”

“It’s quite alright,” Carina replied quickly as she settled into the chair. “We are strangers, after all.” She cast a covert glance towards Maura just as the ghost faded from view. “Then, would you mind if I had the maids fetch us some water and lemon cakes later.”

“Of course,” Hana laughed self-consciously. “Please feel free to order whatever you need.”

“You must eat something as well,” Carina urged and reexamined the stack of books beside her. “And perhaps I could read to you while we wait?”

"I suppose that would help to pass the time,” Hana murmured as she rubbed her neck wearily. The sleeves of her gown slid down and Carina’s gaze fell upon the long bruises that ran across Hana’s arm. The marks were yellow-green and almost faded from view.

‘So it wasn’t just a headache or her moon cycle.’

“Let’s see what we have here then.” She knelt beside the chair as she sorted through the stack of books. “The Night Wind’s Sorrow, A Lover’s Lament, The Willow’s Secret…” She pushed the bed skirt aside as she read the titles aloud—and stopped when she found the neatly wrapped pile of rope.

The chill that washed over Carina as she quickly dropped the bed skirt back into place was not from magic—but horror and empathy for Hana.

“Any of those will do, though I should warn you, they do not have happy endings,” Hana said above her as the bed shifted.

“I’ll let you decide then,” Carina replied as she placed three of the books on the bed beside her and stood. “Do you mind if I open the windows for more light.”

Hana shrugged as she reached for a book. “I don’t see why not.”

Carina nodded and moved to the windows. Sure enough, the heavy ropes used to bind the thick curtains were missing. ‘So they hadn’t been prepared for Hana’s condition to reoccur here and improvised.’ Carina pulled half the curtains aside and tucked them behind a chair without comment.

She checked Hana’s reaction as the sunlight spilled over the foot of the bed. The young woman grimaced and shielded her eyes for a moment but appeared otherwise unaffected.

‘Not a serious headache then.' Carina smiled as she returned to the chair beside the bed.

“I just realized,” Hana said as she flipped through the book in her lap. “These are written in Vetrayna. Can you read them, Lady Maura?”

"Yes, the Countess of Hawthorne had me learn to read, write, and speak Vetrayna early on in my education,” Carina responded in Hana’s native tongue.

"That woman does like to be prepared," Hana observed with a wry smile. "Very well, The Lover's Lament." She gestured to the smaller of the two volumes.

"A tragedy?" Carina asked curiously.

"Mmm," Hana mumbled as she lay back against her pillows. "I've never really cared for happy love stories. They're too—unrealistic."

'I couldn't agree with you more.'

"Then Lover's Lament it is." Carina picked up the book, slid the blue vellum cover open, and flipped to the first page. It took her a moment to adjust to the devilishly fancy script of the Vetrayna language. As she glanced over the book's opening line, which already foreshadowed the doom that awaited the unfortunate characters of the story, Carina noticed a tremor in Hana's hand as the young woman combed back her disheveled hair.

Hana stilled for a moment and took in a slow, steady breath. Then she tucked her arm beneath the blanket and closed her eyes. “Read as much as you like, Lady Maura.”

Carina nodded as she refocused on the first paragraph and cleared her throat, "Not all lovers meet by fate, and often lovers meet too late."

[B1] Chapter 84: A Broken Family Affair

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Chapter 84: A Broken Family Affair

Helena looked down at her beautiful boy one last time. His bright auburn hair neatly swept away from his proud brows and clear skin, paler than it should be. His eyelids, unnaturally dark, were peacefully closed. He might have been sleeping were it not for the odd way the left corner of his mouth twisted in pain, or the strange discoloration that was visible beneath the powder of makeup against his cold skin.

She leaned in to kiss him goodbye and pulled away quickly as the rancid scent of death filled her nostrils.

From a distance, Lincoln resumed his peaceful slumbering expression. Helena knew he was dead, but visualizing him this way kept her from falling apart. If she closed her eyes, she would see him awake with his charming, confident smile, forest-green eyes, and fiery red hair—a younger, kinder version of Josiah.

A son who had loved her—who had shielded her more than once from Josiah’s foul moods. A son she had convinced Josiah to send away to school.

‘You should have been safe there. You would have become a better man than Josiah could ever dream of being!’ Helena opened her eyes and clutched her handkerchief against the tight, suffocating pain within her chest. ‘You could have been the next heir of Gilwren. Your future was limitless, Lincoln. How did this—why did this happen?’

A comforting arm wrapped around her and Helena turned to search the dusk-blue eyes of Abbess Mercy, as if she hoped to find answers within the holy woman’s gaze.

“Say your goodbyes, Lady Helena,” Mercy said firmly as she gently pat the trembling woman’s hand and then turned to the two figures who lingered at a discreet distance. “You as well, Lady Sophya. It is time to close the casket.”

“Sophya?” Helena turned towards her silent daughter. The pale, beautiful Sophya stared at Lincoln with an expression of numb disbelief. “Sophya, do you—”

Lord Asher stepped forward quickly as Sophya swayed, grabbed her head, and collapsed.

“Sophya!” Helena rushed to her daughter’s side and pulled her from Asher’s arms. “I—” she could not find the right words. “I’m sorry,” Helena whispered as she brushed back Sophya’s pretty red hair—red like an apple at harvest, red like an oak leaf in autumn, as red as Lincoln’s hair had been.

They could have been twins, were it not for the two years between them. Still, Helena had always taken comfort in their closeness, reassured that they would support each other long after she left this world.

But instead, her eldest lay cold in his coffin, while her youngest lay weak as a babe in her arms.

‘And it’s all my fault—No, it’s all her fault!’

“I’ll take her to rest,” Asher said softly as he touched Helena’s shoulder.

Helena nodded and reluctantly moved aside so Asher could support Sophya in his arms. He lifted his fiancé effortlessly and carried the limp girl to a pew three rows back from the coffin.

Mercy assisted Helena to her feet, and though the Abbess did not speak, Helena could sense she was becoming impatient.

“I will—we should close the coffin now,” Helena whispered, even as the instinct to rip her son free from the casket and shake him awake shuddered through her.

‘Harmonia, give me strength.’

“Wait a moment,” Asher jogged back and offered a token of red hair tied in a ribbon of forest-green to Helena. “Sophya’s token.”

Helena nodded as she accepted the parting gift. She returned to the coffin and placed the token on Lincoln’s chest, beside the silver pocket watch she had bought for him when he was eighteen. The same watch the knights had used to identify and bring back word of his death.

‘If I could only turn back time.’

Helena could still hear the words the knights had spoken when they delivered the death notice.

“He was found dead in an alleyway. The only witness said he went looking for his sister—he must have gotten tangled up in some sort of trouble after that.”

Helena watched the nuns lower the coffin lid, separating her from her son for the final time. Her fingers trembled as she pulled down her veil then folded them against her stomach. She clenched her jaw tightly as tears slid down her cheeks and clung to the shroud's thin fabric.

‘If I could go back—I would kill her before she even took her first breath—before she could take you from me.’

The soft melody of the choir in the loft above floated down upon the tiny gathering. The setting sun burned through the glass window pane. The divine rays bathed the casket, walls, columns, and pews in a garden of colors. Helena knelt slowly onto the provided pillow to offer her prayers to Harmonia, Saintess of Lafeara. Mercy took her place behind the coffin and folded her hands in silent vigil.

The Abbess’s benevolent expression beneath the statue of the Saintess helped ease the desperation that clawed through Helena’s chest as she closed her eyes and offered a mother’s plea. ‘Let my boy find peace and comfort in the arms of the Saints. Let him be born into a better life, one he deserves, where he shall live to the end of his days—happy and blessed. If the Saints and gods are willing—let me find him again in my next life.’

The chapel doors banged open behind her. Helena’s heart nearly spun out of her chest as she turned—full of dread—to find the figure of her recently divorced husband.

"There they are!" Josiah trilled as the choir died out with a faint squeak. “Old wife, old life!” He wove unsteadily through the pews towards the small grieving party. "Let's drink to new beginnings!" He kissed the bottle in his hand, then turned and motioned impatiently to the woman who hesitated at the threshold of the chapel. “Stop dallying and come in, girl!”

Helena blinked in stunned disbelief at the small young woman who took Josiah’s arm intimately. Her ex-husband laid a slobbery kiss on the familiar woman’s mouth before he turned and raised his bottle in a mocking salute to Helena.

"Lord Josiah!" Mercy’s tone flared with divine wrath as she lowered her hands from prayer. "You are drunk!" The young woman who clutched Josiah’s bandaged arm flinched beneath the Abbess’s disapproving tone.

It was then Helena saw the bruise, barely hidden beneath the young woman’s mousy brown hair and makeup—and recognization sank in. ‘Josiah—you didn’t!’

"Excellent perception—for a nun," Josiah snickered as he eyed the Abbess up and down crookedly. "Yes, I'm drunk.” He smacked the bottle against his chest and sniffed. “And that's my boy—" he nodded towards the casket as a tear spilled down his flushed cheeks. "My oldest—my best—" he choked and shoved his drink into the young woman’s hand while he fumbled for a handkerchief and blew his nose loudly.

"Father," Sophya said numbly as she rose from the pew beside Asher. “Is that—Judith?”

"You recognize her? Good.” Josiah raised his gaze with a gleeful smile as he stepped back and pinched Judith’s pale cheek. "She’s your step-mother now, and my new wife—" his gaze slid over to Helena with ruthless malice "—Lady Judith."

"Lady Judith?" Sophya repeated in sharp disbelief. “Father—she is a slave!”

“Was a slave,” Lady Judith corrected with a bitter smile. "But now, I am the Lady of Turnbell Manor.”

Sophya let out a strangled laugh and reached blindly for Asher’s arm as she wobbled unsteadily. Asher pulled her against him and glared wordlessly over Sophya’s quivering shoulders at Josiah and his new bride.

“How dare you!” Helena fumed as she rose from the prayer pillow and marched towards Josiah. “How dare you bring a whore to my son’s funeral!”

"Well—" Josiah replied with a huff, "—it's not like she's the only whore here, is she?"

“Lady Helena!” Abbess Mercy, who appeared behind the livid noblewoman with surprising speed, caught Helena’s raised hand quickly. “Do not demean yourself to his level.”

Josiah cackled as he tipped back his hat. “No, no, don’t stop her. Go on, Helena, give us a show. Let’s see how vulgar the fallen noble daughter of a viscount has become. Oh, wait, you’re divorced now! And the Viscount stripped you of title and inheritance—do you even count as a noble anymore?”

“Why!” Sophya shrieked as she whirled around to face her parents. “Why must you both be so vile. This isn’t about you—either of you! Lincoln is dead!”

“Miss Sophya has a point,” Judith said stiffly as she surveyed the family before her with cold disinterest. “Let’s get him buried so we can move on with our lives.”

“You!” Sophya jabbed a finger in the slave's direction. “Have no right to speak, let alone be here!”

Judith pulled away from Josiah’s arm and sauntered past Helena towards Sophya with a crooked smile. “No right to speak?” She held up her hand to display the bright emerald ring, which had once adorned Helena’s finger. “I’m not a slave anymore, little Sophya. I am your step-mother. And at this very moment—” she grabbed Sophya’s hand and pressed it to her stomach “—I just might be carrying your father’s next male heir.”

Sophya pulled away sharply and cringed as her hip smacked against the pew. “You-you’re revolting—”

Judith laughed as she raised the sparkling jewel to her lips and tilted her head. “Well, if I am, it was your family that made me this way.”

“That is enough,” Asher interrupted as he took Sophya’s arm and gently placed her in the pew behind him. “Before you act above your class Lady Judith, remember that your husband is one bad creditor away from dragging you both back into the gutter.”

Judith flinched as she pulled the shawl over the bruises on her arms. She dropped her gaze, turned sharply, and returned to Josiah, who lowered his bottle to welcome her with a hungry kiss.

“You are in a church, Lord Josiah,” Asher growled with evident disgust. “Even if you do not care for such things, you should at least remember this is your son’s funeral.”

Josiah peered around Judith and squinted at the young baron. "Ah, it’s Lord Asher! Good to see you. I trust things are well with your father, Baron Winslet?"

"The Baron still suffers from gout," Asher answered stiffly as he left Sophya briefly to check on Helena. "Which is why he's left me in charge of the estate and his businesses.” He guided the shaking mother back to her daughter and offered his handkerchief as she sank into the pew.

“Excellent! Excellent!” Josiah cried as he advanced towards them, dragging a reluctant Judith behind him. “Young minds are keener when it comes to business and more courageous when calculating risk and reward.”

“No, Lord Josiah,” Asher said bluntly as he moved to block the drunk man’s path into the pew.

“No?” Josiah repeated in confusion.

“No, I will not be offering you a loan."

Josiah's already splotched skin reddened to match his hair while his lips twisted in fury. "Loan? Why would I need a loan?” He brushed a hand down his brand-new suit with a note of disdain. “Don't act so high and mighty with me, little pup. I know Helena paid you and the Baroness quite handsomely to marry that preening shrew."

"W-what?" Sophya squeaked as she turned towards them, horrified.

"You are mistaken, Lord Josiah,” Asher adamantly replied as he gripped the corner of the pew tightly. “Helena only gave us Sophya’s dowry, which you, her father, were unable to provide. A dowry that will be given to Sophya after we are married as is proper," he added with a cynical smile. "Unlike certain detestable scoundrels, I don't need to rely upon a woman to support my household."

"Ha! I wouldn't be so ready to marry a girl whose mother is the queen of lies if I were you," Josiah spat furiously.

“You!” Helena shrieked as she tore past a startled Asher to rake at her ex-husband’s face. “You who bore more bastards than you could ever remember to name? You who spent my aunt’s fortune pandering to your friends and useless business partners while assuring me the company was bringing in a profit. If I am the queen of lies, then you are the emperor of filth!”

Asher managed to restrain the hysterical woman around the waist and pulled her back, though not before Helena left her mark on Josiah’s cheek. The belligerent man stumbled and caught himself as he yanked Judith’s arm harshly enough for her to cry out in pain.

“Josiah!” the young woman sobbed as she stumbled to her knees and clutched her stomach protectively.

“Stop! Stop this or I will throw you both out!” Mercy snapped as she quickly moved between the quarreling ex-spouses.

“Mother, please!” Sophya reached past Asher to clasp the still struggling Helena’s wrist. “Please!”

Helena tore her burning gaze from Josiah as her arms dropped limply to her side. Asher released her cautiously as Sophya moved around him to embrace the still trembling woman.

Helena buried her face in her daughter’s shoulder as her anger bled away and drained her very bones. ‘I am so tired of fighting a man who only ever hurt and disappointed me.’

“Yeah, that’s right, cry like the pathetic bitch you are,” Josiah taunted as he pressed a shiny new silk handkerchief to his bleeding cheek.

“One more word,” Mercy hissed in warning. Her far from benevolent gaze made Josiah’s jaw clamp shut. “Attend to your new wife, Lord Josiah.”

The humbled noble turned and grumbled as he helped Judith to her feet.

Sophya trembled with rage as she watched Josiah dote over the ex-slave, her new step-mother, and escorted Judith to a pew. Asher touched her shoulder and offered a reassuring smile.

“I wouldn’t be so proud of your new wife,” Asher said as he focused upon the newlyweds. “In fact, I would keep her as far from the public eye as possible. Who knows how many nobles might recognize her after she was passed around your last group of investors.”

Josiah visibly flinched. Judith shrank away from her husband as he turned towards Asher.

The young noble moved into the pew with a smug leer. “A wife with that kind of background—even if she gave birth to a dozen sons—they would only ever be of questionable lineage.”

“You!” Josiah blustered as he stormed from the pew and grabbed Asher’s collar.

“Gentlemen, please!” Mercy snapped in an exasperated tone.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Lord Josiah,” Asher warned as he caught the lord’s swinging wrist. “Unlike the Earl of Hawthorne, I have no problem crushing you beyond the point of return. If it weren’t for Lady Sophya, your pathetic hide would already be in debtor's prison for the 6,000 crescents you still owe my father.”

Josiah's jowls billowed as he sucked in an angry breath to retort—just as the chapel doors rattled open behind them.

"Is this the funeral of one Lincoln Turnbell?" the priest demanded as he strode down the aisle shadowed by another man, cloaked in red robes and scarlet armor.

Helena took one look at the witch hunter’s electric-blue eyes and pulled Sophya down into the pew beside her as her legs buckled in terror.

The past she had long feared—had finally caught up to her.

[B1] Chapter 85: An Unholy Reckoning

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Chapter 85: An Unholy Reckoning

The small group of shocked nobles turned towards Nero and his priest in silent confusion. Nero offered them a sinister grin that made the gentlemen recoil while the women cowered behind their pews.

‘Pathetic mortals. They were a far cry from the Earl of Hawthorne.’

Nero hadn’t forgotten the curious prickle of power he had felt just looking into the young Earl’s intimidating winter-grey eyes.

The nobleman who stood before him now, a man of about forty years, stank to high heaven of spirits and appeared to be nursing a broken wrist. The young woman who cowered behind the nobleman could have walked out of a brothel with her gaudy dress, dense perfume, heavy makeup, and that all too visible bruise.

“I’ll ask again,” Father Alden said with evident impatience. “Is this Lincoln Turnbell’s funeral?”

Nero glared at the nobles and refrained from rolling his eyes. ‘You know it is, runt. The knight I paid to keep track of the body told us the Abbess brought it here for a family funeral.’

The Abbess circled past the frozen nobles and marched towards the priest. "This is a private affair," she declared briskly. "You and your witch hunter are not welcome here."

‘Ah, so this is the Abbess who controls the churches of Lafeara.’ Nero smirked as he watched the young priest bristle beneath the older woman’s disapproving glare. ‘Come on, runt, put her in her place.’

“Abbess,” Alden greeted her with the faintest of nods. “How strange that we should meet now after a week spent hunting for a witch in your diocese*. To think, Nero, if the Abbess had only been available during our numerous visits to the cathedral, or even responded to any of my messages, we might have found the Turnbell family sooner.”

“Indeed.” Nero leaned over the priest’s shoulder as he studied the woman before him. “How curious.”

A strange sense of déjà vu washed over the witch hunter as the woman’s dusk-blue eyes turned in his direction. Even more irritating was the surprising lack of fear in the Abbess’s steady gaze as she stared back at him defiantly. ‘Strange—and yet familiar.’ The flicker of a memory, so similar to this moment, he could almost taste it, teased at Nero’s brain with distracting uncertainty.

The Abbess refocused on Father Alden. “Since you are aware that I am the Abbess, you should also know I have a lot of responsibilities which keep me busy. I also command full authority over all church property within Lefeara’s borders.” She took a step towards the priest as she crossed her arms and stared down at him imperiously. “Therefore, priest, remove yourself and your filthy hound from this chapel, at once.”

‘Okay, even if the runt was a bit annoying, wasn’t the Abbess reacting a bit aggressively?’ Nero chuckled as the priest crossed his arms and mimicked her stance. ‘Let’s see what you’ve got, priest.’

"You forget, Abbess,” Alden snapped back, “that I have come to Lafeara invested with the authority of Pope Jericho."

Nero noticed with interest the look of distaste the rippled across Mercy’s face when the priest dropped the Pope’s name. ‘Interesting.’

With a gratified smirk, Alden brushed past the Abbess towards the elusive Turnbell family. "By that authority,” the priest continued haughtily, “I am allowed entrance to even the King's bed-chamber if necessary, to say nothing of your quaint little chapel."

Nero grimaced and closed his eyes. ‘Never trust a noble runt to know when to keep their trap shut.’

Mercy laughed cynically, and even the noblemen scowled at the priest's daring claim.

Alden cleared his throat loudly and focused on the trembling young woman with the bruised cheek and fearful brown eyes. “Tsk,” the priest muttered as he continued on his way. “Apparently, even prostitutes are welcome within this church.”

“Excuse me!” the older nobleman growled. “That is my wife you are insulting!”

Nero stepped around the Abbess, careful to keep a close distance behind the priest. As with any witch hunt, he was expected to ensure his handler made it back to Zarus alive, preferably in one piece. Not the easiest of tasks. Nero had lost a few priests along the way that couldn’t be helped, but it was a responsibility he couldn’t easily shake—especially if the priest lived to complain about it.

Judging from the glassy glare the offended nobleman was giving the priest right now, Alden was one hot poker away from earning himself a well-earned punch to the face.

The priest studied the nobleman’s injured arm then raised his gaze curiously. “You are—the father of Lincoln Turnbell?"

"I am Lord Josiah Turnbell," the annoyed nobleman snapped as he puffed out his chest. "And yes, Lincoln was my son. What business do you have with my family?"

Alden glanced towards the younger noble. "And you are?"

"Lord Asher Winslet, fiancé to Lady Sophya, whose brother lies just there," Asher replied grimly as he pointed towards the casket.

Nero ignored the noblemen and focused on the two women seated in the pews behind them. The pretty maiden with eye-catching scarlet-red hair—the same red color as the corpse Alden had shown him in the morgue of the Knight’s Compound—stared back at Nero with timid but confused glossy green eyes.

His attention shifted to the older woman beside her. Another strange tug of déjà vu pierced his gut as he registered the noblewoman’s ash-blonde hair and pale cheeks. Her hazel-brown eyes raised hesitantly to meet his gaze, and Nero recognized the fear he saw there—no, more importantly, he recognized her.

"So, you are Lincoln's sister?" Alden said with a note of victory as he turned to face the women.

"I—" the red-head rose cautiously from the pew, "Yes, I am—was."

"Nero.” Alden turned towards him expectantly.

Ripping his gaze from the trembling mother, Nero strode past Lord Asher and grabbed the younger woman’s arm.

“Sophya!” Helena gasped but quickly shrank away from Nero’s silent glare.

“Wh-what do you want?” Sophya babbled. She cringed as Nero leaned over the pew and pressed his face into her scarlet hair. “Asher!”

“Let her go!” The young nobleman appeared behind him and seized the witch hunter’s shoulder.

With an annoyed sigh, Nero released the girl, who scampered behind her mother with a frightened whimper. “It’s not her,” he said as he turned to face the priest.

“You bastard,” Asher growled as Nero shrugged off his grip and returned to the aisle, keenly aware of Helena, trembling in the pews behind him.

‘How long has it been since we almost caught that pure-blood in bed with her? Almost two decades surely.’

Alden scowled as he spun in place and glared at the nobles. “Are you sure? Is it any of them?”

Nero glanced back at Helena and shook his head slowly. “None of them are witches.”

“I should think not!” Josiah roared indignantly. “What is this all about?”

Nero studied the man before him. The memory of Helena babbling out excuses while pleading for her life at the edge of his blade suddenly made flesh. ‘So this is the pig of a husband she was trying to punish by having an affair.’ His gaze shifted to the trembling red-head and then the coffin. ‘And they are the children she mentioned to Abbot Grendel.’

“The reason your son is dead is because a witch killed him,” Alden growled as he rubbed his chin. “A witness claimed he was in the alley where he died looking for his sister.”

“What?” Josiah sputtered as his brows rose and fell in confusion.

“Sophy is not a witch as your hound has just proven,” Mercy interjected coldly. “Since your business here is concluded, priest, I think its high time you left.”

Nero narrowed his eyes at the Abbess. ‘That’s where I remember you from. You were just a nun then when Abbot Grendel left Helena in your care.’ He had sensed it earlier, but now he was confident the Abbess was hiding something. His gaze shifted back to Helena, who flinched visibly. ‘No, they are hiding something.’

‘It’s no small coincidence that the woman we found in bed with a pure-blood ice witch became the mother of the noble killed by a young coven ice witch.’

"Finished?" Alden echoed as he whirled towards Mercy. "I haven't even started with you, Abbess. Using your authority to remove Lincoln’s body from custody before our investigation had concluded was one thing. But removing a family name from the Lafeara’s church archives to thwart our investigation—only a Bishop or Abbess has that sort of power." The priest advanced upon her as he spoke. "And Lafeara no longer has a Bishop.”

"I have no idea what you're prattling on about," Mercy replied as she stared down at the priest with a mocking smile.

"Pretend all you like. I know you're hiding the ice witch," Alden hissed as he stepped back and snapped his fingers.

Nero suppressed a growl at the priest’s infuriating gesture. ‘As if I am some beast you can command with the flick of your finger.’ He had already moved behind the Abbess beforehand. At the priest’s command, he seized Mercy’s arms and held them against her back before she could react. Instead of struggling, the Abbess merely turned and offered him a cold stare.

‘Arrogant bitch.’ Nero twisted his grip and was rewarded as a twinge of pain flickered across Mercy’s face, and she let out a sharp breath. He leaned over her shoulder and carefully whispered so that no one else could hear, “You let that devil’s child live, didn’t you?”

Mercy bowed her head, for a moment Nero thought she was trembling in fear, but then a laugh bubbled past her lips as the Abbess straightened and shot him a spiteful smile.

"Before you and your hound continue to threaten me, priest,” Mercy said with a note of amusement. "Perhaps you should deal with the trouble you've brought to my doorstep."

Nero’s brows furrowed in confusion, then he glanced towards the chapel’s doors. Five men in fox masks stood illuminated by the mid-day sun, their black cloaks rustling faintly in the breeze. They were armed to the teeth with glistening blades, pistols, and ruthless eyes that glared through the cut-out holes in the masks, down at the priest, witch hunter, and Abbess.

Alden cleared his throat and glanced nervously at Nero. "Friends of yours?"

Nero relaxed his grip on the Abbess and chuckled as he glanced up at the choir loft where four more masked thugs aimed their crossbows at him. "Just some vermin that crawled out of the slums. They won't be a problem." He shoved Mercy in Alden’s direction as he took a step towards the brave group of thugs.

A ringing bang exploded through the church as the stain glass windows behind the altar shattered inwards and rained down upon the statue of the Saintess and Lincoln’s coffin.

The priest let out a small startled squeal as he ducked. Mercy quickly shook her hand free of his grasp. Alden turned, and belatedly tried to grab her robes, but they slid through his fingers like water. The Abbess dashed towards Helena, yanked the frozen noblewoman out of her pew, and then shoved her under Lincoln’s coffin.

A second explosion shattered the side windows and death poured like a tidal wave of rose-colored daggers onto the frozen congregation below.

Nero crouched beneath his enchanted cloak as bullet zipped overhead. He glared at the Foxes, who crouched behind the back pews, still guarding the doorway with guns drawn. ‘Just what sort of explosive device had they set up?’

With a guttural snarl, Nero grabbed the priest by the collar, tossed him on the ground beside a pew, ripped another pew’s bolted legs from the floor, and tipped it over the priest. “Stay there!” he yelled, then hissed as a bullet smacked against his shoulder armor and ricocheted.

The nobles screamed as they ran for cover. Asher pushed Sophya against the nearest column where they crouched beneath his jacket. Josiah dragged his panicked wife between the pews towards safety, then slipped and disappeared from view, dragging the poor woman down with him.

Nero remained crouched beside the priest’s wooden shelter as the last pieces of falling glass shattered against the floor. The piercing ring in his ears throbbed into a dull ache as he shook the glass from his cloak then peered around the pews to search for the pesky Foxes.

The scent of brimstone hit his senses, and Nero whipped his head towards the altar and the visage of Lafeara’s Saintess, Harmonia.

“Nero?” Alden called hesitantly from beneath the glass-covered pew.

Nero ignored the priest as a shadow stretched across the chapel floor towards him, and the pure-blood witch appeared.

Twin serpents of fire spiraled around the witch’s arms and melted the broken glass edges of the arch window he levitated within. The hellfire spread along the stone frame, illuminating the blue mask that covered the witch’s face. The ghoul’s eerie grin and sinister black eyes focused on Nero with murderous intent. The flame serpents swelled in size and snapped in the witch hunter’s direction hungrily.

“Oh—Holy Fuck!” Alden whispered as he crawled out from beneath the pew behind Nero.

"Alright," Nero growled as he unclasped his torn, red cloak and let it fall to the floor. He stood, and the scarlet armor he wore underneath flickered awake as it reflected the pure-blood devil’s fire magic. "This one might be a problem."

[B1] Chapter 86: A Baptism of Fire

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Chapter 86: A Baptism of Fire

Nero had traded blows with death on more than one occasion and crawled his way back from the grave. No matter what public visage a witch hid behind, the dominating scent of their magic was like a drug the church’s hounds had been bred to sniff out and track down.

Powerful and dangerous, chosen and gifted, each witch was born fully capable of twisting the world to their will.

And yet all witches paled in terror and anger when faced with the witch hunter’s scarlet armor—the color of the church’s conscripted warriors, each trained by legacies of witch killers. They might have been born as half-witches, as failures, but the Pope had forged them into the witch coven’s worst nightmare.

If normal humans were mortals, then a witch hunter was half-mortal. By the Pope’s decree, they existed to quell the unholy magic that had brought them into this world. The same magic that rejected them at birth now bent to their will through magical tools crafted by the Second Saint. Gems and enchantments forged into rings, armor, weapons, and even their cloaks. All to ensure a witch hunter lived long enough to accomplish his mission and slay the church’s nemesis.

The priests were but a leash meant to keep the hounds in check, but Nero was used to fighting alone. He preferred it that way. Priests who stuck around to watch him defeat powerful witches tended to end up in coffins. Most knew better than to risk their lives when faced with a coven witch, even if they were confident in their witch hunter’s abilities.

But this was no coven witch. This pure-blood’s aura was stronger than any Nero had ever witnessed. It was even comparable to that devil he had hunted decades ago with his mentor.

But there was something wrong with the magic that enveloped this witch. Instead of flowing like a tide or stream, it crashed and writhed against itself as if two wills were at war within the pure-blood’s body.

It could only mean one thing, something that just might give Nero an edge. This witch had a weakness—this pure-blood lacked control and training.

Almost all pure-bloods were raised within the protective confines of their coven. The more powerful a pure-blood, the more ferociously the coven would fight to protect them. After all, a pure-blood was the only weapon the coven could wield against the church or other covens.

But this pure-blood had grown up without a coven and that weakness was a flaw Nero was determined to exploit.

A cross-bolt smacked into the front of his chest armor. Nero hissed with irritation as he glanced towards the pesky foxes that slinked behind whatever cover they could find. He would deal with them later.

“Never take your eye off a witch, pure-blood or not,” his mentor’s training reverberated through him as Nero ripped the arrow free, and barely noticed the small chink it left in his armor.

The pure-blood levitated over the casket, and the cowering woman beneath it, down to the church floor. Flames hissed awake beneath his black leather boots the moment the witch touched holy ground.

Nero was not surprised to see the pure-blood unphased by this. ‘His magic would have weakened the moment he crossed the threshold if this were an ordinary coven witch.’

“We have a score to settle with you, witch hunter,” the pure-blood whispered. His words, laced with a dangerous tension, awakened the flames at his feet, which writhed and spiraled across the floor like disembodied hellspawn scorpions. They surged across the carpet towards the witch hunter, leaving a trail of flame behind them.

Nero yanked off his glove and whispered against the pearl ring on his right hand. ‘Fustibus saxisque.’ With a sharp movement of his hand through the air, the enchantment ripped the chapel aisle carpet into shreds as a protective wind barrier spun around him and lifted the witch hunter off the floor, out of the scorpions' reach.

The hellspawn hissed and circled below. Their fiendish shapes morphed back into flame as they climbed each other and piled above the floor towards him. Soon enough, they formed a mound that reached the edge of the barrier beneath the witch hunter’s feet.

Nero didn’t want to know what would happen if they broke through the wind barrier and reached his body. He had seen a hunter eaten by earth bugs before—It was not a fate he envied.

"Is that the best you can do, witch hunter?” the pure-blood called out mockingly as he strode through the flames towards Nero. The twin serpents, coiled around his arms, snapped out and ate the hellspawn scorpions. The flame serpents appeared to grow larger with every gulp.

In the pews to the right of Nero, Josiah squealed in terror and backed away from the crawling flames as the hellspawn climbed hungrily over the wood and cushion. The nobleman scrambled over Judith, ignoring the pale young woman’s feeble protests as she clutched her stomach and struggled to rise.

"Excuse me!" Mercy called out with shrill authority behind the pure-blood. "But could you please take all this chaos and destruction outside?"

"Take the living and go, Abbess," replied one of the foxes. The man moved confidently towards the chapel doors, his gray mask streaked with red, distinguished him for the rest of his skulk. “We’ve come for the witch hunter, but if you stay, you’re welcome to die with him.” The Fox Master yanked the doors closed and turned to face the Abbess. “Best if you went out through the back entrance—quickly now.”

"Nero," Alden called out anxiously from the edge of the pews.

"Leave, Father," Nero ordered coldly. “You’re a hindrance to me here.”

‘I can’t fight a devil with an arm tied behind my back.’ Unleashing his ice-magic in front of the priest guaranteed the runt’s death—not that Nero had a problem with that.

"We weren't supposed to engage with this witch!" Alden hissed with a nervous glance at the pure-blood.

‘So you guessed his identity as well?’ Nero grunted. ‘Then again, rumors of the Emperor’s pure-blood bastard lurking about Lafeara had been circling for about a year now.’

"Well, the brat came looking for me, didn't he?" the witch hunter replied as he rolled his neck from side to side.

‘The question was—why did the pure-blood come looking for me? Does this have something to do with the ice-witch hiding in Lafeara?’

In most cases, several units of witch hunters were required to take down a pure-blood. Even then—Nero’s last experience with a pure-blood had ended with most of his comrades skewered on ice spears like pigs or torn apart by wolves.

Even if this pure-blood was untrained, the moment the bastard lost control of his magic, the fight would be over for Nero and everyone else in this church.

The odds were not in his favor—and yet Nero could barely restrain the hungry grin that twitched at the corners of his mouth, impatient for the gallery to clear and the real performance to begin. ‘Let’s see if you’re half the witch the Emperor is, brat.’

"Going up against a pure-blood on your own is suicide," Alden hissed, with what might have been a hint of worry. When Nero gave no reply, the priest shook his head and headed to where the Abbess stood, guiding the nuns that had escaped the choir loft above, and the nobles, who had abandoned their hiding spots, towards the back exit. "Saint's blessing on you then, Nero."

'Fuck the Saints.' Nero grinned as he touched the jewel at his chest hidden beneath his scarlet armor. 'I have the Witch Star.'

The red-head and her fiancé, followed by Father Alden, quickly scurried after the nuns towards the exit. Josiah bolted after them just as Helena came out from her hiding spot beneath her dead son’s coffin and dashed around the front pew. The pair collided, and Helena slipped and fell on her side against the fallen glass scattered across the floor. Even from a distance, Nero heard the noblewoman whimper in pain.

"Stupid bitch!" Josiah hissed before he continued towards the exit.

"Josiah!" Helena sobbed angrily after him.

"Take my hand, Lady Helena," Mercy said patiently as she knelt beside the fallen noblewoman and helped her to her feet.

Helena struggled to stand and clutched her side, where a small stream of blood flowed from her waist and blended into her dark mourning dress.

"No, don't-don't touch it!" Mercy pushed the noblewoman’s hand away from the glass protruding through her ribs. "Let us—leave first." The Abbess supported Helena on her uninjured side, and the two women made their way slowly towards the back door. Two Foxes slid over to guard the exit behind them.

"They're gone now!" a Fox in the choir loft above called out impatiently. "Let's roast this cocksucker!"

Nero chuckled at their optimism but kept his gaze focused on the Emperor’s bastard.

"Keep your distance from him," the pure-blood growled in warning. "And stay out of my way!"

'Interesting, so you're an ally of the Fox Den?'

"Fuck this witch! And fuck you too, Ghost, you witch-bastard!"

Nero followed the sound of the voice and spotted the Fox as he emerged over the rail of the choir loft, with the witch hunter in the crosshairs of his mahogany steel crossbow.

Nero flicked his wrist in the pest’s direction. A blade of ice hissed through the air as the bolt launched free of its string. The cold weapon penetrated the thug's throat just below his mask while the cross-bolt screeched to a halt and shattered as it hit the wind barrier around the witch hunter. The Fox gargled incoherently as he dropped his weapon, then collapsed and toppled over the loft rails where he landed with a thud between the pews below.

“Pulchritudo dolore.” The witch hunter spun in a dance as a thousand ice daggers splintered from his fingertips and spiraled out through the wind barrier across the church, piercing stone, wood, flesh, and bone. Two more foxes fell as their comrades hastily sought cover.

The pure-blood’s flame serpents crisscrossed over the witch's body, deflecting and swallowing any attack that came within range as the pure-blood drew his sword. The witch steel ignited with flame at a single touch.

‘Three down, six to—no wait.’ Through the frozen mist that obscured his vision, Nero watched one Fox rise sluggishly from the floor with his left hand pressed to the side of his bleeding neck, his right gripped a gun aimed at the witch hunter.

The flint spark ignited, but the bullet’s path glowed like a torch as it sluggishly crossed the wind barrier. The witch hunter dodged it effortlessly. "Children shouldn't speak when the adults are talking," Nero snickered and finished the Fox off with an ice dagger through his right eye. "So the Emperor’s bastard goes by Gho—"

Nero realized his mistake just as the pure-blood’s flaming sword crashed against the wind barrier four inches from his face. Glowing veins of power spread across the screeching wall of wind and barely gave Nero a chance to dodge the attack as the barrier shattered, and he dropped towards the waiting hellspawn below.

[B1] Chapter 87: A Pure-Blood Devil

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Chapter 87: A Pure-Blood Devil

Nero’s armor pulsed as his boots sank with a crunch into the screeching pile of burning hellspawn. The conflagration of crawling scorpions swarmed up his torso as their tails struck against the scarlet armor like a thousand tiny needles. A flash of magic spiraled out from the witch hunter’s armor with devastating effect as it scattered the hell fiends across the church. Nero used the boost from the enchantment’s kickback to cartwheel away from the twin flame serpents that dove after him, snapping at the air beneath his chin and grazing his heel.

The chapel’s air, once frigid with frost, now rippled as the temperature climbed dangerously high. The witch hunter resettled a safe distance away and pulled up the scarf at his neck, which he secured over his mouth and nose. “Guess that’s my cue to get serious.”

“Your ice isn’t an enchantment,” Ghost spat venomously. For a moment, the ghoul’s dark eyes flickered red. “You’re a witch!”

“Half-right, pure-blood,” Nero retorted as he dodged another cross-bolt and vaulted over the corner of a pew. A shadow moved in the corner of his eye. Nero barely raised an ice wall before two unseen assassins scraped its surface with their deadly knives.

‘Shadow guards? Right—this was the Emperor’s son, after all.’

"Ho?" the witch hunter chuckled darkly. "So much for a one on one eh, little prince?" He turned to find the pure-blood gone. Instinct sent him diving to the side as the burning blade singed dangerously close to his throat. The sword’s glowing red steel hissed through the witch hunter's braids that caught fire even as they were cut clean through.

Nero rolled to his feet and put a few more pews between them as he dampened the flames in his hair with ice magic. “You’re not exactly fighting fair, your Highness.”

‘Fighting this bastard up close will only get me roasted one piece at a time.’

"Victors write history," Ghost mocked as he circled the pews after the witch hunter. "The dead don’t get a say. The church should have plenty of experience with this philosophy. Still, if you want to complain before you die, who am I to deny a dead man’s last request."

'Pretentious little brat!'

"I would write that on your tombstone, your Highness, but witches don’t require graves," Nero retorted as he drew his enchanted dagger. The Witch Star flared against his skin as Nero extended his arm. An ice shaft formed in the air beneath his fingers and closed around the hilt of his dagger. He swung his newly forged frozen spear through the air and leveled it at the pure-blood. “Ready when you are, bastard prince.”

Ghost snorted. “Half-witch or not, I’ve never understood why your kind would serve a religious institution that has persecuted witches and half-witches for centuries. Is it out of spite, jealousy, or inferiority?”

“Do you want a fight or a history lesson?” Nero snarked back as he deflected another cross-bolt with his spear.

They launched towards each other. Fire and ice clashed and hissed against steel as the room filled with mist and sparks. Every impact of their blades sent a wave of heat crashing into Nero’s armor, that flared as it repelled the dangerous magic.

At first, Nero thought the pure-blood was toying with him. Most witches relied on the power of their magic rather than the limitations of a blade or weapon. Still, each of Ghost’s attacks came with a lethal force intent on shattering the witch hunter’s defenses.

‘Why is he holding back? If it weren’t for his skills as a swordsman, I might have the advantage. Unfortunately, I don’t have his unlimited magic to pull from.’

The armor flared a dull gray, the protective enchantment already dangerously exhausted. Nero retreated as he flipped pews into the pure-blood’s path with his spear. His attempts to slow his opponent proved futile as Ghost shattered the benches beneath his sword like dry kindling.

“The ferocity of a pure-blood’s magic is not to be underestimated. They are a living cataclysm of unholy destruction.”

There was only one witch hunter in existence who had defeated a pure-blood alone—the commander of the Witch Hunter Order, the Pope’s right hand, and Nero’s mentor.

‘And I am not him,’ Nero realized bitterly as he struggled to keep the pure-blood before him at bay. The flame serpents had become wings that now boosted Ghost’s speed and the power behind his attacks.

‘Fuck at this rate—’ Nero swung his spear up to meet the descending sword of fire. The power behind Ghost’s attack nearly took the witch hunter to his knees. The air howled and twisted beneath their feet, as the sanctified stone floor of the church cracked and caved beneath the impact.

The chink in Nero’s armor widened as he struggled to remain upright. The spear shuddered against his hands as the sweat dried upon his brow. The enchantments of his rings had long burned out, and his magic was running dangerously low.

“Pulchritudo dolore,” Nero hissed as he glared across the fragmenting spear into the ghoul’s demonic eyes that now glowed orange.

“I smell fear, witch hunter,” Ghost taunted behind the ghoul’s leer as the witch hunter’s weapon dripped and hissed water onto the cracked floor beneath them.

Nero smirked as the Witch Star’s hidden power flooded through him and shifted the temperature around them once more. Magic flowed through the spear as the fractures closed, and the weapon was made whole once more. Ice reclaimed the caved church floor and rose to form a frozen prison shell around them.

Ghost laughed even as frost wove vines across his mask and black-leather armor. “I’m feeling a bit underwhelmed, witch hunter,” he muttered with a twinge of disappointment. “Cinis Cinerem.”

The flame serpents shifted as they recoiled around Ghost’s extended arm and lunged into the witch hunter’s face. Nero retreated and smacked against the walls of the ice prison. He ducked below the demon’s deadly bite and thrust his spear beneath their glowing bodies up into the pure-blood’s exposed chest.

His pivotal moment of victory shattered as Ghost caught the spear in his bare hand and snapped the weapon in half.

‘Too strong—too fucking strong!’

“What kind of devil are you?” Nero growled as the remaining shaft in his hand crackled like dry paper and evaporated into thin air. The enchanted dagger fell to the floor beside him, dull and muted—stripped of its enchantment.

The blue ghoul’s mask tilted as the pure-blood stalked closer. “Ask the goddess of death when you meet her.”

The serpents swelled in size and merged into a demonic visage that made even Nero’s blood run cold. He rolled to the side as the hell beast bashed its skull through the already splintering ice walls.

Nero retreated as the ice prison evaporated behind him. He flinched when the Foxes resumed their ranged attacks on him from above. His weakened armor did little to protect him now as arrow after arrow bit into his backplate. At this rate, the scarlet armor barely had enough magic to hold itself together. Nero took cover behind the nearest column and attempted to locate the archers above.

Shadows shifted in the corner of his left eye. Nero hastily summoned an ice wall around him as the assassins danced closer. “Never underestimate how quickly a battle can turn against you.”

Nero growled as black needles struck the translucent shield and injected their deadly poison into the ice. ‘I can’t keep up against these numbers. Perhaps I should focus on clearing them out first.’

Determined to take out a few more pests before Ghost reached him, Nero summoned another ice spear, lowered his shield, and thrust his frozen weapon towards the nearest shadow guard. A bullet took out his knee and threw the witch hunter off balance against the chapel wall.

Nero barely registered the gray Fox Master, who dipped out of sight through a nearby window. The witch hunter swung his spear wildly at the three shadow guards that closed in. They danced back as he slid down to one knee and blasted them with a wave of ice daggers that managed to take down one of the shadows.

‘How many of these bastards are there?’

His chest constricted painfully as the Witch Star flashed a warning. The fight had already pushed him into the cursed gem’s magic reserve, and now even that was half-way drained.

Nero roared in frustration as he slammed his closed fist against the ground. A sheet of heavy ice coated the floor, carpet, and pews. The shadow guards who weren’t quick enough to escape fell as the ice imprisoned their arms and legs. But before Nero could pick them off, Ghost appeared.

The pure-blood’s footsteps melted the ice below as he swung his sword down and pierced the dense frozen stone. Fire consumed ice as Nero clambered gracelessly to his feet and retreated once more.

‘Fuck you, pure-blood!’ Nero panted with effort and swore as his scarf fell down his face. Shock registered as the first breath of air sank into his lungs—and no scorching pain or death followed. ‘He’s holding back—no, he has to hold back! Fuck, I can use that!’

While the Shadow Guard might have enchanted coverings to shield them from a pure-blood’s toxic magic, the Foxes did not. Even the flames that danced and writhed along the church pews were held carefully in check to avoid the corners of the chapel where the Foxes still lingered.

Nero’s enchanted armor also protected him to some degree from the witch’s flames, but the Foxes wouldn’t survive a direct hit, and even the shadows knew better than to get too close.

Bullets and cross-bolts nicked the witch hunter’s armor as he ran. Nero cursed as pieces of the scarlet plate armor fell away beneath the relentless attacks. ‘I can’t keep this up. At this rate, I’m just a moving target. One lucky shot and even the vermin can take me down.’

Nero took shelter behind another column and attempted to catch his breath. The choices before him were attempt to flee or— ‘Fuck, if those are my only options, I’m dead either way.’ The shadow guards swarmed upon him in an instant, and Nero blasted them with his ice magic once more.

Every time Nero barely managed to thin his opponents by one, Ghost would appear and force him to flee from cover into another fray of bullets and arrows.

Nearly every inch of the church was burning. The smoke that pooled up towards the rafters offered the witch hunter some respite from the archers above, but the flames below severely limited his movements. Nero blasted a path clear with his ice and almost doubled over in pain as the Witch Star flared another warning.

His magic and the passive enchantments holding the scarlet armor together had drained the gem to one-third of its reserves.

‘If this goes on, these bastards will bleed even the Witch Star dry.’

A cross-bolt danced past his nose, and Nero managed to pin another pesky vermin against the wall with an ice dagger. The numbers were finally thinning. Only three foxes remained in the loft above. The Fox Master himself still roamed the floor, guarding the windows below. Five or six shadows also remained, though it was hard to get an accurate count of their numbers. Either way, without magic, Nero couldn't hope to beat the pure-blood.

‘It was foolish to think I even stood a chance.’

He slid behind the alter of Harmonia and pulled the Witch Star free from his armor. The once blue gem now tinged with red as it drained away at the witch hunter's life to replace its depleted magic.

‘If you’re going to be that greedy than I’ll make you turn the tide for me with a little bit of chaos.’

[B1] Chapter 88: A Spark of Chaos

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Chapter 88: A Spark of Chaos

Hellfire caressed Tristan’s black leather armor as he stalked through the flames towards the statue of the Saintess. The witch steel blade in his hand sparked and hummed as his magic channeled through it. He caught a glimpse of movement as Nero pulled his scarf up around his face.

Tristan scoffed. His personal expectations of witch hunters and subsequent disappointment aside, it was time to end this fight. The chapel was irreparably damaged. Two of his Shadow Guards had fallen to the ice witch’s blades, though Alex and the Foxes had fared much worse.

Even more concerning was the increased effort it took for Tristan to contain the violent destruction that thrashed within his core. The longer he tapped into this wretched magic, the stronger the beast became. Tristan had not forgotten the carnage of two years ago. The scars of that devastation still marked the craters where the evergreens of Wolfthorn Forest once grew.

From the corner of his eye Tristan saw Alex dance through the flames towards a column at Nero’s right. Tristan bit back a growl as he signaled the Fox Master to stay back, only to be ignored.

‘Damn it, Alex. How many more men do you want to lose? Stay out of this!’

Tristan was still furious he hadn’t realized the Fox Master’s cunning plan. Alex had tracked Tristan while the pure-blood had tracked down the witch hunter. Because none of the Foxes were witches or even half-witches, Tristan had not been able to sense their presence.

His original plan had been to lure the witch hunter away from the chapel and then execute him. That plan had gone out the window the moment Fox Lieutenants had shown up in full force and stormed the chapel.

‘Alex’s stubborn need for revenge is turning him into a reckless fool!’

“It’s too bad,” Nero taunted as he slowly rose and leaned against the statue for support. “To think a pure-blood would be forced to hold back on account of a few mortals.”

The hell beast sauntered between Tristan and the witch hunter. The creature shook its fiendish head; its lion-like mane rippled with flames while its lower body formed four separate limbs that burned and clawed the stone floor.

“Shame,” the witch hunter muttered with a hint of disappointment, “I thought I would at least get a glimpse of your full power.”

“They’re in the way,” Tristan admitted as he twirled the sword in his hand. The taut muscles of his body, charged by the power that coursed through his veins, were ready to spring into action. “But I don’t need to be at full power to defeat you.”

Nero laughed beneath his scarf. “Cocky words from a cocky prince bastard.”

‘There it is again.’ Tristan’s gaze narrowed as his grip on the sword tightened. “You keep calling me prince,” he observed and paused a few feet from the statue. “Do I know you?”

“Well,” Nero grunted as he slid down to sit at Harmonia’s feet. “Not officially. To be honest, I wouldn’t expect you to remember. You were what—five-years-old?”

“What?” Tristan snapped. A Shadow Guard moved to cut off the back exit to his left while the rest dispersed themselves to cover the windows unguarded by flames. Tristan raised his sword and leveled it against Nero’s throat. “What are you babbling on about?”

“Mercy’s Tit.” The witch hunter’s electric-blue eyes danced with fear—and something sinister. “I know it’s been seventeen years, but surely you still remember the night she died.”

Tristan’s throat constricted as the witch hunter cautiously raised his right arm.

Nero turned his hand over slowly to reveal a glowing sapphire gem tinged with red. “Does this jog your memory?”

The deep guttural growl of the hell beast filled the church even as Tristan’s senses went numb. ‘The North Star?’ He stared at the sapphire gem Queen Catalina had worn as a necklace. His sword arm trembled. ‘Why does he have—the North Star?’

❆❆❆❆❆

The muffled sound of panicked voices roused five-year-old Tristan from his warm silk sheets and fur blankets. He picked up the lantern his mother had left on the bedside table, the metal art of rabbits, wolves, and deer danced like stars across the furniture and walls as he rubbed his heavy eyes and headed towards the door.

A scene of chaos filled his view as he entered the hall. Lafearian knights led his mother’s sobbing ladies-in-waiting down the hall towards the stairwell. The Queen’s chamber door stood half ajar, and the sound of a voice wailing could be heard from within. His father’s voice.

Tristan barely took a step from the room when a Lafearian knight snatched him up.

“Sorry, little prince. You can’t go there.”

Tristan twisted in the man’s firm grasp. “Put me down!” he shouted.

Electric-blue eyes stared into his. The knight’s cold smile sent a jolt through Tristan’s chest as the tiny hairs on his arms and neck stood on end. ‘I—don’t know this man.’

“Put his Highness down now!” The commanding voice of Colonel Durante filled the hallway as even more Lafearian knights jogged past the Commander of Lafeara’s Red Wolf Army. The knights took their position at either end of the hall and drew their swords.

Durante continued towards Tristan and the strange knight with one hand on his hilt, and two blood-red war hounds on either side. The wolf-like dogs snarled at the knight who held the young prince. The fear in Tristan’s gut coiled. He knew the hound's wrath was directed towards the knight who held him. They had never growled at him before.

“Pardon, Colonel Durante,” the knight said tensely as he slowly, almost reluctantly, lowered Tristan to the ground. “I simply didn’t wish for him to wander off unattended or accidentally witness what happened to—”

“That’s enough,” Durante cut off as he scooped up Tristan and turned towards the Queen’s bedroom door. “Be brave, young prince. Your father wishes you to say your goodbyes now.”

The confusion that had clouded Tristan’s mind since waking slid away as the knights opened the doors before them. A woman lay dead on the floor with her throat slit, Lady Vanya, his mother’s trusted maid from Ventrayna. A knight hurriedly placed his cloak over the dead woman as Durante continued towards the curtains that obscured the Queen’s bed from the rest of the room.

Beyond those curtains, King Henri knelt beside the bed, his hands wrapped tightly in the sheet that covered Catalina’s arm.

“Your Majesty, I have brought the First Prince.”

Henri turned his blood-red eyes towards them and focused on Tristan for a moment before he dropped his gaze. “Come to me, son.”

Durante lowered Tristan to the floor. The young prince walked obediently to his father’s side; his gaze focused on the white lace handkerchief that covered his mother’s face. It did not move.

‘Why is her face covered? Why has father been crying?’

He knelt beside Henri on the floor because he didn’t know what else to do. The air smelt somehow foul and tainted. King Henri clasped his shoulder firmly than pulled him in for a tight hug. “I’m sorry, my boy. I promise I will find them—the ones responsible—and make them pay.”

“Father?”

“Say goodbye—sweet Catalina—your mother is dead,” Henri’s voice broke even as he pushed Tristan up to his feet and towards the bed. “We will burn her on the pyre at dawn, as was the custom—for her people.”

Tristan’s throat clenched as his lungs bled dry. He stared once more at the white lace that covered his mother’s face. He willed it to move but not a breath stirred beneath. He wanted his mother to sit up and laugh because this was all just a silly game.

“Say goodbye while her spirit still lingers!” Henri urged gruffly.

But Tristan didn’t want to say goodbye. He wanted to look behind the lace and see those lively, fiery amber eyes of Catalina open once more. Desire and fear channeled through his small limbs as he leaped onto the bed and pulled back the lace.

“Highness!” Durante cried even as Henri grabbed Tristan around the waist and yanked him back—all too late.

The nightgown was his mother’s—but the dry corpse that lay upon her pillow was not the Queen. Pale, withered gray skin and dull, lifeless eyes stared back over a mouth twisted into a silent, horrifying scream. A faint bruise circled her neck, and the sapphire gem, the North Star, his mother always wore was gone.

Henri crushed Tristan’s face against his chest with trembling arms. The world grew dark and cold as the King angrily shouted, “Take it out and burn it.”

But the flames could never erase such a memory that etched itself into Tristan’s mind, heart, and soul—and awoke his thirst for revenge.

❆❆❆❆❆

“Shameful when you think about it,” Nero continued as Tristan staggered back. Light from the flames flickered against the witch hunter’s aged face, but those electric-blue eyes that stared back at him were as familiar as the cold smile that now twitched at Nero’s lips. “A powerful pure-blood witch like her taken down by a mere half-witch.”

“You—” Tristan grabbed at his own throat as the chaos inside him battled against the strained, snapping threads of his restraint.

“You must have wondered. How the Emperor’s cousin, the third most powerful witch in existence, could become so weak and die so tragically.”

Tristan retreated as the flames swelled around him. The hell beast lunged forward. The witch hunter rolled off the foot of the statue just before the hell fiends fangs ripped a stone foot from the Saintess’s figure.

“Mother—was never—weak,” Tristan wheezed. Sweat poured down his back and chest. The ghoul mask that covered his face seemed to suffocate him. His body was too small, too tight. Kritanta’s magic, fueled by his anger, wanted to break free—even if that meant breaking him.

“Not before Catalina became Lafeara’s Queen. But then they started drugging her with aconitum after she became pregnant with you. It’s a mystery to me how you were able to resist the effects of the drug. Your magic should have been weakened and neutralized the same way Catalina’s was, long before Henri discovered what you were.”

“The Dowager has sent someone to poison you.”

Words from another life echoed through Tristan’s burning skull, and with them, the pain and anger he had smothered for the past two years roared awake as his hands combusted with scarlet flames.

‘I can’t—lose control. Not again.’

Tristan turned his gaze towards Alex, but the Fox Master’s attention was focused on something above the pure-blood. Tristan glanced up towards the dark wisps of gaseous cores that vibrated and sparked as they flickered into view throughout the chapel.

“Come on, Prince Tristan—you know you want to ask,” Nero taunted.

Despite his apparent bravado, Tristan could still hear the fear in the witch hunter’s voice. The hell beast leaned against the pure-blood, and Tristan gripped its shoulder for support as he drew in a strained breath and snickered.

‘How many years did I question their excuses? How many times did their stories change? I always thought the Dowager could have been behind it—or even the Marquess—and yet the real killer’s face stood before me the very night she died.’

“Your Highness!” the Shadow Guard by the back exit interjected. “Forgive me, but the North Star has another name. It is also called the Witch Star, and it can be used to drain a witch, even a pure-blood, of their powers.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Nero confirmed with an almost casual grin. “And if Catalina had only given it to me willingly—I wouldn’t have been forced to use it on her first.”

Tristan exhaled sharply. The witch steel blade sparked and curled beneath his grip as his destructive magic eroded the weapon’s enchants. His grip went slack, and the twisted sword clanged against the chapel stone floor.

A match snapped in the back of his mind. A lace handkerchief ripped from Catalina’s face, and she smiled at him once more; before she withered and crumbled into ash and smoke. Tristan raised a shaking hand towards the blue ghoul’s mask. The flames at his fingertips burned through the metal even as he tore it from his face. The chapel before him was washed in red that matched the witch hunter’s scarlet armor. As the infernal devil in Tristan’s core ripped free, his mind, vision, and senses filled with the taste of brimstone and rage.

❆❆❆❆❆

Above the sweltering fire that surrounded the pure-blood and his hell beast, witch sparks filled the air with high-pitched screams and then, one by one erupted.

Nero dodged the deadly acidic flames that rained down upon the Foxes and Shadow Guards and engulfed them with a single spark. The burning specters of men danced, screamed, and fell like charred timber within seconds. The red blaze consumed everything it touched as it spread over the choir loft and filled the pews below with rivers of flame.

“There you are, devil,” Nero crowed, even as the ice enchantments protecting his skin and armor evaporated. He sucked in a sharp breath and clutched his chest as the Witch Star drained away more life from him. Between the rising smoke and dancing inferno, he saw the Hell Beast in the center of the room melt into a liquid pool, then slide beneath the cracks in the floor.

‘An opening?’ Nero was doubtful, but there was only one way forward. He summoned an ice sword; the effort alone made him cough up blood.

A bullet smacked against his breastplate. Nero ignored the Fox Master as he moved behind the statue and cut through Harmonia’s remaining foot. The stone figure toppled forward towards the pure-blood and fell just short of the unmoving burning witch that no longer resembled anything human.

The devil growled as his burning eyes turned blood-red. “I will fucking kill you!” The inhuman voice echoed throughout the chapel as every flicker of flame hissed and writhed violently, then crawled back across the floor like serpents before they wove themselves in a protective barrier around the pure-blood.

‘That’s it. Lose Control.’ Nero ignored the scorching heat that burned down his throat and lungs as he extended the Witch Star in Tristan’s direction. ‘The faster your magic burns—the faster I’ll drain it from you.’

“Tristan, run you fool!” the Fox Master’s strained voice called out before the man doubled over choking beneath the toxic smoke and air.

The cursed jewel in Nero’s hand ignited with blue flames as it hovered at the end of his fingertips, desperate to feed. ‘Drink your fill. Drain him of every single drop of magic.’

A blade spun across the flames. Nero barely ducked in time. He turned just as the Shadow Guard screamed amidst the scarlet flames that devoured him from view.

The witch hunter refocused on Tristan and chanted, “Mortem in deos.”

The Witch Star’s pale blue tendrils spread like a web as it propelled towards the pure-blood.

A muffled gunshot whipped through the roaring flames and pinged against the menacing jewel, that flew off course, past the pure-blood’s protective barrier, and disappeared beneath the shattered burning pews.

“No!” Nero snarled in terror as he followed the path of the sapphire. He sprang after it, heedless of the flames that crawled their way up his torso. The scarlet armor cracked and splintered as Nero kicked aside the burning pews that stood in his way and scrambled towards where the Witch Star had fallen. ‘I can’t lose it now!’

A glint of blue caught his gaze, and Nero threw aside another burning pew. The unbearable pain of the flames against his skin faded as soon as his eyes fell upon the sapphire star that rested against the bloody remains of a woman’s burnt dress. Nero barely registered the dead woman’s scorched face as he snatched up the jewel.

“Pathetic.”

Cold sweat filled the witch hunter’s gaze as he turned slowly to face the burning calamity that stood in the center of the church. Its massive body, formed of magma and fire, rippled with glowing red scales that spread across its wingless back, tail, and neck. The burning eyes that gazed at him from the devil’s terrifying visage were familiar, and yet Nero was unable to believe what his eyes now witnessed.

“Im-possible,” he choked as the dragon, only ever witnessed in the painted archives of the church, spread its vicious long fangs.

“Time to die—witch killer.”

Nero sprinted towards the nearest broken window. No Shadow Guards blocked his path—if any were indeed still living. Nero spared them not a second thought as he dove through the broken glass frame with blinded desperation.

The air resisted his fall as the dragon inhaled. Then the devil’s blast shattered the chapel’s stone walls behind Nero. Fire, melted glass, and mortar debris impaled the witch hunter’s back as the force flung him forward. The chapel’s stable rushed out to meet him, and his body slammed against the dense wooden barrier.

The Witch Star bounced from his numb fingers as Nero ricocheted against the ground and spun. The wind howled and whipped against his scarlet armor that fell away like dried, cracked clay. His ears bled with the shrill cries of hell as the world tilted and went dark beneath a bleeding sky.

Grim spectators of smoke slid across the smothered grass of the chapel’s back yard. The sapphire flickered just beyond the witch hunter’s reach. Its glowing blue tendrils rippled across the matted grass and dust as it taunted him with its alluring power.

The spinning world resettled, and Nero spit up blood and vomit. He crawled towards the cursed gem. Every inch of his body awakened with pain that drowned out any thought but the glowing sapphire before him. The last of his armor fell away as Nero collapsed, and with the remnants of his fading strength—reached out and clutched the Witch Star.

Magic burned through his skin, blood, and bones. The pure-blood’s power submerged him in unholy ecstasy as Nero’s drained core recharged, and his strength and stamina returned.

‘This much in a split second the gem could drain him.’ Nero laughed as he crawled to his knees then up to his feet. He turned warily towards the chapel. The decimated wall revealed only a torrent of dancing flames. “Fucking inbred devil,” Nero muttered as he clutched his throbbing head. “I should have killed you along with that pure-blood bitch.”

The air rippled with the devil’s snarl. Nero raised his gaze towards the dragon’s jaws that loomed towards him. The witch hunter thrust out the Witch Star instinctively and screamed as the monster’s fangs ripped through his biceps and tore away his arm and the Witch Star.

Fire crawled up the witch hunter’s sleeve as the dragon’s bloody fangs withdrew. Nero staggered back and fell. He smothered his blistered stump in ice magic and howled in agony as the burning pain crashed through his body in waves.

The dragon convulsed. It’s glowing red eyes momentarily flickered blue before it wretched up flame, black blood, and the Witch Star. The gem flashed as it skipped along the ground. The hellish monster shuddered as its body rippled and quivered violently. Scales gave way to flame that dripped and poured upon the earth as the beast roared.

The inferno inside the chapel reached towards the stumbling dragon and dragged the creature back into its fiery womb.

Nero saw his opportunity and ran towards the Witch Star. The moment his fingers touched the burning red gem, he screamed again as pain shot up his left arm. Yanking what remained of the enchanted scarf from his neck, Nero wrapped it around the gem and twisted it into a secure knot before he turned and fled.

He vaulted over the chapel yard wall then staggered as the wind sucked past him once more. An inhuman screamed ripped free from the depths of the burning chapel as it exploded and morphed into a portal to hell.

Nero wasted no time as he sprinted away, determined to put as much ground between him and Catalina’s son as possible. He wasn’t strong enough to take on a pure-blood that could transform into a living, fire breathing dragon, but he would be—as soon as he had that ice witch’s heart.

[B1] Chapter 89: A Trail of Destruction

❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦

Chapter 89: A Trail of Destruction

The black-diamond signet ring flickered ominously against Percy’s knuckles as his fingers tightened around the crow cane pressed across his lap. ‘To think Constance would go this far to undermine me.’

The wind rushed against his ears as the turbulent sound of worried voices echoed through the lowered carriage windows. The diamond darkened. A hum of whispers filled the Earl’s ears with a soothing ancient tongue that calmed the storm raging within.

The carriage lurched, and Percy caught himself against the edge of the seat. A quick look out the window showed pedestrians clustered together with panicked white faces standing in the middle of the street. Percy turned, unclasped the small glass window at the back of his seat, and called out to the driver. “What is it? What’s happening?”

“My lord, there appears to be a fire.” Fear resonated in the man’s strained voice even as the scent of smoke floated in on the breeze.

“Stop the carriage,” Percy ordered.

The driver complied willingly, and the footman quickly moved to open the door. Percy stepped down and gazed across the crowd that jostled against each other as they pointed towards the tower of black smoke that filled the horizon with malicious dark clouds.

“That’s the direction of the Sister’s Chapel,” Percy muttered aloud. “Can you get us there?”

The driver looked down at him wordlessly and shook his head.

“With the streets this packed, it will be difficult,” interjected Captain Flint as he moved his horse beside the Earl and dismounted. “If the fire spreads, we could get caught up in the panic.”

“These people are already afraid,” whispered another mercenary as he observed the crowd.

“As well they should be,” Percy muttered. He glanced towards a crow that settled on the street post across the street. The black bird tilted its head as it listened to his whispered command than took flight, its dark shape soon lost in the darkening sky above.

“Is it witches, my Lord?” The footman asked even as his face went pale.

“I aim to find out,” Percy replied as he pulled on his riding gloves. "Captain, I’ll need to borrow a horse.”

“I suppose there’s no stopping you,” Captain Flint grumbled with a sigh. He signaled to one of his men who dismounted and led a white mare towards Percy.

The Earl nodded his head in thanks, mounted, and settled into the saddle as he surveyed the street. “Captain, half of your men with me, send the rest back with the carriage to ensure the Countess is safely escorted to Hawthorne Manor when she leaves the palace.”

The mercenary quickly split up his men, half of which helped block the street so the carriage could turn around.

“Right then,” Percy murmured as he leaned over the mare’s neck and whispered into the beast's ears. “Let’s see who dares to burn my city.”

The dancing white beast quickly led the way forward as wind channeled through the crowd and a path cleared for the Earl and his men to ride through. Above the capital city, a flock of crows gathered, swarmed, and glided towards the unholy fire that blazed from the chapel.

❆❆❆❆❆

A line of knights waited before them on the road, which led out of the capital. The senior knight rode towards them quickly and raised his hand. “This road is blocked, my lords. The way ahead is not safe.”

Percy reigned in the mare as he examined the olive-green eyes that peered at him over the purple scarf worn around the knight’s lower face. “You mean to bar my way?”

“By order of Knight Commander Quentin, all roads which lead to the chapel fire are sealed until the safety of civilians can be assured,” the knight replied firmly.

“The Knight Commander thinks he can command the Earl of Hawthorne?” Captain Flint retorted with a hint of sarcasm.

“The Earl?”

Percy smiled as the half-witch hastily dropped from his saddle and knelt.

“I have offended my lord.”

“What is your name?” Percy asked.

“Lieutenant Declan, my lord.”

“I am willing to forgive your ignorance, Lieutenant,” Percy replied with a dismissive wave. “As long as it stops here.”

“The Earl means, as long as you are not foolish enough to continue standing in our way,” Flint added as his hand shifted from the reigns to his sword.

“My lord means to investigate the fire?” Declan inquired as he rose.

“And aid any survivors that might still be trapped near the blaze,” Percy confirmed.

“Then I will not stand in your way,” Declan replied as he turned to the man behind him. “The Earl will go through!” The knights hastily moved aside while Declan offered Percy a salute. “Saints be with you, Earl of Hawthorne.”

“And with you,” Percy replied with one last curious look at the half-witch that had led the church's dogs to Maura’s scent. “Half-blood.”

Declan stiffened in surprise. Percy tapped the mare’s flank lightly with his cane and she leaped forward eagerly. Flint kept pace beside the Earl while the rest of the mercenaries trailed steadily behind.

Smoke billowed like great whales across the opening countryside and soon obscured their vision and sense of direction. Percy stopped only when he caught the scent of brimstone. “Captain, best if the men covered their faces. This smoke is toxic.”

“Understood,” Flint replied over a muffled cough. “Though we appear to have lost a few of them in this dense mess.”

“I shall press on,” Percy said determinedly. “Keep your men together and don’t get separated. Getting lost in this smoke is dangerous. Follow the road, and you’ll find the chapel.”

“My lord?” Flint protested. “At least one of us should be with you.”

“You are slowing me down,” Percy snapped. “And others are watching over me.”

The mercenary captain nodded reluctantly and bowed his head. “Then please stay safe on your journey, my lord.”

Percy nodded as he tightened a neck scarf around his nose and mouth. With a little more encouragement, the mare raced forward; her white coat quickly shifted to a dark gray as the glowing light of the chapel came steadily into focus.

❆❆❆❆❆

Crows fluttered in and out of the dark wall of smoke that encircled the burning rubble of the Sister’s Chapel. The wretched howls of the inferno within terrified the mare who bucked, twisted, and refused to get closer. Percy dismounted and covered her eyes with his stain neck scarf. With gentle hands and a calming whisper, he soothed the beast, then held a handkerchief around his nose and mouth before moving closer. The blind mare reluctantly followed as he led her forward on foot.

The chapel’s steeple appeared in the smoke before him, pierced upside down into the road. Percy circled it carefully as he took in the discarded rubble that still flickered with flame scattered half a mile in each direction.

‘What happened here?’

A crow swooped through the smoke to land on his shoulder. It whispered in his ear, and Percy nodded. He tied the mare to the steeple before he approached the blaze. Past the crumbled stables and burned mounds of dead horses, he saw burning jagged lines that had carved through the earth. Four deep, evenly spaced claw marks of a massive, terrifying existence.

‘Impossible. Unless—’ Percy knelt and held his hand over the charred ruts of earth. His signet ring flashed red. ‘Kritanta.’

A crow fluttered down and danced across the dry gray grass as it observed him silently.

“Survivors?” Percy asked without looking at the bird.

The creature bobbed its head and hopped onto his extended hand before it flew off once more through the smoke. Percy followed, his face and clothes becoming more ashen by the minute as he circled the inferno at a safe distance.

He retrieved the mare and continued across the matted, burned wheat field. ‘A whole year’s harvest gone. And these crops were put aside to feed the homeless. This will place another financial burden on the church and palace.’

A pitiful sight awaited him among the shattered remains of the chapel’s granary. The upper torso of Lafeara’s saint, minus the head, lay burning at its center. Nuns stood by numbly, some holding buckets of water, but most of the buckets were empty. One look at their defeated expressions, and Percy knew they had given up putting out the witch fire.

One of the sisters turned towards him. Her smoke covered face squinted then brightened with recognition. “Lord Percy!” She rushed closer as her sisters stirred from their disheartened state to greet him.

“My Lord!”

They knelt before him with tear-stained faces. The first among them to recognize him took Percy’s hand and kissed his signet ring.

“Where is the Abbess?” Percy asked gently.

“She is tending to the injured,” the nun answered as she and the other sisters rose to their feet. “There were civilians—”

“Who attacked us?”

“The priest of Zarus and his witch hunter came looking for Lady Maura’s family,” Abbess Mercy answered as she appeared through the veil of smoke. Like the sisters before him, her white habit was now ash-gray; and stained with quite a bit of blood.

“The Turnbells?” Percy turned towards her with a raised eyebrow. “Why were they here?”

“Lincoln Turnbell was to be buried this afternoon,” Mercy explained.

Percy sucked in a sharp breath as he stepped towards her. “You were giving that craven rat-spawn a burial—here—at our church?!”

“The sooner Lincoln was put in the ground, the sooner this witch investigation would be forgotten,” Mercy replied patiently.

“Or so you thought,” Percy snapped as he gestured to the fire and smoke around them.

Mercy sighed and looked down at her blood-stained hands. “I confess I did not expect the priest to follow my trail that easily—nor did I anticipate that the bastard pure-blood would choose to interfere.”

“A pure-blood?” Percy’s grip tightened on his cane. “Tristan.”

‘But Tristan shouldn’t be this strong. Not after years of being poisoned by aconitum. And the marks I saw beside the chapel—’

“I got the Turnbells and my sisters out of there as fast as I could,” Mercy continued wearily. “But Lord Josiah’s new wife is unaccounted for.”

Percy blinked at her in confusion. “His new wife?”

“Lord Josiah and Lady Helena were divorced early this morning. This afternoon he showed up at his son’s funeral with a new bride who used to be one of his slaves,” Mercy explained with a shake of her head. “She is either missing or dead.”

“Divorced, married, and widowed within a day?” Percy exhaled sharply. “How the Turnbell fortune has changed.” A sharp wail close by drew his attention, and Percy turned towards the sound. “They’re here, aren’t they?”

“My Lord,” Mercy protested even as she followed him to where two tattered blankets had been propped up and tied to the end of pitchforks to form a small half-tent enclosure. A young man and woman knelt over an older noblewoman laid out upon bloody sackcloth. The dead woman’s brown-hazel eyes stared blankly at the dirty canvas above her.

Percy almost didn’t recognize the scarlet haired young woman, coated from head to foot in soot, who wept as she clutched her mother’s hand.

“Another casualty,” Mercy murmured as she stopped beside Percy. “Lady Helena. A piece of glass pierced her lungs.”

Percy nodded mutely as he surveyed Maura’s dead mother. ‘Your death has finally freed her—for that, I should thank you.’

“It is a pity, I would have preferred to keep her alive,” the Abbess lamented with a weary sigh. Percy frowned but said nothing as Sophya continued to weep.

“Lord Percy?” whispered the young man beside the grieving daughter.

Percy studied the man’s darkened features for a moment, then nodded in recognition. “Lord Asher.”

‘So Sophya still managed to get her claws into you.’

The young lady stiffened when she heard his name and clutched Asher’s arm tightly.

Percy repressed a snicker as he left and moved to study the two bodies laid out beside the tent. “Who are these men?”

“I’m sure you’ll recognize them,” Mercy murmured as she knelt and pulled back the cloth that covered their faces. Steel black masks stared back at him, mangled and warped, but still recognizable.

“The Foxes were here?” Percy muttered in surprise.

“They came looking for the witch hunter.”

“Why?”

Mercy straightened and shrugged. “None left alive to ask, unfortunately.”

Percy exhaled slowly and knelt to examine the dead men’s masks, which had melted against their skin. “Were they all this color?”

“Pardon?”

“Were any of the masks gray?”

Mercy nodded. “Their leader. His mask was gray with red stripes.”

“And he’s dead as well?”

“As far as I know, he never made it out of the church.”

Percy smiled and nodded, satisfied. “Then the Fox Den is finished.”

“There are likely to be a few survivors who weren’t involved in the attack.”

“These black masks belong to their lieutenants. If the Fox Master himself came, you can be sure all his lieutenants did as well.”

“So essentially all your father’s killers have been wiped out,” Mercy murmured thoughtfully.

“Not all,” Percy replied as he stood. “But it looks like I’ll have to thank the Emperor’s bastard the next time we meet.”

Mercy chuckled as she hooked her arm around his. “I can always trust you to look on the bright side.” She sighed as she took in the burning granary before them.

“I’ll see to it your chapel is rebuilt,” Percy said as he followed her gaze. “And your granary and field repaired.”

“The sisters and I are grateful as always,” Mercy replied with a sly smile.

“What of the priest and his witch hunter?”

“Witch hunter,” Mercy spat. “A half-witch with stolen coven powers working for the church. Never thought I’d live to see such an atrocity.”

“So, he does have the North Star?”

Mercy nodded. “He wouldn’t have stood a chance against a pure-blood without it.”

“Did anyone else see it?”

“The priest may have caught a glimpse,” Mercy answered thoughtfully. “He was peeping through the windows up until the pure-blood went out of control. Took off without a word immediately after that.”

“Then the priest is on his way to Zarus.”

“It would be easy enough to stop him before he reached the border,” Mercy replied with a sinister smile.

“Best if he met with some misfortune before he can slip away,” Percy agreed. “Send word to your sisters.” He removed her hand from his arm. “It would be beneficial to our cause to keep whatever secrets the priest witnessed here in Lafeara at present.”

“I shall see to it personally, my Lord.” She smiled benevolently, curtsied, and then vanished into the smoke.

“Lord Percy!” The nun who had greeted him earlier rushed towards him. “Forgive me, but Lord Josiah is attempting to steal your horse.”

Percy let out a strained sigh. ‘Of all the Turnbells to survive.’ He motioned for her to lead the way.

[B1] Chapter 90: A Twist of Malice

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Chapter 90: A Twist of Malice

Percy surveyed the vulgar scene of three nuns wrestling with the crippled Lord Josiah. Their mud-splattered faces and apparel suggested they had taken a tumble or two in the wet soil below. The quartet and ash-covered mare struggled just outside the second granary, which remained undamaged by the fiery debris, though a few sacks of grain and farming tools appeared to have been knocked over in the scuffle. The surrounding area, which had been soaked with water to prevent further loss of grain due to the spread of fire, now carried the acidic smell of burnt wood and damp mud.

“Let go of me!” Josiah shouted as he struggled to maintain a grip on the mare’s reins with his one good hand. “I will not stay here another minute!”

“That is not your horse, Lord Josiah!” shouted the nun with an arm wrapped around the nobleman’s chubby neck and shoulder.

“The Saints—do not—condone theft!” protested another as she strained to unlock his death grip on the reins.

“Easy, easy!” The third nun tried to keep the panicked animal calm as it thrashed about between them. The mare, whose blindfold had been removed, huffed and rolled its eyes frantically, as the awkward group continued their disorderly dance in a trench of mud.

“Are you that desperate to be thrown into prison, Lord Turnbell?” Percy asked as he folded his arms.

Josiah froze, and the nuns quickly wrestled the reins free. “Off of me, you venomous harpies!” he shouted indignantly even as they scattered away.

“My Lord.” One of the nuns quickly led the spooked mare towards Percy.

“Thank you, sisters,” Percy replied as he accepted the reins. “You must all be very tired. My mercenaries should be arriving at any moment, and the capital knights won’t be far behind, so take heart. You are all welcome to dinner and rest at Hawthorne Manor this evening.”

“Bless you, my Lord.” The nuns curtsied and dispersed with brightened expressions though a few muttered curses and sent glares in Josiah’s direction.

“While you’re feeling charitable, Lord Percy,” Josiah muttered darkly. “Would you mind selling me that horse?”

“I wasn’t aware my Lord’s finances extended that far,” Percy replied with a cynical smile. “Or did your new wife come with a dowry?”

Josiah bristled even as he pointed his bandaged hand in Percy’s direction. “I haven’t forgotten what you did to me. Perhaps I should inform the House of Lords about your dirty infatuation with that half-blood witch.”

“Witch?” Percy’s lips twisted into a cynical smile as the smoke shifted directions around them. “You really do test one’s patience, Lord Josiah.”

“Patience? Says the great and powerful Earl who chose to meddle in my family matters. Now that you’ve confirmed my suspicions about your interest in Maura, we can discuss how much the half-blood’s reputation is worth another time. For now, you can begin earning my silence by handing over that horse,” Josiah replied with a sneer.

“You mean to blackmail me after I graciously returned your estate so that you and your family could keep your titles?” Percy’s smile widened before he hid it behind his handkerchief and shrugged. “The horse doesn’t belong to me, so I’m afraid I cannot gift it to you. It was loaned to me by one of my men.”

“Well then, I’ll borrow it from you, and he can come and collect it at Turnbell manor later,” Josiah growled as he stepped forward and grabbed the reins from Percy’s hand.

The Earl offered no resistance. His winter-gray eyes narrowed as he caught a strong whiff of liquor that clung to the nobleman’s breath and garments. Two crows settled on the rafters of the granary and watched with dark beady eyes as Josiah struggled to control the anxious animal.

“Father!” Sophya snapped as she and Asher appeared through the smoke behind them. “Please, stop harassing the Earl.”

Josiah glared from the jittery animal to his daughter and snorted. “Is the bitch finally dead?”

Sophya flinched but nodded slowly. “Yes, Mother—has passed on.” Asher hugged her comfortingly as more tears spilled down her cheek.

Josiah yanked the mare’s head down and clenched his jaw. “Helena got what she deserved. Her and that cursed half-blood—I should have turned them both out years ago.” He spat at the ground and glowered at Sophya, who shivered as she clung to Asher’s arm. “I guess that makes me your sole surviving benefactor now.”

“What?” Sophya blinked in surprise as Josiah lumbered over and grabbed her arm. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking you back to Turnbell Manor with me,” Josiah snapped as he pulled her away from Asher.

“But—Father?” Sophya stumbled after him. “Why?”

“Your mother’s dead, so I decide your future now,” Josiah replied as he shoved her towards the mare. “Now get on. We’re leaving.”

“But—” Sophya glanced towards the young baron “—Lord Asher.”

“Lord Asher and his mother can return your dowry first thing tomorrow morning,” Josiah said with a chuckle. “You might be engaged, but you’re not married yet.”

“You truly are the lowest form of human filth,” Asher snapped as he lunged towards Josiah and pried Sophya from his grip. “You want to force us to drop the engagement so you can get your hands on her money.”

“As if your reasons for marrying her are any different!”

“I want to marry her because I love her, you fool!” Asher shouted as Sophya quickly ducked behind him.

“You mean your mother loves her grandfather’s title,” Josiah returned with a mocking laugh. “Money or title, it’s the same thing really. The Winslet family might be barons, but everyone knows their family bought that title. Marrying the granddaughter of a well-known viscount, even if her mother was disowned, provides you with more legitimacy to push for your family’s promotion.”

“Even if such a thing were possible, only Sophya’s children would benefit,” Asher retorted. “As her father, shouldn’t you want a better future for Sophya and your grandchildren?”

“Well I’m certain there are better options than you for Sophya to consider,” Josiah muttered as he stepped closer.

“You are a discredit to nobility. Nothing more than a parasite that won’t let go until its dead,” Asher growled as he pushed Josiah back.

“And yet, legally, I am in the right,” Josiah snapped with pointed jabs into Asher’s chest.

“Father, please stop!” Sophya cried as she peered around Asher. “Please, you know I love him. You promised—”

“I am doing what’s best for the family now get over here!” Josiah snapped as he reached towards her.

Sophya shrank away even as Asher stepped forward and forcefully shoved Josiah back another step.

“You’re not going to lay another finger on her ever again,” Asher snarled.

Josiah tipped his head back and laughed. “Looks like you’ll have to be my witness, Earl of Hawthorne. A mere baron thinks he can kidnap my daughter from me.”

“I am already engaged to Asher,” Sophya screamed. “Father, please, I want to marry him.”

“That’s not your choice to make,” Josiah replied bitterly.

“You can’t,” Sophya gasped in disbelief. “Father—do you love me at all?”

Josiah stared at her with blank eyes and exhaled forcefully. “I have loved you more than any of them—but I will not be made into a pauper.”

Percy’s smile twisted with contempt. “A father who would sacrifice his daughter’s happiness for personal gain—that is not love.”

“Well,” Josiah replied with a shrug. “I guess I should be grateful that the law trumps love in matters such as this. Now come here, Sophya, or I’ll have Asher thrown in jail, and both of your reputations will be ruined.”

“Father!” Sophya shook her pale face in numb disbelief as her grip tightened around Asher’s arm. “No.”

Asher’s face flickered with relief and joy even as her father’s expression twisted in anger.

“What?” Josiah snapped.

“I will not go back with you, Father,” Sophya replied firmly. “I would rather die!”

“You ungrateful—” Josiah lurched towards her, and Asher caught him quickly. The two grappled and swung wildly at each other with uncoordinated fists and footwork as they kicked up mud and damp grass.

Sophya stumbled out of harm’s way as Josiah toppled down into the mud. Asher quickly set upon him and Percy’s ears pricked with the satisfying sound of bones crushing into flesh.

“No, stop!” Sophya screamed as Asher’s fists slammed into Josiah’s face again and again without restraint.

Captain Flint and his mercenaries appeared through the smog then moved in quickly to break up the fight. Four restrained Asher and pulled the struggling young lord aside, while the Captain and another two pried Josiah out of the mud and assisted him back to his feet.

“You feral pup. You almost killed me!” Josiah shrieked, then spit out blood and gingerly touched his split brow and misshapen nose.

“Let’s just all calm down now, shall we?” Flint instructed as he moved over beside Percy. “My lord, I almost didn’t find you in all this smoke.”

‘Would that you had stayed lost a little bit longer.’

“Well, now that you have,” Percy replied, “You can begin by escorting the survivors—” He broke off as Josiah rushed towards Asher and punched the young baron’s unguarded face. Asher shook off the mercenaries’ grip and retaliated with a fist of his own. “Captain,” Percy growled as Flint moved to interfere. “Let them fight.”

Flint blinked but nodded as he waved his men back. The mercenaries, nuns, and Sophya retreated as the two nobles set upon each other like frenzied dogs.

Percy smiled beneath his handkerchief as he waited for his moment. The coiled anger in his gut tempered by the many eyes focused on the two buffoons tearing into each other. The signet ring on his finger sparked and flared with malice.

Finally, Asher's fist connected with Josiah's jawline, and the belligerent noble reeled sideways and plunged towards the granary wall.

"Fustibus saxisque," Percy whispered under his breath.

The wind hissed viciously around Josiah's front leg just as he planted his weight against it. The unseen magic ripped out the drunken man's knee joint then twisted bone and ligaments as his foot spun 180 degrees behind him. Josiah's eyes widened beneath the sudden onslaught of pain even as he fell wordlessly upon the pitchfork that glinted harmlessly against the sacks of grain.

Stunned silence fell over the onlookers. Lord Josiah let out a feeble whimper as he pawed weakly against the metal prongs that punctured through his chest. The sacks below darkened as he bled out.

Sophya choked on a strangled scream and collapsed into the arms of the nuns while Asher staggered forward and then fell to his knees.

"Is he dead?" a nun whispered numbly.

“Obviously,” replied Captain Flint with a side glance at the Earl.

Percy walked past Asher and leaned over the skewered noble’s body just as the last rattle of life shuddered through Josiah’s blood-splattered lips. The prongs of the pitchfork had pierced the man’s heart and lungs, but it was the petrified expression drawn upon the dead noble’s face that offered the Earl a long-awaited sense of satisfaction.

Percy made a show of checking for a pulse and then, with a grim expression, turned to the crowd and shook his head. As Asher buried his head in his hands, Percy's gaze trailed towards Sophya cradled in the sisters’ arms.

'That leaves just one.'

[B1] Chapter 91: A Storm of Crows

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Chapter 91: A Storm of Crows

Father Alden beat his horse without restraint. Beneath the darkening sky, his heart thundered as the rain clouds gathered in with the sinister flicker of lightning. The harsh storm winds raged and shoved beast and man about the road with distracting force. It whipped around his face, slammed against his chest, and fought his every breath.

Alden battled the wind and rebelling chestnut mare with one thought in mind. ‘I have to get back to Zarus. I have to warn Pope Jericho!’

What he had witnessed through the burning chapel window was bigger than any humiliation Alden would face for failing to bring down the ice witch. What his mortal mind struggled to comprehend—to accept as reality—even more terrifying than any punishment he might receive for abandoning his mission.

‘One of the highest-ranked hounds of the church—was a coven witch? And no one noticed? How?’

Alden thrashed the exhausted chestnut mare’s flanks with his whip as cold realization sank in with the first drops of rain. Nero had gone through seven priests over his lifetime of servitude as a witch hunter. Five of those priests had died pursuing wanted witches with the hound while the other two had requested a different witch hunter to work with.

The death of a priest was by no means an unusual occurrence; after all, witches could be notoriously crafty. Some willingly became hunters the moment a priest and his hound entered their domain. But most priests who died in combat were new and inexperienced—like Alden.

Judging from Nero’s history, these were the sort of priests he preferred to work with, and now Alden suspected he knew why.

Nero had come back from death's door more than once with a priest’s body dragged behind him. Only the body of his first handler, Father Pallas, had been left unclaimed.

‘What if it was Nero who killed Pallas? What if he killed all of them for seeing what I have witnessed? For uncovering his secret?’

Ever since Nero had been assigned to help Alden hunt down the ice witch, the hound had proven difficult to control. After the trail went cold under Alden’s leadership, Nero had grumbled and complained until Alden, reluctantly, agreed to follow the hound’s experienced advice.

In the end, it was Nero’s suspicion of Lafeara church’s involvement in the cover-up of the noble's death that had led them to monitor Lincoln’s body and follow it to the elusive Turnbell family.

‘But instead of the ice witch, we found that pure-blood bastard—and somehow Nero can use ice magic himself?’

The moment Alden had seen Nero summon his ice spear; the priest knew what he had witnessed. But it wasn’t until the witch hunter trapped himself and the pure-blood in that ice prison and survived—that Alden accepted what he had seen.

‘A coven-witch disguised as a half-witch?’

It was the only possible solution for the magic Alden had witnessed Nero perform, and yet—it was impossible. Nero had grown up in the church and lived around other half-witches for over two decades.

‘Just—how?!’

The rain pelted down in a deluge of suffering as it soaked Alden to the bone and made the path before him treacherous. The road, field, and evening sky blanketed by the storm clouds that billowed above, swallowed him in obscurity. Alden’s teeth clattered behind trembling wet lips. His hands on the reins grew cold and numb. Yet every time he closed his eyes to block out the drizzle, Alden saw Nero in his scarlet red armor, surrounded on all sides, fighting assassins, shadow guards, and a pure-blood witch.

It was when he had seen Nero, crouched behind the statue of Harmonia, pull the strange jewel from beneath his armor—that the answer to the hound’s hidden magical powers became vividly clear.

The star-shaped sapphire necklace was easily recognizable as the most coveted magical jewel in the history of the Saints. The cursed heart of an ancient dragon, capable of draining even a pure-blood witch of their powers—in the hands of a coven witch wearing the robes of the Witch Hunter Order.

‘Just what unholy conspiracy have I blundered into?’

The sight of that jewel had been enough to send Alden scrambling to his horse and racing away from the burning chapel like some whimpering pathetic little girl.

The history of the forbidden gods and the unholy magic they had gifted witches were all a part of his training as a priest. Once, the Witch Star had been the Holy Church's most prized possession. The sacred tool crafted by the First Saint that had single-handedly turned the tide against witches and pushed them to the brink of extinction.

That was until the rise of Emperor Arius. A pure-blood fire witch, who, with his covens of desert witches, vanquished the Holy Army and stole the Witch Star through betrayal and deception. The conquered lands of Zarus had been transformed into the Witch Nation of Ventrayna. It’s previous citizens massacred or enslaved by the thousands. Many noble families that carried the last bloodline of the Saint’s had perished in the war that made Arius the first Witch Emperor in history.

The sacred order of Cardinals barely managed to escape persecution with the sickly son of the assassinated Pope in their care. Jericho, last prince of Zarus, and now its current Pope, remained in exile in the Holy City. The one place no witch dared to tread. The Holy City’s sacred grounds, blessed by the first Saint, was the final resting place of three saints and nine Popes.

With Zarus all but crushed, the Emperor turned his forces to subjugating the neighboring kingdoms. With fire and steel, Arius forced the kings of Tharyn, Lafeara, and Strugna to kneel before him or perish. Witches, who had lived in fear of the church, flocked beneath the banner of the Burning Scorpion. Lafeara was the first kingdom to cave before the Witch Emperor’s forces, followed swiftly by its long-time ally Strugna. Tharyn had a long history of enmity with the Holy Church but refused to bend the knee. It was only after Arius rained fire upon the ancient temple of their dragon god that they unwillingly accepted him as their Emperor.

The Witch Star remained Arius’s prized war trophy for many years. It was renamed the North Star when he presented it to his favored cousin, Lady Catalina, as a wedding gift before she became Queen of Lafeara.

Pope Jericho had made it his mission to reobtain the Saint’s jewel, but with Catalina’s marriage, King Henri shut his doors to the church and its witch hunter order. But then five years later, without warning, Catalina suddenly died, and the Witch Star disappeared. Naturally, the first person Arius suspected of killing his cousin and stealing the jewel had been the Pope.

"So why does that bastard have it?" Alden whipped the mare harder. The beast groaned in agony as it struggled to breathe against the strangling winds. Lightning flashed above, and the ominous rumble of thunder quickly followed. In the storms fading light, a dark cloud that covered the horizon before them suddenly shifted and seemed to loom closer.

The horse stumbled and snorted in panic as the buzzing drone of a hundred wings drowned out the sound of rain. With a startled cry, Alden raised his arms as a swarm of crows crashed against him. The mare shrieked in pain as the black devils ripped at her face and neck with deadly talons.

Buried beneath an assault of feathers and pecking beaks that jabbed through his robes and arms, Alden jerked the reins to the side, and the mare bolted into the blackness.

Angry squawks followed as sharp talons tore at the priest’s hood and ripped it free. The vicious creatures pecked and scratched his scalp, neck, and ears. Alden swung his whip towards them widely and screamed as a talon nearly ripped out his right eye.

Blinded by the pain, Alden buried his face against the chestnut mare’s mane and desperately kicked the stumbling beast with his feet. The road vanished in a storm of black feathers and blood. The mare screamed beneath the swarms' assault as they continued their savage barrage on her face and tore out the beast’s eyes. She reared and tore heedlessly through the shadowy plane around them.

And then, as suddenly as the swarm had converged, they scattered. Alden looked up as a fence appeared in the field before them. His lungs slammed against his chest as the mare hit the center post with a smothered cry of pain. Then they tumbled down into the wet grass and soggy mud.

Alden rolled free of the saddle and scampered away from the mare’s thrashing legs. He clutched his chest and pulled the dripping hood over his blood-soaked hair. One frightened glanced confirmed the swarm of feathery devils were not yet done with him. The crows circled above and descended as the priest pulled himself over the fence and ran.

A light glowed in the distance across the field of matted wheat. Alden's chest heaved with effort as he lumbered towards it. The soaked earth below made each step heavier than the next, but his legs were fueled by fear and faith.

Blood ran down the priest’s face and blurred his vision as the storm continued to howl around him. The crows heckled and laughed as they swarmed and tore away pieces of him in turn. Another fence rose ahead of him. Alden clambered over it and fell as his damp robes twisted around his legs.

“Harmonia—protect—me!” His breathing was labored. His hands were numb from the cold and pain as he clawed his way back to his feet.

A village of lights came into focus as the road reappeared. Beneath the oppressive rainfall, Alden beheld the bell tower of Averly’s Chapel illuminated by the storm against the horizon.

“The Saints—have guided me,” Alden panted with relief as he stumbled onwards. The menacing presence of the crows lifted the moment he crossed the threshold of the village. ‘Sanctified ground—I’m saved!’

He might have wept for joy, but even faith could not quiet the fear that lurked in the dark night around him.

Lightning crackled through the angry storm clouds above as Alden fled towards the bell tower, eager to be indoors. His mud-caked boots thudded dully against the stone steps that led to the chapel’s front entrance.

Behind Alden, the crows settled onto the fence as they watched the pitiful priest beat his fists furiously against the sanctuary doors. Their dark eyes glinted over blood-stained beaks as the door creaked open, and the priest disappeared into the bright glow of safety.

[B1] Chapter 92: A Sanctuary of Sin

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Chapter 92: A Sanctuary of Sin

"That's quite a storm you've brought with you, Father Alden," Head Sister Temperance commented as she led him past the congregation room. "It’s fortunate you were able to find us. What in the name of the Saints were you doing so far from the capital without a horse or escort?”

“My—horse went lame in a field close by,” Alden answered as he followed, shivering and dripping mud and water along the chapel floor. “I—require—food and—dry clothes—a new horse—"

“You require rest and someone to tend to that eye,” Temperance interrupted sternly. “But, of course, our Sisters will be happy to provide whatever supplies you require, Father.”

“Thank you,” Alden muttered, too weary to protest.

“There’s a room for traveling guests this way. I hope you will find it comfortable enough. I’ll have one of our sisters bring a fresh set of clothes right away so you can change and some medicine for that injury. Then, if you wish, you can either join the sisters in the dining hall or eat in peace in your own room. I’ll leave that up to you.”

“You are—very kind, Sister Temperance, but—I would prefer to dine alone. I must—rest and rise early—to continue my journey.”

“It seems your departure is rather urgent,” Temperance observed as she passed through a door that revealed a narrow staircase. “I pray your visit to Lafeara has not uncovered anything too dangerous.”

"You’ll forgive me for not—sharing the details—but it is—of the utmost importance," Alden muttered tiredly as he leaned upon the stairwell railing. He pulled back the handkerchief she had given him from the injury below his eye. Blood and mud graced the otherwise simple white cotton linen.

“Even without your explanation, I can already guess,” Temperance replied with a shrug.

They moved to the side as they reached the second landing so that two sisters, carrying baskets of linen, could descend the steps. Alden noticed the nuns staring at him but avoided meeting their gaze. He could only imagine what a sight he must be covered in blood and mud.

“Since you sent word through the Abbess to request a witch hunter,” Temperance continued as she turned left down a hallway. “I can only assume your business involves the presence of witches in Lafeara.”

“How did you—”

“As the head of Averly Chapel, I have a somewhat close relationship to the Abbess and hear many things. Both you and your hound rested here on your journey to Lafeara. It was not hard to put two and two together.”

“Of course,” Alden echoed hesitantly. “And what else have you gleaned from your observations?”

Temperance smirked as she stopped by a door which she unlocked and pushed open. “That you were forced to leave in a hurry and without your witch hunter. That you met with some pestilence upon the road before you arrived here. The state of your clothes, the blood and wounds on your face, and the fact that you lied about your horse going lame—” she paused and raised a sardonic brow at him “—would all suggest that you brought not just a storm, but trouble to my chapel.”

“I apologize, Sister,” Alden said hurriedly as he pulled back his hood. “As you have deduced, I encountered something more dangerous than a coven-witch in Lafeara.”

Temperance snorted and shook her head. “No need to apologize, you have your reasons for being secretive, and I would never turn away a member of the church in any storm.”

“Then,” Alden said hesitantly, “could I trouble you, Sister, to keep my presence here a secret and to provide me with a fresh horse for my journey. I would leave at first light before trouble finds me again.”

“And will your witch hunter be rejoining you before you return to Zarus?”

Alden halted with one foot over the threshold. He turned slowly and met her perceptive gaze. “Actually, if that witch hunter should come looking, it would be best he never knew I was here.”

Temperance studied him silently for a moment then shrugged as she waved him into the room. “I shall see that your arrival and departure are kept discreet. Please, be at peace and rest your weary body and soul. You are safe here, Father.”

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A fire brazier was already lit in the corner of the room. The warm glow illuminated the far stone wall while smoke filtered through an iron vent along the upper corner. Alden unclasped and dropped his soaking cloak in a puddle by the door and then shuffled towards its warmth. He exhaled in relief as the smoky scent of saffron and cinnamon washed over him. The blaze restored life to his cold, stiff fingers.

Alden tossed the soiled handkerchief onto the floor and stared into the crackling wood as his thoughts darkened. A sense of trepidation sank into his cold bones as he considered the possibility that Nero might have survived. He shook his head quickly. ‘Even a coven of witches can't take down a pure-blood.’ Somehow, even that knowledge offered him no respite as the storm continued to howl outside the dark glass window.

‘What if—what if Nero was able to weaken the Emperor’s bastard with the Witch Star?'

Alden chewed the nail of his thumb in a weak attempt to stop his teeth from chattering. Cold darkness seemed to shroud the walls. A sense of being observed by unfriendly eyes crawled up his spine, but the room and window were empty. He moved closer to the fire. ‘I should rest tonight and leave early tomorrow as planned.’

Determined as he was, Alden knew it would require a strong drink to shut his eyes. Hopefully, with morning light, the world would seem less sinister.

Once his fingers were adequately warm, he unbuttoned the collar and front of his priest's robes, then loosened his belt. A modest but comfortable looking bed rested opposite the brazier. Alden stared at it with tired, longing eyes and dragged shaking fingers through his damp brown hair.

‘If Nero is alive, he could be out there looking for me?’

“Bastard can’t track me in the rain,” Alden muttered as he gingerly touched the welts and cuts along his neck and ears. “Perhaps he’s even running scared now that his secret has been discovered.”

The bedroom door opened, and Alden jumped as he spun around. Two nuns stepped inside, one with a tray of food, the other a stack of clothes. They both paused as they took in Alden's startled expression.

“Excuse us, Father, we should have knocked,” said the first nun as she hastily moved to place the tray of food on a small desk in the corner. “Some vegetable venison stew to warm you up and wine to help you sleep.”

“Bless you, Sister, you have my thanks,” Alden said, almost reverently. He caught the second nun staring at his exposed chest and hastily crossed his arms. “Ahem—are there no other priests or deacons here?”

“No, Father,” the second nun replied. She was younger, perhaps twenty, and despite the dim light of the brazier, he could tell she was quite pretty. Her doe-like brown eyes stared at him with an expression that was both curious and alluring. “Since the Abbess took office, fewer priests have applied to fill the necessary positions here in Lafeara, so the Abbess took it upon herself to appoint nuns with suitable experience and background to manage the province chapels.”

“I see.” Alden frowned as he turned back to the brazier. ‘Just how many rules had Abbess Mercy gotten away with bending since she took over after Bishop Currier.’

It was only natural that priests would be reluctant to serve under a woman—even an Abbess. That was why a Bishop was required to keep them in order. But Lafeara’s last Bishop died of old age more than ten years ago, and neither the royal family nor the Abbess had requested a replacement from Zarus. ‘Is it any wonder witches have returned to a country that has forgotten to strengthen its religious backbone.’

The bedroom door closed behind him as the nuns left. Alden fanned himself and stepped back from the brazier. Rain still dripped from his robes and hair, but the chill of the storm had finally left him. Instead, the room seemed suddenly stifling and hot. He turned slowly and started when he discovered the doe-eyed nun still waited by the door with her stack of clothes.

“Ah—you can leave those on the bed,” Alden instructed quickly. He fanned himself furiously as he turned back to the fire, suddenly aware of a growing discomfort beneath his robes.

“Shall I wash the garments you’re wearing?” the nun asked lightly. He heard her footsteps behind him and the soft ruffle of her habit as she moved.

“Ah, no need,” Alden replied with a glance over his shoulder.

She caught his look and smiled. ‘Was she wearing makeup? Her lips were oddly—’ he stared blankly at the backside she presented to him as the nun set down the clothes and leaned over the bed to smooth out the sheets.

“Avert thy eyes from sin!” the voice of his old ecclesiastical teacher rang sharply through Alden’s ears as he spun back to the fire.

“Should I help you change?”

"What?” Alden half turned towards her and caught himself. ‘Does she think I’m a noble who doesn’t know how to change my own clothes?’ He cleared his throat and shook his head. “No! No, I—can manage—just fine—on my own—thank you.” He clenched his fists in a silent effort to stop himself from babbling. The bulge within his damp pants was growing uncomfortably hot the longer he stood by the fire, but he dare not move away. “You may go now.”

"Are you sure?" Her voice tickled against his neck as her hands slid around his shoulders. Alden’s body went rigid as she pulled the unbuttoned robe down his arms and slid his hands free. “Oh!” she gasped softly.

Her cold fingers touched the wounds on his neck, and he shivered.

“You’re hurt, Father. Of course, the medicine!” She stepped back and pulled a bottle from her robes. “You cannot apply this yourself. Come sit by the bed.”

Alden's lips fumbled uselessly for a protest as the nun pulled him towards the foot of the bed and then pushed him down on the wooden trunk. He sat uncomfortably with his arms crossed over his embarrassing predicament as she opened the bottle and, using her handkerchief, dabbed ointment against the cuts on his face.

“Did you get into a fight with a cat?” she asked with a playful smile.

“No—birds.”

‘She—smells odd—is that perfume?’ Alden’s gaze shifted from her shoulder to study her face. ‘And she is wearing makeup! How absurd!’

“Just a few more,” the nun murmured as she turned her handkerchief over, applied more medication, and then shifted to the other side of his face. Her knee brushed against his leg, and Alden bit his lip. “Oh, no, does it hurt?”

“You realize—” he said haltingly. “That you are in a room—with a half-dressed man?”

“Hmm, the cut under your eye is particularly worrisome.” She slid her fingers through his hair then yanked his head to one side as she dabbed at the swollen flesh that all but forced his right eye closed.

Alden fought against the temptation of her touch, voice, scent, and physical closeness. ‘Blessed Saints—were all Lafearian nuns this—provocative?’ It wasn’t like he could see much of her beneath the formless habit that covered everything except her hands and face.

“Avert thy eyes from sin!”

Alden shut his eyes tight, but that only made him more aware of her touch, her smell, her breath, and the feel of her fingers trailing down his chest.

His eyes snapped open as he caught her hand in his. “What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Her dark eyes entrapped him as he gapped at her raven black locks, no longer hidden beneath their religious binds. Sultry scarlet lips twisted mockingly as she chuckled and tightened her grip on his damp hair. “You’ve had a harrowing journey, Father,” she whispered as she leaned in closer. “Allow me to chase away the cold.”

Alden froze. ‘Was this—some sort of illusion?’

Her mouth felt very real as it pressed against his. When she pulled back, he watched those mysterious lips move in a voiceless whisper. He neither recognized nor understood the language she spoke. As her sharp nails trailed over his hips and loosened the drawstrings of his trousers, a jolt of pleasure raced down his spine—and all thoughts of Nero, the pure-blood, Jericho, and even his priestly vows faded into the depths of her twilight eyes.

[B1] Chapter 93: A Feast of Crows

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Chapter 93: A Feast of Crows

The pure-blood’s magic, trapped in the Witch Star, kept Nero warm even as the deluge continued to blur out the road before him, what little of the road he could see. Five inches of rain had made the road and the fields around it all but indiscernible. Only the scattered stone walls and wooden posts offered any guidance through the vast flowing water. The pinto stallion he had taken off an unfortunate elderly gentleman fleeing the storm, bucked its head unwillingly.

“Damn beast,” Nero snarled and hissed as another wave of pain shot out from the throbbing stump of his right shoulder. “Keep—moving!”

He had beaten most of the spirit out of the animal when it had tried to buck him off shortly after Nero had left its owner in a ditch. Even now, the spiteful beast still glared at him with its ears pinned back. Nero grinned as he summoned another ice needle and jammed it into the horse’s flank. That got the pinto moving, though it almost unseated Nero in the process.

This would be much easier if he were a wind witch. Those temptresses could seduce man or beast with a single word. They were also notoriously tricky to find and even harder to track given they could control their scent far better than most.

Nero doubled over against the saddle as another wave of pain flared down his back and stump where his right arm should be. “Mercy’s Tit!”

He did not have time to be thinking about witches. Not with Father Alden scurrying back to Zarus to spill Nero’s secrets to Pope Jericho.

‘There’s no way that spoiled runt made it past the border in this storm.’

The pinto’s owner not only provided Nero with a mount for his journey but also information about a priest that had ridden by the man earlier with “great haste.” Nero very much doubted any other priest would be out in this storm heading towards the border. He was not at all surprised Alden had taken the same route they had both traveled on their way to Lafeara.

‘Runt probably assumes I’m dead already.’

A flicker of light appeared through the dense curtain of rain ahead, and Nero urged the pinto forward. They came upon a river that had burst and washed away road, fence, and field. With great reluctance, given how hard it was to mount this stubborn animal with one arm, Nero dismounted and approached the churning dark water.

“Immortalitatis potential,” Nero called out as he spread his left hand over the river. The pinto bucked nervously behind him as ice glowed eerily across the surface of the river. Instead of its normal pale-blue color, this ice was a coral pink. Nero dropped to his knees with a quiet cry of pain as he clutched his throbbing right shoulder. “Damn it. It’s too much—” he hissed through his teeth.

The pink ice stopped before it reached the other side of the drowned road. Then it broke into chunks beneath the vengeful tide that quickly carried it out across the flooded field.

‘Too much fire.’ Nero laughed at the irony. He wound his left hand around the pinto’s reins and pulled himself back up. Whether from weariness or pity, the beast stayed still long enough for Nero to hoist himself back into the saddle awkwardly.

“Neither of us wants to do this, but I need to get on that side of the road,” the witch hunter growled. With a quick kick to the pinto’s flank, Nero urged the stallion down into the flowing stream. Water rushed quickly up over the witch hunter’s knees, then climbed his chest. The pinto’s ears twitched wildly as it raised its head and neck above the swirling tide.

The river pushed them slightly off course, but the stallion never lost the ground beneath him and soon waded up onto the other side. Ignoring his waterlogged boots and muddied garments, Nero clicked his tongue and pointed the pinto towards the town in the distance.

The guard post was vacant, no doubt due to the storm, but the dull echo of a bell, which swayed in the gale's breeze, pulled Nero’s attention towards the bell tower and the building beside it he instantly recognized as Averly Chapel.

“Quaerite et invenietis,” Nero murmured. The garnet stone on his left hand hummed, and he felt its matching partner, hidden inside Alden’s belt, flicker awake within the chapel walls. “Found you, priest.”

He hadn’t expected to use the tracking gem. Alden was little more than a spoiled noble brat who couldn’t inherit his father’s estate or run a business, and thus took on the robes of a priest. Still, if Nero had learned one thing while hiding his powers within the Witch Hunter’s Order, it was that even a harmless crow can become a menace when provoked.

He slid around back to the chapel's stables and led his horse inside. The pinto’s hooves echoed on the wood floorboards beside Nero’s squelching boots as he guided the stallion into an empty stall and tied it to the doorpost. The stallion shook itself and fed from the hay tied up in fishing nets in the corner.

Nero returned to the open stable door where he studied the lights of the chapel. It was easy enough to determine which side would hold the congregation and prayer rooms and which section was used to house and feed the resident sisters.

A scuffle of feathers snapped Nero’s attention to the rafters above, where a cluster of crows nestled together on the beams. Their dark, judging eyes gazed down at him with a contempt that sent a chill down his spine.

Nero scoffed as he pulled up the hood of the cloak he’d also snatched from the pinto’s owner. He pulled it about him as best he could to hide the disheveled state of the tattered red tunic beneath. Then he slid back out into the storm and slunk through the pouring darkness towards the chapel.

The bell boomed loudly through the incessant rain. Nero hastily pressed himself against the wall beneath a stain glass window and grimaced as he bumped against his right shoulder. Beyond the glass, he could hear the murmur of women as they passed by, heedless to his presence.

That would be the evening bell, which meant the sisters were heading to supper. Nero continued his crouched approach until he reached a side door. He tested the handle and wasn’t at all surprised to find it unlocked. Religion and faith made people do crazy things.

The hallway that opened before him was empty and oddly quiet. Nero was accustomed to churches that were always filled with the sounds of prayer or hymns. He considered it a game played by members of the cloth, to prove who was more devoted.

He dismissed the silence as the result of the turbulent storm outside and crept further along the hall. The loud squelching of his boots soon stopped him in his tracks. Nero looked down at the muddied footwear and the dripping trail of rainwater that pooled around him and sighed. He was tempted to remove the waterlogged boots but shook the thought away as he headed purposefully towards the center of the four hallways. If a nun did spot him, Nero could always use his witch hunter badge to forestall any suspicion until he found the priest.

The hall opened on one end to an empty congregation room. The statue of Saint Harmonia kneeling in prayer adorned the alter before the stain glass walls. Nero wiped the rain from his face as the memory of the pure-blood levitating through the broken glass frame flickered behind his eyelids.

A flutter of wings snapped his eyes open as a black crow settled upon the saint’s shoulder, its tiny black claws scraped her marble skin as it gazed at the witch hunter with intent curiosity.

Nero didn’t like the bird’s inky black eyes. They made him feel observed and uneasy.

The witch hunter turned and took the left hallway, which led to the back of the church, towards the dining-hall, kitchen, and the dormitories. He reasoned that if the sisters were all at dinner, then Father Alden would likely be with them.

'What a pity.' Nero adjusted the Witch Star’s chain beneath his borrowed cloak. After battling a dragon, massacring a handful of nuns felt cheap and beneath him. Still, as long as Alden was dead, Nero could shift the blame and any lingering suspicion to the other ice witch hiding in Lafeara.

He could hear the nuns through the closed dining room doors as he approached. Their voices filtered through the doors as the women laughed and chattered over their meal. ‘Defenseless lambs waiting to be slaughtered.’ Nero sighed even as a cold grin twisted across his mouth. Then he took two steps back, charged, and kicked the door open.

“Evening Sisters!” he called out as the nuns turned towards him with stunned wary expressions. Nero ignored them and scanned the occupied seats for Father Alden, his cold magic already forming a spear beneath his left hand.

The magic sputtered and died as his gaze focused on a platter laid out upon the table before him. The dish contained spinach leaves, herbs, fresh cherry tomatoes, and the severed head of a familiar priest. Father Alden's empty eye sockets stared back at Nero over stitched purple lips.

"How thoughtful of you to save us the trouble of hunting you down, Witch Hunter," a familiar voice called out from the opposite end of the table.

Nero glanced up sharply and blinked in disbelief at Abbess Mercy, who smiled mockingly back at him.

"Oh, don’t look so surprised! You’re not the only witch clever enough to hide in plain sight of the church," Mercy added with a snort of disdain. A crow flew to her shoulder and cawed softly against her dark raven hair.

The once aged and prestigious Abbess was now much younger and dangerously beautiful. Her religious habit was gone, replaced by a black gown with a low neckline that complemented both her curves and the blood-red ruby necklace that glinted beneath the candle chandeliers.

"You—" Nero sucked in a breath as he eyed the nuns around the table warily. They all stared back at him with the same cunning grin. The doors behind him slammed shut. Magic whispered through the air, its invisible tendrils wrapped around the witch hunter’s remaining limbs and pinned him in place. On the beams above, a murder of crows laughed and leered down at the trapped witch hunter.

"Welcome to our coven, Witch Hunter Nero," Mercy said with disturbing civility. The crow on her shoulder climbed up her arm as Mercy raised her hand. She whispered silently to the bird, which bobbed its head, flapped its wings, and flew towards a small open window in the corner of the room.

Only then did Nero realize the storm outside had utterly died out. “You—are you a sea witch?”

Mercy rolled her eyes and chuckled. “Have you ever heard of a sea witch this far inland?” She flicked her fingers through her hair and leaned back in her throne-like chair. “Come, Witch Hunter, why don’t you join us for a bite.” The red ruby at her bosom flashed. A chair slid free from the wall behind Nero before it took out his knees and carried the rigid witch hunter across the floor to the opposite end of the table. "That’s better, do dig in, there's still plenty of priest left to finish."

The magic released its grip on him as a nun shoved a plate of thinly sliced organs decorated with an ear in his direction. Nero swallowed down the unpleasant acidic taste in his mouth. He eyed the freshly prepared meat laid out upon the table. Despite the nauseously aromatic smell of the feast before him, another scent pervaded the room.

"You’re witches," he stammered and cleared his throat. "All of you?"

"Mmm," Mercy murmured as she licked a bit of sauce from her finger. "Last we checked.” The wind and witches laughed in his ears as Nero met Mercy’s dusk-blue eyes, and felt a quiver of fear run through him. “Now, don’t be rude. Would you like a bit of leg—or perhaps an arm?”

[B1] Chapter 94: The Rot of Power

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Chapter 94: The Rot of Power

The nuns cackled as they tore into their feast and drank the red fluid in their goblets that looked suspiciously like blood—but could have been wine. Nero remained perfectly still as he watched them feed like a pack of hungry wolves. The sight made all the more unpleasant by the splatter of grease and other fluids that stained the nuns' religious robes.

"Don’t let a little bit of cannibalism put you off," Mercy commented as she lifted a human eyeball from her plate and dropped it between her plump scarlet lips. She chewed for a moment and then swallowed. "There’s no better way to see through a man's lies than to eat his eyes."

Nero tried to take a breath without actually breathing in the depravity around him. Cannibalism was not a common practice among witches. It was thought to have been all but extinguished in the purge of the old world. Occasionally though, the church would get reports on some rabid covenless witch, hunting and consuming human flesh. Those were usually the easiest to track down and burn since they were ostracized and lacked a coven’s protection.

But sitting at a table with an entire coven of cannibal witches was beyond blood-chilling. With his right arm gone and the Witch Star unstable, Nero was feeling unpleasantly mortal.

In the old practices of witches, cannibalism began as a means of stealing another witch’s powers. Wear the bones of a wind witch, and one could fly. Drink the blood of a water witch to control the weather. Eat the heart of an ice witch and live for a thousand years. Consume the flesh of an earth witch, and gain the strength to tear apart mountains and topple palaces.

It was the witches’ insatiable greed for power that had led the second Saint to create the Witch Star. A jewel forged from the heart of an ancient dragon that could steal a witch’s powers. Naturally, the process of draining their powers still killed the witches; but no form of cannibalism was involved.

And because half-witches were born with magic they themselves could not use, they were often viewed as a stepping stone to gaining power. In the old days, a child born as a half-witch was reared like livestock to be slaughtered. A tradition viewed as a necessary sacrifice to wean out the weak and strengthen the coven.

There was, however, nothing to be gained from eating a mortal—at least as far as Nero knew. He certainly had no intention of eating anything served upon this table.

Mercy chuckled at his discomfort. "What’s wrong, witch hunter? Cat got your tongue? You have questions, I can tell. Speak.”

"Why kill the priest?" Nero blurted out.

"Mmm, the same reason you came to kill him, I suppose," she replied with a shrug. "We didn't want Father Alden tattling to Jericho about what he had witnessed. The last thing our coven needs is the Pope of Zarus interfering with Lafeara. Fooling mortals is one thing—" she waved a hand dismissively "—even a witch hunter can be tricked if you're clever enough."

‘She certainly had me fooled.’ Nero admitted reluctantly. "But the eyes of the Pope would see right through you.”

"You more than anyone should know this," Mercy commented dryly. "I have to admit; I'm surprised Jericho hasn't figured you out yet. To think the Pope and Emperor have searched nearly two decades for the Witch Star and all this time, it was in the hands of some lowly church hound.” Mercy folded her hands together as she leaned across the table towards him with interest. “Just how do you keep your stolen powers hidden from the Pope?”

"I'm not the first witch to fool him," Nero answered vaguely.

"Hmm, yes—that old hag," Mercy muttered sourly. She picked up the second hazel-green eye and chewed it thoughtfully. "I suppose that frigid bitch taught you a few of her secrets before sending you off to the Church.”

Nero smiled tightly but offered no reply.

Mercy snorted in amusement. “Well, this isn’t much of an exchange. Perhaps I should be eating your eyes instead.”

The nails of his left hand dug into the armrest as Nero cleared his throat. "Why not just give us the ice witch? Surely that would eliminate any potential risks for your coven.”

“And let such a rare and precious lamb slip through our fingers?” Mercy laughed, though Nero detected a hint of bitterness in her eyes.

“One way or another, Jericho will learn the priest is dead. He will send more witch hunters to investigate,” Nero prodded curiously.

"And what were you planning to do after killing the priest? After killing all of us as you intended to do a moment ago when you walked through those doors?" Mercy offered an amused smile. "We have our own plans for the ice witch. As for the priest—what’s left of him will be sent back to Zarus soon enough." She leaned back and studied him over her goblet. “But, shouldn’t a person in your position be more concerned about what we will do to you?”

Nero did not like the tone or the look in her eyes. “And what do you plan to do with me?”

Mercy's teeth gleamed with malice. “What should we do to you? The pretender. The malignant betrayer. The half-witch who killed the Phoenix.”

The sound of ripping flesh ceased as the nuns all turned their hostile gaze towards Nero. The witch hunter tensed but focused on Mercy as her perceptive gaze lowered to the Witch Star beneath Nero’s cloak.

“It’s not often that a half-witch presents themselves so willingly to our doors,” Mercy murmured with a cat-like smile. “Let alone one bearing such a rare artifact.”

The Witch Star hummed as Nero lept to his feet with an ice spear in hand. The chair clattered to the floor behind him as he froze, surrounded by over a dozen sharpened dinner knives that hovered inches from his face and body.

"Sit. Down," Mercy commanded coldly. "I could kill you with a snap of my fingers if I truly wanted to." She glanced down at the witch hunter’s ice spear, which vibrated between pale pink and sky gray. “Bit off more than you can chew, didn’t you?”

Nero grit his teeth as the chair flipped upright behind him. With a painful gasp, he released the spear that splashed against the floor below, then sank slowly into his seat. The knives returned to their place beside the nuns, who happily resumed their grotesque meal.

"Good hound," Mercy murmured with a mocking smile. She raised a single finger in his direction then moved her fingertip with elegant purpose. The Witch Star slid free of his cloak and hovered before the witch hunter’s electric-blue eyes.

Nero growled as he snatched it back with his left hand.

"Is that how you did it, half-witch? You drained the Phoenix and other witches of their magic and killed them to make yourself a cheap imitation of a coven-witch?"

Nero ignored the murderous glares from around the table. "My transformation was by no means cheap." He could see the hunger in Mercy’s gaze that lingered upon the jewel in his fist. "If you want it that badly,” he taunted. “Come and get it.”

Nero might not be able to take on a pure-blood, but he’d be damned if he let a coven of cannibals use him as a snack. They were not likely to let him walk out in one piece either way. His grip on the Witch Star tightened as he focused on the air around him and waited for an attack.

Mercy broke her gaze and stared down into her goblet with a sigh. "No," she declined with a note of disappointment. "I won't kill you for that cursed artifact. I may want you dead as much as any witch here—but your fate has already been decided. The foul stench of your magic tells me you will be dead in a month, if not sooner. But then I suppose you knew that already, Witch Killer."

Nero swallowed and took in a slow breath. "Is this some sort of witch pity?"

"Pity?” Mercy chuckled and arched her brow. "You have no idea what's in store for you? The cost of stealing all that magic. You traded your soul for power, and now your body rots from within." Her repulsed gaze settled once more on the Witch Star. “Your demise will be agonizing and endless as befits your crimes. The only reason a half-witch like you even lasted this long is the ice magic you inherited from your bitch mother."

"Leave her out of this," Nero growled as he tucked the Witch Star inside his tunic.

Mercy offered a crooked smile. "The old queen will get what's coming to her soon enough.” She drank from her goblet and licked her lips slowly. "I have been told to allow you to leave here alive—" she explained bluntly, "—but you are forbidden from returning to Lafeara ever again."

‘Is she toying with me now?’ Nero cracked a smile. "Forbidden by who?"

"Our King.” Her voice echoed across the table as the crows above fluttered and cawed anxiously.

"King?" Nero scowled in confusion. "Do you mean—Prince Nicholas?"

Mercy sputtered out a dark laugh that vibrated against the chapel windows. "A mortal?" she asked with a sneer. The nuns cackled maliciously and then returned to their feast.

Nero inhaled sharply as her meaning became clear. Witches only chose a king when a pure-blood strong enough to control multiple covens had appeared. The last Witch King to have risen this way was the current Emperor of Ventrayna. "Who then?”

‘Perhaps this information just might save my skin—then again, why is Mercy even telling me this?’

Mercy offered him a pitiless smile and shook her head. “Pray you never find out, Witch Killer.” She flicked her fingers towards the dining room doors. They opened with a bang as the nuns around the table stopped eating and focused their dark eyes on Nero.

"It's time for you to leave, Nero the Witch Killer," Mercy ordered as she rose from her seat. "Set foot in Lafeara again, and our Coven of Crows will happily tear your cursed body limb from limb."

[B1] Chapter 95: A Crown of Vengeance

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Chapter 95: A Crown of Vengeance

The Countess’s cerulean-blue eyes fixated on Percy the moment he stepped through the front door of Hawthorne Manor. He recognized the look in them, as all sons do, and braced himself for the storm of her disappointment.

Constance turned on the middle step of the staircase and waved her maid away impatiently as she glared down imperiously at her son. "Where have you been?" Her low voice brimmed with frustration and anger. "Do you have any idea how late it is?"

The butler silently took the Earl’s hat and coat without comment then whisked them and himself to safety.

“There was a fire at the Sisters' Chapel near the capital,” Percy replied as he watched the servants scatter from view. “It would appear a troublesome witch has crossed our borders.” He moved up the steps, his gaze focused on the second floor, and the bath and bed that waited beyond.

Constance caught his arm quickly and sniffed delicately. "You smell like a bonfire." She cringed away but refused to remove her gaze from his resolute expression. "We need to discuss your change in behavior. Since when did you disrespect your mother so publicly?"

"Since when did Mother forget that I am now Earl of Hawthorne," Percy answered coldly as he shook her grip loose. "I am tired." He continued up the stairs and ignored the angry footsteps and swishing skirt that trailed after him as he turned towards his room. "Not now, Mother."

"Don't you Mother me," Constance snarled as she followed him down the hall. "Lady Evelynn has always been the plan. You need a bride with the right heritage and proper connections to ensure the balance of power between the Aristocrats and royal family is maintained."

"Lady Evelynn was always part of your plan, Mother," Percy replied as he opened his bedroom door and turned to face her. "I have no interest in your balance or whatever designs you and the Dowager have for Lafeara.”

He took a step back as Constance stormed towards him and shut the bedroom door behind them.

"You are playing a dangerous game, Percy!" Constance hissed as her finger danced dangerously close to his face. "Do not delude yourself. I am not blind to who you've been cavorting with secretly at night. The Coven of Crows is dangerous, deceitful, and cannot be controlled."

"And that's what you fear most, isn't it, Mother," Percy observed as he caught her hand and pushed her finger away from him. "What you can't control."

"Percy," Constance whispered in bewilderment as she stepped forward and cupped his face in her hands. "Percy—listen to me. You know I only have your best interests at heart."

Percy sighed as he wrapped his fingers around her delicate wrists. "You told me recently that I lack patience," he murmured. "But I have been very patient, Mother." He leaned down until their foreheads touched, and his shadow covered her pleading expression. "I have tolerated your lies and betrayal for fifteen long years."

Constance twitched beneath his hold but remained otherwise still. "Percy, whatever lies that Crow Witch told you—"

"Don't," Percy growled as he moved back. "Do not compound your sins with more lies."

"Percy!" his mother’s voice trembled with disbelief and fear.

"I know it all," he confirmed coldly. "The Dowager poisoned Father with the Aconitum Flower to diminish his witch powers. But it was you who hired those assassins from the Fox Den to ambush him and ensure he did not return home."

Beneath his fingers, he could feel her heartbeat rising—her terror confirming his every word.

"I even know why you did it, Mother." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead and cheek. "To protect the Hawthorne name and your precious balance," he hissed in her ear.

"Percy," Constance whimpered. "You’ve misunderstood. You still don’t understand what’s at stake. I did what was necessary to protect you! Ethan and that woman would have exposed Lafeara to the Emperor's wrath. None of us would have been spared if the truth of Queen Catalina's death came to light."

"Do you honestly believe the Emperor doesn't know?" Percy asked incredulously as he released his grip and stepped back.

"No, he—how could he? He wouldn't have left the matter alone if he knew!"

"And what about Catalina's son?"

"Tristan?" Constance shook her head. "The Emperor’s bastard is dead. The Dowager saw to that when she and King Henri sent him off to die against the Tharyn princes."

"He didn't die," Percy replied softly.

"What?"

"I warned him," Percy explained with a cynical smile. "I told him the Dowager would poison him to ensure his death in battle."

"You—did what!?"

“Ultimately, Tristan exceeded even my expectations. He somehow managed to undo all those years of poison the Dowager inflicted upon him.”

“That—Impossible!” Constance clasped her trembling arms around her waist. “The effects of the Aconitum flower are irreversible.”

"Did it ever occur to you or the Dowager," Percy continued with a mocking smile, "That killing without respite simply to maintain your power and balance would one day bring a monster of your own making to your doorstep?"

"P-Percy?"

"Enough, Mother!" Percy heaved a sigh as he dragged his long fingers over the grimy skin of his face. "I confess, I am tired of keeping up this facade." He dropped his hand and regarded his blackened fingertips then his mother with emotionless eyes. "As of this moment, you are no longer the Countess of Hawthrone. I revoke your title, position, and all its benefits.”

Constance gasped out a weak laugh.

“You will withdraw from Lafeara's politics, and you will have no further cause to meet or communicate with the Dowager in the future on any matter. All of Father's holdings, properties, and finances shall pass to me fully as they should have done after my coming of age ceremony.”

“Percy—you are angry—but you can’t—”

Percy stepped forward, caught her right hand, and pulled the white diamond signet ring from her finger. “I will prepare one of our country estates for your comfort and care. And I will spread word that you are retiring due to your failing health."

"Percy!" Constance stammered. “Your father gave me that ring—”

“And you murdered him.” Percy dropped her wrist and tucked the ring that passed to each Hawthrone’s Countess into his trouser pocket. “Finally, you will no longer have anything to do with Lady Maura. Your future plans for her to enter the Prime Minister's house end tonight."

"You—why would you say that?"

"Because I know you, Mother," Percy replied with a tight smile. "You know the Prime Minister wants Acheron settled down. You intended to offer Maura as a potential daughter-in-law. Pushing her to do well in the Selection wasn't just to place her at Eleanora's side." He removed his soiled vest and held it up between them. "You wanted to dangle Maura just beyond my reach, where she could still be of use to you." He flung the garment aside as he regarded her coldly. "Manipulating others with their weakness is something you picked up from the Dowager. Though to be fair—I believe you’ve improved upon her methods."

"If Maura is your weakness—then all the more reason to be wary of her," Constance returned with trembling anger.

Percy stared back at her silently and shook his head. "You won't even deny it," he muttered as he turned away.

"Would it matter if I did? You seem convinced that I am as bad as Octavia. If you honestly believe I conspired to kill Ethan, then why spare me at all?" Constance demanded as she crossed her arms defiantly.

Percy took in a slow breath as the black diamond signet ring on his right hand flashed. "For three reasons, Mother. The first is simple enough. You brought me into this world, that has to count for something. The second would be the lesson you taught me when you betrayed my father, never to trust anyone. As for the last reason—" he exhaled as a soft smile spread across his face, "—you found Maura and brought her to me."

"Then I curse the day that brought her to my doorstep," Constance spat venomously. “What kind of son would turn against his own mother just because of some half-blood with a pretty face?” She turned on her heel, yanked open the bedroom door, and flinched in surprise as Mercy appeared blocking the doorway.

"Evening, Countess," Mercy greeted with a sultry smile.

"You vile gh—"

Mercy snapped her fingers and cut Constance off mid-speech.

"Mercy," Percy greeted over Constance, who clutched her muted throat baffled.

"Should I have someone remove this?" Mercy asked with a nod to Constance, who glared at her furiously.

"Mother, it would appear your illness is relapsing,” Percy murmured as he placed a hand on Constance’s shoulder. "You should retire to your room to rest. Abbess Mercy will have one of her sisters watch over you while you sleep."

Constance stared at him, horrified, and shook her head quickly.

"I suppose that will do for now," Mercy replied with faint disappointment. "Temperance will watch her then."

The older nun stepped forward from the hallway and bowed her head respectfully to Percy. Constance stared between the two witches that had suddenly appeared in her house and backed away—only to be blocked by Percy, who stood behind her.

Her son offered an empty smile before he pushed her firmly towards Temperance. The old nun caught the stumbling Countess and gripped her firmly. Constance protested with silent rage, then she turned her furious gaze to Mercy and gestured at her throat.

"Perhaps if you had not abandoned your magic, you would be able to remove such a simple spell yourself," Mercy replied with a note of disgust.

"Good night, Mother," Percy said dismissively as Temperance pulled the struggling woman down the hallway. "I'm sure you'll have your voice back by morning."

He turned from Constance's pleading gaze to face Mercy. "I trust the Witch Hunter has left Lafeara?"

"Our crows are watching to ensure that he does," Mercy answered confidently. "However, my sisters and I were quite disappointed when you asked that he be spared. Some of the witches he harvested his magic from were from our sister covens after all."

"He benefits our cause more alive than dead—for now.” Percy turned, entered his room, and headed towards the bedroom dresser.

"How?" Mercy demanded impatiently as she followed behind him.

"You killed the priest, did you not?" Percy answered as he pulled out Constance’s signet ring and placed it on a clean handkerchief. "Someone has to take the blame for that. Might as well be the Witch Killer. Nothing would embarrass Jericho more than the rumor that one of his precious hounds turned on their priest."

"And the Witch Star?" Mercy pressed speculatively. “Why let such a dangerous artifact slip through our fingers?”

"Tristan hunts for his mother's killer who possesses that cursed jewel." Percy shrugged as he unbuttoned his shirt. "He wasn't going to leave Lafeara until he found it."

"And now he has," Mercy affirmed with a wry smile.

"So, let the Pope, the Emperor, and the bastard pure-blood hunt Nero down. One or the other will claim the Witch Star first and then fight to keep it. Meanwhile—" Percy waved his hand. The curtains of his bedroom window fluttered aside to reveal the capital and Royal Palace in the distance, bathed in moonlight. "—we will bring the Dowager and this city to its knees."

"I see," Mercy murmured with a satisfied smirk. "You are wise, indeed—my King."

[B1] Chapter 96: An Official Death Notice

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Chapter 96: An Official Death Notice

"Prime Minister," Nicholas greeted groggily as he rubbed heavy eyes. The crown prince’s purple silk pantaloons slid precariously down his toned pale hips as he stumbled towards the office desk in the dimly lit room that connected to his bedroom chambers. The medallion of kings jostled between his pectorals as he slumped into the uncomfortable seat. "What—” he yawned, “—is so important that you had to drag me from my bed before the sun has left its grave?"

"Forgive the earliness of the hour, your Majesty," Attwood replied, with a glance at the stunningly realistic painting of a pack of wolves gnawing on giant bones, that hung behind Nicholas. "I received some rather disturbing news."

"Does this concern the witch fire everyone's been talking about?" Nicholas grumbled as he scratched his jawline. Beaumont appeared through the connecting bedroom door with a cup of water that he placed before the crown prince.

"I'm afraid not, your Majesty. This news arrived just a few hours ago from the town of Averly," Attwood explained gravely. "You recall Pope Jericho sent a priest and witch hunter here to investigate a suspicious murder in the slums."

"Yes," Nicholas replied tiredly as he combed through his light-auburn hair. "Some unfounded claim about a witch attack upon a nobleman." He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Didn't the Knight Commander already rule that incident as a failed rape attempt? I distinctly recall him mentioning that a local vigilante killed the rapist to defend some young noblewoman who wandered into the slums."

“No noblewoman has come forward to confirm the Knight Commander’s assumptions on the matter,” Attwood replied.

"And why would she?” Beaumont countered with a hint of bitterness. “To come forward would ruin her reputation. Not to mention, place her under the church’s scrutiny. They have already labeled the incident a witch attack.”

“And so far, they have yet to produce any evidence to support that claim,” Nicholas continued calmly. “The Capital's safety falls under Captain Sloane's jurisdiction, who reports to Knight Commander Quentin. A man whose judgment and thoroughness I hold in high regard.”

"While I would normally agree with your Majesty regarding the Knight Commander's excellent record, but it would appear that the investigation was dropped presumptuously,” Attwood interjected with a worried expression. "With your permission, I would like to look into the incident more thoroughly.’

"Why?" Nicholas drawled impatiently, then picked up his cup and took a drink. "What news did you receive from Averly?"

"That the priest, Father Alden, was murdered."

Silence stretched through the dark office room as Nicholas drew in a slow breath to ask, "By a witch?"

"According to the sisters of Averly Chapel—he was killed by his own witch hunter."

"What?" Beaumont snapped. His pale blonde brows furrowed together as his violet gaze dropped to the floor in tense contemplation.

"His hound?" Nicholas echoed in disbelief as he sat up, fully awake, alert, and extremely interested.

"Yes, the witch hunter known as Nero attacked the priest—apparently to prevent Father Alden from revealing that he wasn't a half-witch at all. The sisters reported seeing the witch hunter use ice magic to decapitate the priest."

"Ice-magic was all but eradicated during the great purge," Beaumont muttered with a note of uncertainty. "You’re suggesting one of the most persecuted witches in history willingly chose to hide among the church’s dogs?” He shook his head incredulously. “Perhaps what the sisters saw was the work of another witch—or the effect of an artifact or magic jewel.”

Nicholas closed his eyes, drew in a shallow breath, and exhaled. "Decapitated?" He picked up the glass of water and finished it off. "So, according to the sisters, we have a rogue ice witch, who was one of Jericho’s witch hunters, running around killing priests?" He drummed his fingers against the desk and then rubbed the back of his neck. "Tell me again how this relates to the witch that set the Sisters’ Chapel on fire?"

‘The most likely origins of a fire witch would undoubtedly be Ventrayna, but why would they go so far as to attack a chapel in Lafeara? Is this a warning from the Emperor because we permitted the priest and his witch hunter to enter Lafeara?’

"I am unsure at the moment, your Majesty," Attwood confessed and bowed his head. "The knights are still investigating the witch fire at present."

"I should like to view all reports related to the original murder that brought the priest and his witch hunter to Lafeara," Nicholas commanded sharply.

"Of course," Attwood replied and raised his head. "I took the liberty of obtaining a copy of the witnesses who were present during and shortly after the fire. I also have a list of the victims who were killed in the fire."

He unfolded the two documents which he placed before Nicholas.

"Luckily, Abbess Mercy and her sisters were able to escape, but a noble family was holding a funeral at the chapel during the attack. Lord Josiah Turnbell and his recently divorced wife, Lady Helena Gilwern, were killed while attempting to escape.”

“Gilwren?” Nicholas repeated. “Any relation to Viscount Gilwren?”

“His estranged daughter, your Majesty. The funeral was for her oldest son, Lincoln Turnbell. One of the survivors is her eldest daughter, Lady Sophya Turnbell, and—Lady Maura is Helena’s illegitimate daughter."

"What?" Nicholas's gaze zipped across the list of the deceased. "These are Lady Maura's parents?" He barely registered the names as he recalled the young girl’s defiant ice-blue eyes across her fortune-telling crystal.

"Yes, I'm afraid so, your Majesty."

‘Then Lady Maura is now an orphan.’

"But Lady Maura was not at the funeral?" Nicholas muttered curiously as he examined the witness list. ‘There was no way she could have attended without an official pass granted by the Dowager, myself, or the Prime Minister.’

"No, your Majesty. It would seem she was—not informed," Attwood confirmed with a heavy sigh. "I've only recently become aware that her brother, Lincoln, died the day before Lady Maura entered the palace for the Selection."

“Wait—” Nicholas held up his hand “—her brother died before the Selection? As I recall, her parents divorced during the Selection, and now they are dead as well.”

‘Given that Lady Maura was only able to keep her position after Eleanora made her a Baroness—should I say she is a rather fortunate or unfortunate person? Either way—these tragic events are peculiar.’

Beaumont picked up the list of witnesses and studied it with a silent dark scowl.

Nicholas glanced up at his pensive friend, then leaned back and tapped his chin thoughtfully. ‘I suppose it couldn’t hurt to dig into the matter further since Beaumont’s still hung up on her.’

"Either way, Lady Maura is now a member of the royal court," Nicholas continued with a note of acceptance. "An Official Death Notice should be prepared and delivered to her this morning. Along with our permission and express wish that Lady Maura takes a few days to handle any arrangements necessary for her parent's funeral with her sister, Lady—" he glanced at the list in Beaumont’s hand then turned to Attwood.

"Lady Sophya Turnbell," the Prime Minister supplied.

"Yes, her sister, Lady Sophya." Nicholas nodded his thanks. "In the meantime," he leaned his elbows upon the desk and rested his chin upon his interlaced fingers. "Have Knight Commander Quentin look deeper into all three of these witch incidents, see if there is a connection. Tell him to make the priest’s death a priority. I want a detailed report on my desk before dinner.”

"Yes, your Majesty," Attwood replied with a respectful bow.

“Pope Jericho will not turn a blind eye to Lafeara even if it was the church’s hound that killed the priest.” Nicholas leaned back and rubbed his eyes and temple. ‘Damn it! The timing of all this—with Eleanora’s uncle arriving in two short weeks.’

“And if the Pope requests an inquisition—” Attwood broke off uncertainly.

“I will not allow his Holiness to run rampant the way my father did,” Nicholas growled. “There are still many noble families who harbor resentment for the wives and daughters King Henri permitted the pope’s hounds to burn.”

“Of course, your Majesty, but we cannot deny the Pope access to investigate.”

‘You mean I can’t offend the Pope before my coronation because of some archaic tradition.’

"Pardon me—your Majesty," Beaumont interjected hesitantly. "But with your permission—I would like to deliver the Death Notice to Lady Maura—personally."

Nicholas turned towards the knight captain and frowned. "What? Why?"

‘You’re not going to get over her if you can’t keep your distance.’

"I—" Beaumont dropped his violet eyes to the imperial oak desk "—thought she should hear the news from someone she knew."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow in disbelief and shook his head. “Beaumont, I really don’t—"

"Permit him, your Majesty," Attwood urged with a sudden hopeful expression. "Whatever Lady Maura's relationship was with her family, she's still young and has just lost her mother. A little gentleness and empathy couldn't hurt."

‘Empathy?’ Nicholas swallowed as he tried to ignore the uncomfortably tight feeling in his chest. "Oh, very well," he waved his hand permissively. "Deliver it yourself, Beaumont, but wait until after breakfast. Allow Lady Maura to enjoy the morning before you ruin the rest of her day."

"Of course," Beaumont bowed his head. "Thank you, your Majesty."

"In the meantime," Nicholas slapped his hands against the desk and stood. "I'm starving. Why don't we raid the kitchen and then head out to sword practice?"

"Ah—your Majesty!" Attwood called out quickly. "We should allow the kitchen a moment to stoke the fire and prepare a proper meal." He turned to the steward who waited by the office door and cleared his throat loudly.

The servant hastily dipped a bow and departed.

"Ugh," Nicholas groaned as he slumped back into his seat. "Next time, could you refrain from waking me until you’ve had a proper meal prepared." He stifled a yawn, folded his arms across the desk, and laid his head upon them. "Wake me when there's food," he grumbled.

Attwood shook his head as Beaumont removed his knight's cape and draped it over Nicholas' bare shoulders. The Prime Minister observed the knight captain for a moment then coughed. "I—ah—don't suppose Lady Maura would happen to be the young woman that you and Acheron were—"

Beaumont’s violet eyes flickered with anger as he glanced up sharply.

"Never mind," Attwood whispered as he averted his gaze, folded and returned the documents to his satchel, and then turned to leave. He paused in the office doorway. "Good things come to those who persist.”

Beaumont watched his uncle disappear quickly down the hall.

"Ignore him," Nicholas grumbled as he snuggled beneath Beaumont’s cloak. "He still thinks Acheron will settle down once he gets married—we both know that will never happen."

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Beaumont did not comment as he resumed his stance behind the tired crown prince. A short while later, a maid appeared with a tray of grapes, cheese, and pink strawberry muffins. She moved hesitantly towards the desk and Nicholas, whose eyes remained closed. Beaumont sniffed suspiciously as an odd bitter aroma filled the room. His violet eyes observed the maid blush as she studied the sleeping crown prince. Then she wet her lips nervously and pinched her small bosom between her arms to accentuate their size.

'Here comes another brazen hussy.' With effortless long strides, Beaumont cut the maid off and lifted the plate from her tray. The bitter, musty scent grew stronger as she quivered beneath his stern glare.

“Your name?” Beaumont growled.

“I-I—forgive me!” The blush drained from her cheeks as she bowed and quickly spun on her heels to leave the room.

"Stop intimidating the staff," Nicholas mumbled beneath the cloak.

"They should know better than to take liberties," Beaumont grumbled as he sniffed the food cautiously.

"Anything suspicious?" Nicholas asked as he straightened and stretched.

‘Other than the maid?’

"No," Beaumont grunted as he placed the breakfast plate before the crown prince. He would ferret out the maid’s name later and see that she was barred from the palace. "But to be sure," he pulled a silver dagger from his belt and passed it to Nicholas.

"You’re being paranoid," Nicholas observed as he took the dagger and stabbed a muffin, a few pieces of cheese and fruit, then held the blade aloft to check for any discoloration.

"I didn’t recognize her," Beaumont muttered defensively as he moved to shut the office door. "Too many new faces inside the palace recently."

"We had to increase staff in preparation for the Ambassador's visit," Nicholas replied as he held up the knife for Beaumont to inspect. "Look, it's clean, so relax."

"Would you like me to try one first?"

"Go get your own food," Nicholas scoffed as he stuffed a muffin into his mouth and chewed. He swallowed and lifted his empty cup with a frown. "Besides, I trust your nose more than I do a silver blade."

Beaumont grunted as he retrieved the pitcher of water to refill Nicholas’s cup. The last thing the knight captain wanted to talk about was the unique sense of smell he had inherited from his mother. He stepped back to allow the crown prince privacy to enjoy his breakfast.

‘If a witch can slip into Peony Palace as a maid, I’ll need to examine the rest of the staff that recently entered the palace as well.’

Even if the witch only hoped to attract Nicholas’s attention and intimate favor, there were plenty of other witches who still resented the crown’s involvement in the last inquisition.

‘And then there’s Lady Maura.' Beaumont tilted his neck from side to side as his thoughts clouded with the mixed emotions that resurfaced whenever he thought of the little ice witch. ‘More importantly, how should I deliver the Death Notice?’ The more Beaumont visualized Maura’s reaction to the news of her parent's death, the more he feared she might cry. For some unexplained reason, the thought of seeing her in tears sent a cold chill through him.

He was also afraid of how she would react to seeing him again.

They had just gotten comfortable around each other during the last night of the Selection. Maura had been so focused on her performance that she stopped flinching every time he touched her. It was only a slight change in her behavior, and yet it had made Beaumont strangely happy.

‘This is ridiculous. Nicholas is right—I should probably keep my distance, but—'

Beaumont sighed as he stretched his back and watched the first rays of sunrise appear through the office curtains.

Whatever his feelings for Maura had been, they were crushed the moment Acheron opened his fat mouth and declared that Lady Maura had rejected them both.

Beaumont’s embarrassment at being rejected through his cousin had sent him back to Nicholas's side. Later, he had heard that Captain Leo had been assigned to escort Maura at Dowager Octavia's request.

‘Of all the knights to choose from, why did they pick my half-brother?’

It had occurred to him that the Dowager, Nicholas, and Acheron each had similar thoughts as to who best suited Lady Maura. Leo and Beaumont were both officially recognized bastards after all. Now that Lady Maura had her own title and a position beside Lafeara’s future queen, who knew what other opportunistic bastards and fallen nobles might slither forth to pursue and entrap her.

Beaumont clenched his jaw and shifted his feet impatiently as he waited for the sun to climb higher.

[B1] Chapter 97: The Absence of Grief

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Chapter 97: The Absence of Grief

The morning sun haloed the back of Carina’s ash-brown hair, pulled away from her neck and shoulders into a twisted bun. She rested comfortably upon the sofa beneath the Rose Palace library window with her ankle propped on a pillow, and a sketchbook laid open across her lap. With silent scratches, Carina etched a crown-like pattern along the edge of a bridal veil that flowed behind a mannequin figure. She frowned and sketched a crown atop the silhouette’s head—then, with a frustrated sigh, briskly drew an X through her work.

Carina dropped her charcoal pencil into the sketchbook's crease and flipped it closed. Tiredness hung like a curtain behind her eyes as she pinched the bridge of her nose, drew in a breath, and breathed out slowly.

‘What am I doing? I should be focusing on the Ambassador’s banquet and my meeting with the Watchmen’s Council, not what Eleanora will wear for Holy Saints Day.’

The sound of a squeaky wheel raised her gaze to the library door as a maid appeared behind a trolly. Carina’s stomach tightened at the sight of freshly buttered bread rolls beside a small bowl of honey and another bowl of fruit. Beside the platter of food, a tea tray rattled faintly as the maid rolled the trolly past Carina, towards the crown princess’s closed office doors and knocked.

‘I should take a break and eat something too,’ Carina decided as she rolled the sketchbook up and twisted the leather straps around it. ‘Not that I’ve been given any tasks to work on today.’

Eleanora and Evelynn had been shut up inside the office all morning, looking over the lists of entertainment suggestions Evelynn prepared for the Ambassador’s banquet—without consulting Carina.

The office door opened, and Evelynn appeared. “The snacks are finally here, your Highness,” she called out as she waved the maid in impatiently, shot Carina a smug look, and then shut the door firmly behind her.

‘She can sink or swim on her own then,’ Carina resolved as she rose carefully from the sofa, mindful of her ankle that still wobbled whenever she put weight on it. ‘Perhaps I should check in on Hana and see if she would like any snacks.’

“Good morning, Lady Maura.”

Carina turned in surprise and smiled as Hana entered the library wrapped in a large white shawl. “Good morning, Lady Hana, are you feeling better?” She glanced down discreetly at Hana’s hands, half-buried beneath the soft wool mantle, and noted with relief that they were not trembling.

"I am feeling much better, thank you," Hana replied with a grateful smile as she approached. "The valerian tea you made was not only delicious but quite helpful. I slept so well last night that I couldn’t help but get out of bed this morning."

"I'm happy if it eased your discomfort, but you shouldn’t overexert yourself,” Carina cautioned as she studied Hana’s pale complexion.

"No need to worry on my account," Hana answered with a dismissive wave. "Lady Evelynn appears to have ingratiated herself with Eleanora during the last few days I've been in bed. I hear she's already taken over and changed most of the arrangements I had prepared for the Ambassador's visit."

The note of resentment in Hana’s voice was unmistakable. ‘As I suspected—this won’t go well for Evelynn.’

"I wouldn't worry about it too much," Carina replied with a confident smile as she squeezed Hana’s hand gently. "Lady Evelynn may be confident, but she knows nothing about Ventrayna's culture or the personal tastes of the Ambassador and his family. The Crown Princess will rein her in before she changes anything important."

Hana grimaced in response. Her fingers trembled faintly as she played with the tassels of her shawl. "I suppose." She looked down curiously at the sketchbook in Carina’s hand. “What are you working on there, Lady Maura?”

“Oh, just a few dress sketches,” Carina replied with a rueful smile. “But I’m feeling uninspired at the moment. I was about to go to the kitchen for some snacks if you’d care to join me.”

“How strange you are,” Hana murmured with a smile. “We don’t have to go there; the servants can take our order and bring the food to us.”

“Of course, I meant only to stretch my—”

“Do you mind if I look at your sketches?” Hana asked with intent curiosity, still focused on the leather sketchbook.

“I—I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.” Carina untied the leather bindings and flipped back to a few finished designs.

"What beautiful dresses! Are you a designer, Lady Maura?"

‘Only one of the most coveted designers in the capital.’

"I suppose you could call this a hobby," Carina replied with a faint smile as Hana took the sketchbook and flipped eagerly through its pages. "I wanted to design something special for Holy Saints Day since I haven't been of much use preparing for the Ambassador's visit."

"Only a hobby?" Hana murmured as she examined each of the elegant drawings and settled on one of Carina’s newer sketches. "This dress is quite lovely, and—are those wings?"

"Yes, though they won't be fully formed. I want to use a sheer material to create the illusion of—"

A knock at the door disrupted their conversation as Mrs. Poppy stepped into the library.

"Sorry to interrupt," Poppy said in her usual monotone voice. "But a knight is asking to speak to Lady Maura on a—delicate matter."

‘A Knight?’ Carina frowned while Hana's eyebrows rose mischievously.

"A delicate matter? Is someone confessing their love to you already?" Hana teased with a sly grin. "I wonder if it's that handsome giant who carried you during the Selection?"

‘What on earth gave her that idea?’

"I—had better go see who it is and what they want," Carina muttered as she retrieved her plum-purple shawl from the sofa. "There are a few other finished dresses after that one, Lady Hana,” she said with a nod to the sketchbook in Hana’s hands. “I wanted to prepare one for each lady-in-waiting, so feel free to pick out your favorite."

"You are as thoughtful as you are talented, Lady Maura,” Hana replied as she untangled the corner of Carina’s shawl. "Now go on," she added with a playful wink. "Don't keep him waiting too long."

Carina grimaced and sighed as she followed Poppy from the library. "Where is this knight?"

"I left him in the courtyard, though if you like, I could take him to the dining room or—"

"No, the courtyard is fine," Carina asserted briskly. ‘For all I know, it could be Captain Leo sent by the Dowager to harass me.’

Carina paced herself as they approached the courtyard. Poppy did not comment as Carina trailed behind with the occasional hobble in her walk.

The warmth of the sun welcomed Carina as she stepped through the archway door. The nearly completed chess board glinted beneath the morning light. And at the center of the gold and pearl checkered sand tiles stood Captain Beaumont.

The knight captain’s sharp violet eyes focused upon them. He was dressed in the usual knight's attire, along with that massive bastard sword she had never seen him without, but the worried expression he wore made Carina pause at the edge of the chessboard.

‘Did he always look this—miserable?’

“I’ll inform her Highness,” Poppy murmured behind her.

“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Poppy, but I’m sure this won’t take long,” Carina replied as she composed herself and approached the knight captain.

"My condolences," Poppy said hastily and withdrew.

'Condolences?'

Carina's gaze snapped from the retreating maid to Beaumont’s clouded expression. Then she noticed the black envelope embroidered with gold in his left hand. Her throat tightened as dark foreboding thoughts flew immediately to Ivy.

‘No—that can’t be right—they wouldn’t send a death notice for a slave.’

Carina pressed a trembling hand against her stomach as she continued across the sparkling tiles. She stopped a few feet away and offered a shallow curtsey. "Captain.”

"Lady Maura," he answered softly. He fumbled with the envelope as his violet eyes dropped to her feet. "Your ankle—is better?"

'He’s still worried about that?' Carina’s lips twitched with a quick smile. "It's much better and should be fully recovered in a week or less." ‘It will be much better when I can get a proper brace made to support it. Perhaps Stitcher could help with that.’ She shook her head and glanced at the black envelope, then back up at him. "Is that why you asked to speak with me?"

"No," he admitted somberly. "I came to deliver—to inform—" he sucked in a breath as he walked towards Carina and held out the envelope. "I’m sorry, Lady Maura. This is an official notice of your parents' death."

Carina blinked slowly as she stared at the envelope. "It's what?"

"A Death Notice, Lady Maura," he repeated and extended the letter towards her.

The silence lingered as Carina studied the golden wolf seal, which glittered against the black parchment held between Beaumont’s strong fingers. A cold thrill ran down her fingertips, through her chest, and into her gut as Carina reluctantly accepted the envelope.

"Sorry—but are you sure you didn't mean to say—they're divorced?" She blurted out skeptically.

"Ah—no," Beaumont answered with a confused expression.

"Just checking," Carina muttered as she pried the letter open.

And there it was, another altered piece of Maura’s past, laid out in black and white.

'Knight Commander Quentin regrets to inform you of the death of Lord Josiah Turnbell and Lady Helena Gilwern. Please be assured that their bodies will be handled with the utmost respect and returned to the family with all due haste. If you have any further questions with regards to the ongoing investigation, please feel free to—'

“They’re really dead?” Carina murmured as she lowered the unfinished letter. ‘But why? How? Neither of Maura’s parents had died before her execution. First the divorce, and now two of my closest, biggest hurdles have been removed?’ Carina scanned the cordial but brief invitation to the Knight’s Compound then pressed the letter against her stomach as she stared at the ground.

‘Their death changes nothing—and yet everything.’

Beaumont remained quietly beside her. When Carina raised her gaze again, she noted the continued expression of concern in his violet eyes.

"How did they die?" Carina asked abruptly. “The notice mentions an investigation—what happened?”

Beaumont hesitated for a moment as his gaze shifted away from her across the gold and white sand tiles. "They were at the Sisters’ Chapel yesterday when it—burned down."

"Burned down?" Carina raised an eyebrow incredulously. "How did it burn down? And what were they doing at a chapel? Lord Josiah and Lady Helena did not attend church—ever!"

‘Josiah had never been welcomed at any church, and Helena stopped attending after rumors of Maura’s birthfather spread.’

"I was told they were—attending your brother's funeral."

"Lincoln’s funeral? Oh.” Carina nodded slowly. "I see."

‘Of course, it’s been—almost a week since I killed him in that alley.’ She laughed sharply. The dark bitter sound startled Carina, and she quickly smothered it with the back of her hand.

"I am sorry for your loss, Lady Maura," Beaumont said gently. "I lost my mother as well when I was but fifteen—"

"Loss?" Carina chuckled as she dropped her hand and met his gaze. “It was no loss, Captain.” A welcomed sense of relief replaced the weight that had fallen suddenly from her shoulders.

‘Oh Maura, is it possible their deaths might have saved you from your future?’ She shook her head and turned away from the silent knight captain. All that early effort spent creating two aliases to hide her investments, wealth, and designs. All the preparations that had gone into ensuring Carina could survive independently once she turned twenty. ‘It almost seems a waste.’

But her premature liberation did not give Carina any sense of comfort or security.

‘How many times has the timeline changed? First Lincoln’s attack and death? Then Helena and Josiah divorced—and now they’re both dead? Sophya?’

“What about my half-sister, Sophya?” Carina asked sharply.

“Lady Sophya survived the fire unharmed,” Beaumont answered quickly. “I believe she is staying with family friends—I could inquire as to their names and address for you if—"

“No—no, it’s fine.” Carina crossed her arms and took a deep breath. “The less we have to do with each other from now on, the better.”

"Some families are more trying than others," Beaumont observed with a sympathetic smile. "In any case, his Majesty has granted you reprieve from all duties to attend to any matters related to your parents' funeral arrangements."

Carina snorted and raised an amused brow. "I won't spare a single crescent or thought on their funeral arrangements," she stated coldly. "Let them rot in a ditch for all I care."

Surprise flickered across the knight captain’s face, but Beaumont only shook his head and whispered, "I'm sorry."

"There is nothing to be sorry for," Carina replied as she folded the letter and returned it to its envelope. "You have delivered happy news, Captain. Thank you."

Beaumont nodded slowly. His expression remained conflicted as he bowed, stepped back, and turned towards the exit.

As his back turned to her, a sudden unexplained feeling of uncertainty swept over Carina. "Have you ever—questioned—your mother's love?" She regretted the question the moment it left her lips, and yet when he turned around to face her again, Carina felt oddly relieved.

"No, Lady Maura,” Beaumont answered with a patient smile.

"A mother's love," Carina repeated quietly. "I have never known it."

'Not in this life as Maura nor my past life as Carina.'

"And you cannot grieve the absence of something you have never known—or wanted."

[B1] Chapter 98: The Wings of Fate

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Chapter 98: The Wings of Fate

There is a scent in the air when it rains. A promise that the cleansing downpour will erase the misguided efforts of mortals and correct the course of fate. ‘Or at least, that is how Ivy would describe it.’ Carina watched the steady drizzle silently from her seat in the balcony, which overlooked the courtyard of Rose Palace. The rain had gathered in pools along the checkered floor before her. A battlefield upon which Carina now struggled to find her place.

She could no longer deny that her past and future here in Lafeara were vastly different from Maura’s. With Josiah and Helena now gone—what did she have to fear outside the palace? If it weren’t for her oath to Eleanora and her promise to Maura, Carina could easily slip away with the pretext of family matters and begin a new life somewhere else.

“Would you abandon everything so easily?” The ghost at her shoulder asked.

Carina drank in a cold breath and exhaled. The frozen mist glided before her only to be smothered beneath the warm summer shower.

“No,” she answered. “A promise is a promise.”

Cold arms slid around her shoulders as Maura embraced her silently. “I only have you,” the ghost whispered and left.

The rain grew lighter as Carina traced the gold wolf emblem on the death notice. It was time for a new plan. Now that her original arrangements to wreck the Turnbell family were no longer necessary, she could focus on the first of many battles before her.

‘The Ambassador’s visit.’

A flutter of wings proceeded the black crow that dove down through the open sky ceiling and settled beside her on the balcony.

Carina watched the creature warily as it’s black eyes peered curiously at the death notice. “You wouldn’t happen to be the little devil that stole my bell, would you?” she asked distrustfully.

The bird ruffled its wings in response and sprinkled her with rain. Then it examined her with an uncanny dark gaze before it opened its sharp beak and screeched.

Carina cringed as she left her seat and glared at the bird. “Honestly, what is your problem?” She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Why do I keep talking to you—it’s not like you can understand me with your stupid little bird brain.”

“They’re actually smarter than you think, Lady Maura.”

The crow cackled as Carina started and turned towards the balcony staircase behind her. Percy gave her a wry smile as he took the last step and approached with another bouquet of lavender roses.

“Lord Percy?” Carina tucked the death notice behind her back as she offered him a smile. “You are here to visit your cousin?”

Percy shook his head with a gentle smile as he held out the flowers. “No, I came here to congratulate you.”

Carina frowned as she examined the roses. “Congratulate me?”

Percy raised a brow. “On becoming a Baroness?”

“Oh!” Carina exhaled, shook her head, and stepped forward to accept the flowers. “Yes, thank you—I had forgotten.”

Percy chuckled. “Your province would be in poor hands if their Baroness were to forget about them so easily. I believe it was the town of Averly my cousin gave to you?”

“Yes,” Carina replied distractedly as she fiddled with the stems of the roses. “I suppose I should figure out my responsibilities—the sooner, the better.”

“Then I hope you will rely on me, Lady Maura, even if only a little. I am an Earl with many provinces and estates to manage after all, so I have a bit of experience to offer.”

Carina eyed him suspiciously, but rather than smug, he looked—hopeful? “Yes, why not?” She mumbled after a moment. “Thank you. I shall be counting on you then, Lord Percy.”

Percy flashed her a smile of gratitude that made Carina inexplicably uneasy. She focused on the flowers before her. “These are lovely, but you should really stop gifting me flowers. Your fiancé might misunderstand if—”

Percy stepped closer and leaned in. Carina froze as she took in the ghostly white and black shadows of his winter-gray eyes, mere inches from hers.

“Is that why you’ve been so cold to me lately?” Percy asked softly. “Because you think I’m engaged?”

Carina stepped back awkwardly as her mind went blank. “I—” The rain had curled his dark mahogany brown hair and covered his skin, long nose, and curled lips in a light sheen. “No—that is—” she blinked and dropped her gaze. “Your engagement has nothing to do with me, Lord Percy,” she gushed out uncomfortably.

“I’m not engaged.”

Carina glanced up at him, surprised, and then quickly averted her gaze as a sudden heat flooded her cheeks. “But you will be—to Lady Evelynn—”

“That is but a one-sided misunderstanding and hope on her part,” Percy answered patiently. “Lady Evelynn is clinging to the delusion that my Hawthorn name and wealth will save her father from poverty and herself from ruin.” He straightened and played with the signet ring on his right hand. “I have rejected their proposal numerous times, but the Countess has mistakenly encouraged them because she finds Lady Evelynn’s background—suitable.”

‘Because even an impoverished viscount is still a highly ranked noble. I suppose that makes sense.’

Carina adjusted the bouquet in her arms as she tried to think up an adequate response. Percy bent down suddenly and lifted the death notice from her distracted grip.

“It seems you’ve just received unpleasant news,” Percy observed as he studied the black envelope and raised an inquisitive brow. “Your family?”

“Lord Josiah and Lady Helena,” Carina replied with a quick smile. “It seems I must include orphan in my list of unsavory titles.” She moved past him to the balcony, where she focused on the small pool at the center of the tiled chessboard.

The crow ruffled its wings. Its dark gaze danced from Percy to the bouquet of roses in her arm. It hopped persistently closer and pecked at the lavender petals. Carina waved it away angrily.

“You will possess suitable titles worthy of you soon enough,” Percy whispered behind her.

“Is this annoying bird a pet of yours?” Carina asked as she eyed her dancing opponent. “I met a similar menace in the Hawthorne Manor bathhouse.”

“He is impertinent,” Percy replied as he moved beside her and held out his hand. The crow hopped onto it instantly and bowed as Percy stroked its head. “Perhaps he is simply jealous of you.”

“Jealous?” Carina scoffed as she attempted to fix the battered blossom. “I didn’t know crows like roses.

“Speaking of roses,” Percy murmured. “There will be a funeral for your parents.”

Carina frowned as she turned to face him. “Yes. What of it?”

“You should go,” Percy replied as he turned his gaze to her.

“They didn’t even invite me to Lincoln’s funeral—why would I bother attending theirs?” Carina countered in disbelief.

The Earl’s face darkened for a moment before he turned to face the courtyard. “Because it will be a good opportunity for you to connect with your grandfather.”

‘Maura’s grandfather?’ “The Viscount? Why?”

Percy tapped his left shoulder. The crow squawked softly and obediently crawled up his arm to perch there. “You already have a title; the only thing holding you back is your status as a half-blood,” Percy explained as he turned and leaned against the balcony with a knowing smile. “And the only way to remove that status is to gain your family's last name. Viscount Gilwren can give you that name.”

“At a cost,” Carina said sharply. As Sir Bryson had explained, taking a family name meant tying herself and her wealth to that family. As a woman, that meant giving up her freedom once more. ‘Not a chance.’

“Viscount Gilwren has no interest in your wealth or position here in the palace,” Percy continued confidently. “He has more than enough wealth and has made his mark as the leader of the Royal Merchant’s Guild. If anything, you would benefit by becoming his sole heir.”

Carina shook her head quickly. “But Sophya is a legitimate heir.”

“Not after he cut off Lady Helena. Both of you and Sophya are unrecognized heirs, and both of you have Gilwren blood.”

Carina glanced down at the small space between them and edged away as she considered his words. “I have no interest in fighting with Sophya over the fortune and affections of an estranged grandparent.”

‘I have my own fortune that I am now free to use.’

“So, you would let Sophya have it all uncontested?” Percy shook his head. “You don’t have to fight with her, Maura, just let the Viscount meet you. Let him make this decision with at least an impression of you both.” He paused and sighed when she did not respond. “Sophya is already engaged to Lord Asher and set to become the next Baroness of Winslet. Do you honestly think she can manage one estate on her own, let alone two?”

Carina shrugged. ‘Sophya was engaged to Lord Asher in Maura’s past life too. As long as she doesn’t bother me, I won’t bother her.’ She shifted uncomfortably beneath Percy’s curious gaze and cleared her throat. “Does the Countess wish for me to befriend the Viscount?”

“Mother?” His voice went taut as a flicker of annoyance crossed his face. “The Countess is—indisposed at the moment. Nothing serious, but Physician Hayes has advised her to travel to the country and take in some fresh air and rest.”

"Oh, I did not realize,” Carina murmured, somewhat surprised the Countess had not written to inform her. "Did she take Ivy with her?"

"No." Percy shook his head and ran a hand through his damp hair. "Ivy will remain at the estate to look after Gus, who is doing much better by the way. Last night he was able to sit up and enjoy a bowl of soup all on his own.”

Carina exhaled sharply with relief as she leaned against the balcony. "That is good to hear." ‘I should make some ointment to help reduce the scaring for him. Knowing Ivy, she will probably give him the bottle I gave her.’

“Tell Ivy I will send her a package very soon and that—” she broke off as Percy reached out and pushed back the stray curls of her ash-brown hair. His fingers grazed her ear and trailed down her neck while his focused gaze sent a shiver of fear and warmth through her.

Carina pushed off the balcony with an awkward step on her bandaged ankle. “T-thank you—for the flowers, Lord Percy. I should return to the Crown Princess.” She turned and fled towards the stairs.

Percy caught her arm swiftly and held her back. "Please, wait a moment, Lady Maura."

[B1] Chapter 99: A Crown of Crows

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Chapter 99: A Crown of Crows

A stiff breeze blew loose rose petals along the balcony's curved wall that circled the courtyard below. A flutter of wings proceeded two more crows that glided and wove among the balcony pillars towards them. The dark fiends made no effort to dodge Carina and pecked viciously at her bouquet as she stumbled back out of their path into Percy.

“Taceo!” Percy hissed as he wrapped his arms around her.

Carina could feel her heart thudding beneath Percy’s arms. The crows flew past and settled onto the balcony beside their friend, who squawked loudly in greeting.

‘Great, now there are three.’

“Sorry,” Percy whispered against her ear. “They are—”

“Impertinent,” Carina finished as she pushed free of his grasp and stepped away.

Percy laughed and extracted a black feather from her hair. “Perhaps they are simply eager to meet you.”

“Eager? I don’t think they like me at all,” Carina muttered as she avoided his gaze and plucked another stray feather from her bouquet. “They certainly don’t like flowers.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing I brought another gift for you,” Percy replied as he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a jewelry box.

“Wait!” Carina held a hand up quickly as she eyed the suspicious object. “I really can’t accept another gift from you. Your mother may be my mentor—but we are barely acquaintances.”

"It's only a necklace, Lady Maura," Percy countered with an amused chuckle as he nudged the clasp aside and opened the velvet case. A peerless rose diamond encircled by a thin white-gold chain sparkled as it refracted the muted sunlight. “It’s called the Winter Rose. A royal heirloom that was entrusted to the Hawthorne family over a century ago.”

Carina gawked at the expensive jewel. The diamond’s intricate form seemed closer to resembling a snowflake than a rose. Somehow, the more Carina stared at the shadows trapped within its translucent shape, the more entranced she became. ‘Wait—did he say Royal Heirloom?’

“Lord Percy—I can’t—” she shook her head and self-consciously touched her neck, where her fingers brushed across the golden chain. “Your cousin, Crown Princess Eleanora, recently gifted this necklace to me.” She tugged the scorpion medallion free and held it up with an apologetic smile. “It would be rude of me to wear—”

The golden chain vibrated between her fingers and then, inexplicably, shattered. Carina gasped as the black-gold scorpion vanished into the lavender petals of her bouquet.

She searched the roses frantically and then scanned the floor in disbelief as an uneasy suspicion ran through her. “How did—”

“Oh dear,” Percy murmured with surprise. “It probably got caught on a thorn. Well, until you get that fixed—” he pulled the diamond rose from the box “—I think this jewel suits you much better.”

“Percy—” Her protest was battered by loud, angry squawks from the crows—of which there were now five?

‘Where do they keep coming from?’

Percy slid behind her with unnerving grace and draped the necklace around her neck. Carina’s throat tightened, and a spark of cold rippled through her as the diamond rose tapped against her chest. Percy’s warm fingers brushed against the hair at her neck as he fastened the jewel in place.

"You should wear this always.” Carina’s heart fluttered erratically as he whispered against her ear. The Earl’s hands trailed down her arms as his breath warmed the nape of her neck.

“Lord Percy, it’s too—” A buzzing ring filled Carina’s ears. Her thoughts jumbled beneath a breathless wave of disorienting lightheadedness. She swayed unsteadily as her body seemed to sink into a pool of numbness. The balcony around her spun into a dance of light and dark shadows. The ringing continued to echo loudly as it clashed against her rising heartbeat and then faded.

“It’s alright,” Percy whispered.

Carina’s senses returned as the balcony came into focus. She had not fallen, though the sensation still filled her numb limbs. The Earl held her firmly against him with an arm around her waist and shoulders.

“The necklace is enchanted,” Percy explained softly as he tipped her head back against his shoulder. “The effects you are feeling right now are temporary and will wear off quickly. What’s important is that the enchantments will keep your witch powers hidden should the church ever come looking for you.”

Carina closed her eyes. Her body felt trapped in a fog, here but not here as if her soul might slip free at any moment. She barely felt the rose thorns prick against her fingers as she silently crushed the bouquet in her hands.

The meaning behind his words suddenly registered, and Carina’s eyes snapped open. She turned her head sluggishly and gazed into his winter-gray eyes. "How—how did you—" she slurred.

“Ivy told me,” Percy answered as he gently brushed the hair from her face.

'Ivy?' Carina shook her head as she tried to clear the fog that muffled her thoughts. ‘Why would Ivy—tell him?’

"We ran into a priest and his witch hunter," Percy explained as he studied her face intently. "They were looking for Lincoln Turnbell's family—specifically his sister."

"What?"

"Ivy and I put two and two together. She realized you were in trouble and confided in me," Percy continued as he stroked his fingers down her cheek. "Though to be fair—I already knew."

Carina could feel her lips tremble as she tried and failed to form a response.

"You want to know how I knew?" Percy asked softly as he smiled down at her. Carina blinked and nodded drunkenly.

The more she looked into the webbed rings of his gray eyes, the more mesmerized she became by the sound of his voice. The uncomfortable numbness seemed to be lifting—and yet Carina felt as if she were slipping deeper into a dream.

Percy cupped her face against his shoulder and gently leaned his forehead against hers. “Because, Maura,” he murmured as his voice deepened. "I am also a witch."

Disbelief, suspicion, and understanding cut through the fog in her mind as Percy closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

“I have wanted to tell you—for such a long time,” he whispered.

The crows fluttered around them with a victorious cry. Carina glanced uneasily at the black fiends and then stared blearily across the Rose Palace's sloped marble roof towards the palaces, ministry, and fortress walls beyond. Her heart plummeted as her gaze dropped to the distant courtyard and chess tiles below them.

Panic snapped her limbs awake. Carina dropped the bouquet as she clutched the Earl’s shoulders. “Percy—how are we—” She watched the lavender roses flutter helplessly before they scattered across the chessboard below. “Are we flying?!”

“We are,” he replied with a sly grin. “I told you, I’m a witch. Do you believe me now?”

“I don’t—like heights—” Carina replied grimly as she pressed her closed eyelids against his shoulder. “Please take me back down—someone will see us!”

“No one will see us up here,” Percy replied confidently as he tightened his left arm around her waist. “Watch this,” he added with a hint of mischief.

Carina’s fingers tightened against his frame as she took in a deep breath and then turned her cautious gaze towards his extended right hand. The death notice fluttered up from the balcony below and hovered in the air before them.

Percy’s cheek brushed against hers as he leaned closer and whispered, “Fustibus Saxisque.”

The wind hissed around them as the envelope trembled for barely half a second and then exploded. The scattered remains drifted down to the courtyard below like ash and snow.

The violence in that single moment made Carina’s heart stop as she recalled the way the golden chain had vibrated around her neck moments ago.

“Not only can I teach you how to govern a province—but I can help you master the magic you were born with,” Percy explained confidently as they slowly descended towards the courtyard. “If you still want revenge on what remains of the Turnbell family, I can help you achieve that as well.”

Carina shivered, even as her feet found solid ground between them.

“I can help you obtain anything you wish, Maura. Power, wealth, and more if you’ll let me,” Percy whispered as his arms tightened around her.

Carina clenched her jaw to stop it from trembling as she struggled to still her spinning thoughts. “I just want—to survive,” she whispered.

Percy’s grip around her waist relaxed as he sighed into her hair. “I am no threat to you, Maura. And I will never let anything like Lincoln happen to you ever again.”

Anger clawed past confusion as Carina broke free from his arms and turned to face him. “I did not ask for your help,” she hissed as she fumbled with the clasp of the necklace. “I did not need you then—I don’t need you now.”

Percy grabbed her hands and held her firm as she struggled to pull away. "It's fine if you won't ask for my help,” he whispered urgently. “I promise you that one day, very soon, witches won't have to hide who we are anymore. But until then—please keep wearing the necklace."

Carina sucked in a breath as confusion and anxiety battled against her still trembling heart. “What do you mean?”

There was no denying the change in him. Like a veil of cold emotion had suddenly been pulled away. The confidence in his tone, the warmth and concern in his eyes, held more passion than Carina had ever witnessed from the Earl before.

"Oh, Maura." Percy smiled down at her gently as the wind played with his dark mahogany hair. "Did you honestly believe you were that alone?" He stepped closer, and once more, his winter-gray eyes held Carina beneath their spell.

The crows left the rooftop and flew above them in a tight circle. Their flight pattern creating the illusion of a dark crown above Percy's head as the Earl twisted his fingers through the curls of Carina’s hair and murmured, "You are far, far from alone."

[B1] Chapter 100: A Specter of Betrayal

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Chapter 100: A Specter of Betrayal

The ghost of Carina’s breath twisted before her eyes as she followed Maura through the hidden door behind her bedroom dresser. A dark, narrow passageway of cobwebs lurked inside the palace’s bedroom wall. Carina lit a candle and held it out to illuminate the hidden staircase that led down to the first floor.

A shoulder bag slung around her chest clinked faintly as Carina cautiously took each step. The wood was old and creaky, but otherwise sturdy. Still, it would not do if a servant were to hear something through the walls.

‘Fortunately, they are all sleeping blissfully right now.’

At the bottom of the staircase, another hidden door with a broken handle met her peering gaze. Carina decided to tie her handkerchief around it rather than risk cutting her hand on the rusty metal. With a few firm tugs, the frame yielded and moved inwards. A tapestry obscured the dining room beyond from view.

Carina waited a moment and listened breathlessly to the silence. She shivered as Maura impatiently passed through her into the room.

‘Well, it’s not like anyone else can see her except me.’

Carina blew out her candle, and cautiously followed.

The dining room was blanketed in darkness and shadows. Carina pushed the heavy woven fabric aside again as she tugged the door closed and left her handkerchief squeezed between the stone frame and the wall. When the tapestry dropped into place once more, she was reasonably satisfied no one would notice the passage entrance or her handkerchief, that served as a marker—at least, not before her return.

“Someone is coming!” Maura warned in a ghostly whisper.

Carina ducked down behind the table and chairs as a torch appeared outside the dining room window accompanied by muffled footsteps. The weight of the diamond necklace that Percy had gifted her hung around the taut muscles of Carina’s neck and shoulders as she waited for the knight patrol to move past.

When the room's shadows stopped moving, Carina rose and followed Maura from the dining room into the dark foyer.

Although the glass windows were difficult to see through, even in the daylight, getting caught wandering about in the middle of the night as a royal attendant was not something Carina wanted to explain. Especially given the knights on patrol would likely report her misdemeanor to either the crown prince or the Dowager.

The muffled voice of a knight brought yet another torch past the window to her left. ‘Had they doubled back? Why?’ Carina slid behind the stairwell's curved wall and crouched against the floor as she watched the salmon-colored flame shimmer against the glass panes by the entrance doors. The knight paused for a moment and exchanged a short, muffled conversation.

It was reasonable to assume they had not seen her, but Carina waited until they had moved on before she stood up again. Meanwhile, Maura flickered in and out of view beside her with an expression of impatience.

Carina huffed and shook her head. ‘Ever since we’ve arrived at the castle, she’s become more active and a lot more opinionated.’

Satisfied that there was no one within earshot, Carina straightened and brushed her fingers over the painted white, wooden molding of roses that stretched horizontally half-way up the wall. With silent footsteps, she continued her search for a hidden trigger like the one she had found at Lily Palace during the Selection.

‘The passage entrance should be about here, I think. Or perhaps it’s on the other side?’

Carina focused on the knotted buds closest to the stairwell wall and pressed her fingers against them. When nothing moved, she continued her search, careful to avoid skipping one accidentally.

Maura clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth—an odd distorted sound—then gestured at a rosebud beside her.

Carina hid a smile as she edged closer and pushed against the indicated trigger. A section of the stairwell popped out and then swung open.

‘Alright. So far, so good.’ Carina grasped of the edge of the door and pulled it towards her. Another yawning darkness greeted her gaze. ‘Let’s hope the rest of the night goes as smoothly.’ She retrieved another matchstick from her bag, lit the candle, and then entered the servant’s passageway.

A properly mounted door handle had been affixed to the interior frame. Carina used it to pull the door shut firmly.

The servant's passage divided the front palace into two sections. The left side faced the receiving room, library, and royal study; while the right encompassed the dining room, kitchen, pantry, cellar, and back servant’s door.

Carina’s candle illuminated the small space and the first two doors, which were marked with metal plates inscribed with a number and letter—L1 for the receiving room, R1 for the dining room, L2 for the library, and so on.

It was a system designed to be simple enough for servants to follow, most of whom could not read, when summoned to attend to their Master or Mistress’s needs, and then disappear from view afterward. Maura was intimately familiar with these passages, having served the remaining years of her life in Rose Palace as a cleaning maid before prison and execution.

“Let’s hope your hunch about a secret exit proves accurate as well,” Carina whispered as she continued down the gloomy hallway. The candle flickered as Carina reached the far back wall of the passage that marked its end. She looked about for Maura, but the ghost was nowhere to be seen.

‘Again?’ Carina sighed and studied the wall before her, which was decorated with two narrow strips of rose-patterned tiles shaped like arched windows. ‘Perhaps she used up too much energy when she pulled that prank on Nicholas during the Selection?’

Icy arms slid around her neck as the candle flickered again. Although Carina could not see Maura, she could feel the dead girl’s urgency. Carina closed her eyes and plunged into the ghost’s cold memory.

The palace hallway lanterns flickered erratically as if protesting the chaos and death that had intruded upon its peaceful domain. Maura watched the shadows dance across the blood-splattered palace walls as the ringing in her head faded. A heavy weight, which trapped her against the floor, brought Maura’s attention to the still warm Lafearian knight’s body draped over her lower back and legs. The sounds of battle echoed in Maura’s ears as the blurred image of a woman in gold ran towards her.

Maura barely registered the licorice black curls that swayed beneath Eleanora’s crown as the queen raced past. Another figure emerged. The blue ghoul mask turned in Maura’s direction for only a moment. The soulless black eyes pinned her in place long after the assassin continued to chase after the fleeing queen.

The memory blurred and faded as it always did.

Maura huddled inside the servant’s passageway, trembling against the wall as she watched Garrett struggle to keep hold of Eleanora. The queen held Ghost’s dagger in her hand. The front of her gown now stained with blood.

“We have to go back!” Eleanora shouted. “Hana is still out there.”

“Your Majesty, if you go back now, you will be killed!” Garrett snapped. “It’s you they’ve come for.”

“No—wait!” Eleanora’s amber gaze turned towards Maura curled up against the wall. “You! Maid! They won’t pay attention to a servant like you.” Eleanora grabbed Maura’s arms and pulled her to her feet. “You must find a way back to Lady Hana’s room. There is a secret passage along the west wall that leads to the pantry. If you can slip her outside unseen—"

The passage door, which led to the receiving room, burst open as the king’s knights stormed inside.

“Queen Eleanora, by the King’s command, you are under arrest!” Captain Leo bellowed as he pushed towards the front of his knights. “Major Garrett, unless you wish to die a traitor’s death, you will put down your sword.”

“Your Majesty,” Garrett whispered as he pushed Eleanora and Maura behind him. “Run!”

Eleanora stood rigid as the Major charged towards the crammed pack of Lafearian knights that moved swiftly to meet him.

Captain Leo dodged Garrett’s first attack and slid along the floor past him towards Eleanora, who spun in an instant and raced towards the end of the passage. Maura’s legs buckled as she stared after the queen, and then, in a moment of blind stupidity, she stuck out her leg as the knight captain drew closer. He stumbled and slammed against the floor while Maura scrambled to her feet and chased after the queen.

“Bitch!” Leo roared.

Maura glanced back just once to see the captain already climbing back to his feet. Three knights slammed Major Garret against the wall, where they ripped away his armor and proceeded to gut him like a fish.

The passage’s candles flickered as the darkness crept in, and the memory blurred again.

Only, instead of waking as she had before, Carina slipped deeper into Maura’s memories.

Maura peered through trembling arms as Eleanora pulled Ghost’s dagger from Leo’s dead body. A wall of ice obscured them from the knights battering away on the other side.

“I knew you were a witch,” Eleanora whispered, her eyes strangely agleam with hope.

Maura only stared in silent horror at her trembling hands before she raised her gaze to the knights trapped within the wall of ice, their skin and eyes a strange discolored blue.

“Come here. I need your help!” Eleanora grabbed Maura’s wrist and dragged her over to the wall of tiled roses. The queen shivered then released Maura to tap the dagger's hilt against a few rose-patterned stones. “Okay, six down, three over, and then—” Eleanora paused with the knife over one of the center tiles, “Yes—it should be this one. Come here and push this stone when I tell you too.”

Maura moved over obediently. She stared at her hand with confusion as Eleanora placed it against one of the many rose carved stone tiles.

“Don’t move, just a moment,” Eleanora urged as she moved over to the left set of tiles. “They have to be pushed at the same time now, get ready—and—push!”

Maura pushed as instructed. The tile resisted for only a second, and then the stone shifted inwards as a narrow hidden door opened between them and slid down into the ground.

“He was right,” Eleanora whispered in relief. She ripped a long piece of cloth from her gown with the dagger, then wrapped the fabric around her hand. Maura anxiously watched as Eleanora lifted one of the candles from its lantern and held it inside the narrow passage to reveal a flight of stairs that led deeper into the earth. “A secret tunnel for monarchs to use in the event of another rebellion or assassination. Hold this!”

Eleanora passed the candle to Maura, who winced as hot wax spilled onto her worn, rough fingers.

The queen wasted no time squeezing through the narrow opening. “I suppose I should be grateful that bastard never got me pregnant,” she muttered with a dark laugh. “It’s damn tight even for me now. Alright, pass me the candle.”

Maura handed the light over willingly as the sound of heavy footsteps drew closer. “Your Majesty, they’re about to breach the side passage doors.”

“Can’t you seal them off with your magic?” Eleanora muttered impatiently.

“I—have never been able to control it,” Maura whispered and self-consciously twisted her fingers into her skirts.

“A half-witch after all then.” Eleanora sighed as she scanned the wall inside the secret tunnel. “Ahh, there we go, there’s a lever here that should close the door behind us.”

“Then, we should hurry and escape, your Majesty.” Maura moved cautiously between the walls, her heart racing as claustrophobia, a gift from childhood, threatened to freeze her legs in place.

A hand grabbed her shoulder, and Maura turned towards the queen with a weak smile. “Thank you—"

“Forgive me,” Eleanora answered suddenly. “But I can’t leave her alone.”

Maura blinked in confusion as she studied the queen’s unreadable expression. The sound of metal grinding proceeded the odd sensation of the floor rising beneath her feet.

“You’re the only one I can trust to help her escape—even if you’re only a half-witch.”

The tunnel blurred as Eleanora pushed her firmly back into the passageway. Maura landed on her side, stunned for a moment, but quickly scrambled to her feet.

“Lead Hana here!” Eleanora pleaded even as Maura attempted to jump and catch the top of the rising door. Her fingers found the edge, but she lacked the strength to pull herself up, let alone hold on. Maura dropped down and raced towards the stone rose tiles as she tried to prevent the nearly closed exit from disappearing. “Six down, three over. It takes two to open. You must bring her here!”

The heavy thud of metal battered against the passage door to her left as Maura watched the secret stone door seal into place, once more indistinguishable from the rest of the passageway. A cold fury coiled in her gut as she stumbled forward, slammed her fists against the barrier, and screamed.

“Why? Why? Why me? You don’t even know my name!”

The passage door to her right groaned and shattered beneath the weight of a battering ram. Maura scampered away from the wall then turned towards the left passage door, which led to the queen’s study. It burst open before her.

Light poured over the looming armored figures of the king’s knights before an arrow zipped through the air and punctured her shoulder. The force knocked Maura off her feet and slammed her against the floor. Her head spun as she clawed weakly at the arrow and fell back with a gasp of pain.

When Maura opened her eyes again, the blade of Captain Beaumont glimmered through her teary vision.

[B1] Chapter 101: A Treacherous Path Forward

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Chapter 101: A Treacherous Path Forward

Her limbs were still numb as Carina ripped free from the painful memory with a gasp. The dark walls of the servant’s passage greeted her with a heavy silence filled by her own panted breath. “You never—showed me that before,” Carina whispered as Maura removed her arms.

“I’m showing you now.”

“How could she—” Carina sucked in a breath as she rubbed her shoulder tenderly where the arrow had struck Maura “—what right did she have to leave you behind.”

“I did not show you before because I feared you would change your mind. I am showing you now only to remind you to be wary. You may have risen above me, to the rank of Baroness, but you are still a half-blood and disposable to Eleanora.”

Carina exhaled slowly and nodded. She fumbled around in the dark for another matchstick, lit the candle, and placed it in the closest empty lantern fixture. With her light source secure, Carina returned to study the tiled roses. “Six down three over, the instructions are easy enough to follow—but if it takes two, this might be difficult,” she muttered. “It’s not like you can help me.”

“I am stronger now that I have returned to the palace.” Maura materialized beside the right window and placed her pale right hand against a center tile. “At the manor, my power was much weaker.”

“Because you died here?” Carina mused on that for a moment then shook her head. “Well, we’re here, so might as well give it a shot.”

She moved to the left tiled window, counted and located the trigger tile, then placed her palm against the smooth carving.

“Okay, found it,” Carina confirmed. “On three then. One, two, three—”

The ghost beside her flickered in and out of view as they both pushed against the tiles. Carina watched as Maura came more clearly into focus until only her skin's pale blue hue distinguished her from a living, breathing person. It also made the horrid acid scar on the left side of Maura’s face more painfully visible. Carina moved her gaze to the carved window as she strained against the immovable tile.

“It’s not—working,” Maura panted, as her solid form flickered and quickly faded back to its ghostly transparency.

“Perhaps I have the wrong one?” Carina recounted the titles only to confirm her choice as accurate. ‘Could Eleanora have misled Maura with inaccurate information? But why would she if she wanted Maura to help Hana escape through this passage.’

“I am not strong enough,” Maura lamented as she faded further from view. “I am useless.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t give up just yet,” Carina replied determinedly as she placed her hand back on the tile. ‘Six down and three over might be correct, but perhaps Eleanora counted from the right side instead of the left?’ Carina shook her head. ‘Rather than guess, let me see if I can detect the trigger.’ She closed her eyes, took in a slow breath, then exhaled. A thin cloud of mist appeared beneath her hand and spread across the tiles.

Carina focused as the cold vapor seeped through the wall's cracks and illuminated the void behind a stone rose tile two spaces to the right of her hand. “I have it! It was on the—” She paused as the tile she located flickered. The rose momentarily illuminated with a faint blue light. ‘Weird, did it react to my magic?’

“Then let’s give it another try!” Maura said eagerly.

“Wait, wait,” Carina removed her hand from the wall and stepped back. “Let me try something first.” She retreated until she stood beneath the lantern’s candle.

“What are you—”

“I just need a moment,” Carina murmured as she closed her eyes again, extended her hands, and focused on the cold magic in her chest. A pale frigid glow illuminated her face as the frozen heart’s magic filled the passageway with a ghostly cloud of mist. Frost spread along the stone-paved floor, walls, and outlined the curvature of each rose. “Just a little bit more.”

Two blue roses glowed in the muted darkness behind Carina’s closed eyes. She focused upon them until the void behind each tile filled with magic, and a faint click echoed in the walls.

Carina ripped her eyes open and felt her heart crumble with defeat as the frost-covered wall remained still. “Damn it. I guess that would have been too easy.”

But the marked tiles still glowed before her as the pale magic Carina had injected behind them spread outwards until each rose-patterned window glowed with the same pale blue light she had seen before.

“Maura?” Carina whispered uncertainly as she took a step back.

“It’s reacting to your magic,” the ghost confirmed with a note of disbelief.

And then, just as in Maura’s memory, a door formed between the two glowing sets of tiles and slowly descended into the floor.

Carina stared into the tunnel as the light of her frozen heart slowly faded. In the darkness, the spectral figure of the ghost beside her glowed eerily. Carina shook her head as she glanced between the two glowing stone windows. “It was built to function with or without magic.”

‘I thought only mortal kings and queens had led Lafeara since the Second Saint’s rebellion?’ She touched the Winter Rose at her neck. ‘What had Percy said? Something about this being a royal heirloom?’ Confused and feeling like she had stumbled upon something important, Carina turned towards Maura.

Her questions withered and scattered the moment Carina caught sight of Maura’s face, now twisted with an expression of seething anger. A chill ran down her spine as Carina averted her gaze from the ghost’s blackened eyes and fumbled inside her bag for another match to relight the candle her magic had extinguished.

“You really are quite lucky.”

The matchstick in Carina’s hands snapped as she whipped around to find herself alone in the darkness. The malice that coated those words lingered long after she lifted the flickering candle from the lantern and approached the secret tunnel.

Carina paused outside the narrow passage to look back at the spot where Maura had fallen with an arrow in her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to the empty shadows, then squeezed through the grimy stone walls and pulled the lever to seal the secret entrance.

A narrow flight of stairs led Carina down into the damp, cold underground tunnel. She followed the single path forward silently as she wrestled with Eleanora’s decision to condemn Maura. ‘Had the queen really expected a half-witch maid to rescue Hana from prison and execution?’

Another thought soon occupied her thoughts as Carina reached the second flight of stairs that led back up to the surface. ‘If Eleanora made it inside the secret tunnels—then why didn’t she escape? And how did she die?’

At the top of the steps, a second false wall and lever awaited her. Carina gave the metal bar a hard yank, determined to see this journey through to the end. The secret door opened, but this time she came out beneath one of the small archways that lined the fortress walls outside the royal palace.

“This will most definitely come in handy,” Carina whispered as she stepped out to examine the vine-covered archway. Sure enough, more rose tiles appeared beneath the growth of creeping plants. “I suppose it's fairly discrete. Unless someone is lucky enough to push the correct tiles at the same time.”

‘Or they use magic.’

She stepped back and felt a stone click beneath her left foot. Carina watched the passage seal itself once more and then examined the paved ground that stopped at the edge of the archway. She smiled as she located a solitary rose tile. Stepping on it did not open the secret tunnel, so its apparent use was simply to close the hidden door.

Satisfied her escape path would not be so easily detected, Carina pulled a stick of charcoal from her bag and sketched a small rose onto the ceiling. With her way back marked well enough for the return trip, Carina pulled out her pocket watch and frowned at the minute hand that flagged her fifteen minutes late.

‘Hopefully, Stitcher is still waiting for me as planned.’ She slid away from the wall and dashed beneath the ghostly limbs of cherry trees that separated the palace from the surrounding capital and sheltered her from the soldiers who patrolled the fortress walls high above.

[B1] Chapter 102: The Beginning of the End { Part 1 }

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Chapter 102: The Beginning of the End { Part 1 }

Carina wandered through the silent plane of white cherry blossoms, conscious of each step that tread upon the grass and fallen petals below. The fragrance helped soothe her beating heart as her gaze darted amongst the shifting shadows of the trees. The distant lights of the capital, which had faded to only a few lit windows and streetlamps, greeted her as she reached the other side of the pale forest.

Carina brushed the ghostly petals from her shoulders and hair, then quickly crossed the road and headed in the direction of the capital’s belltower.

The towering structure loomed over the sleeping shops and residential houses, illuminated by the wavering moon that climbed above the net of clouds woven across its path. Carina exhaled and tied on her black silk mask, obscured her gown and face within her cloak, and headed towards the set rendezvous location.

A single carriage waited beneath the belltower’s shadow. The soft glow of smoke pipes in the darkness drew Carina’s attention to its driver and passenger, who turned at her approach.

“There she is, only a half-hour late,” Stitcher commented dryly as he knocked his pipe against the carriage wheel and smothered out the remaining tobacco.

“Let’s be on our way then before the capital knights give us another warning,” replied the driver as he rammed his pipe beneath his teeth and climbed up to his seat.

“Apologies—for the delay,” Carina panted as Stitcher opened the carriage door and assisted her inside.

“You can apologize by telling me how you managed to slip outside the castle in the middle of the night,” Stitcher muttered with evident interest as Carina quickly sank into her seat.

“You seem to have your own way,” Carina replied evasively. She waited until Stitcher closed the carriage door, then knocked on the glass panel behind her.

Stitcher caught himself against the opposite seat as the carriage lurched forward and sat down with a rueful grin. “This is how I get in and out—” he held out a palace pass, a steel bar stamped with a golden wolf “—being one of the few royally licensed physicians in the knight’s compound has its perks.”

‘It might be helpful to get one of those from Eleanora later,’ Carina mused as she tucked the bag beside her.

“But even these don’t work after curfew,” Stitcher continued as he tucked the pass inside his jacket, “Not to mention court ladies require a knight to escort them whenever they leave the palace—which tells me you must have another method or exit.”

“Were you able to get in contact with Ghost?”

Stitcher’s smile stretched into a grin as he caught the topic change. He shook his head. “Unfortunately, it seems my Master has left the country.”

“Left?” Carina’s hand tightened around the satchel bag. “Lafeara—just like that?”

“Something came up that requires his presence in Ventrayna,” Stitcher replied with a helpless shrug. “But my orders to assist and protect you still stand, so make use of me as you will.”

Carina sucked in her bottom lip as she leaned back against the carriage seat and rubbed her temple. ‘Another piece of the chessboard—my strongest ally so far—has taken himself out of the game.’

Percy’s face rose unbidden in her mind, and Carina shook herself quickly. ‘No, I can’t rush to judgment just because he happens to be a witch. I still don’t understand the extent to which his political powers influence the future.’ She sighed and refocused on the assassin-physician, who sat across from her silently polishing his pipe. “I won’t deny that you have value to me while your Master is—inaccessible.”

“Excellent, then may I inquire as to who we are meeting in the dead of night?” Stitcher responded with a cat-like smile.

“I might be forced to rely on you, but our destination is all you need to know—for now,” Carina replied promptly.

Stitcher nodded. “I suppose that’s fair, given my loyalties lie with my Master and not you. I will do my best not to pry—directly anyway.”

“You have orders to spy on me then?” Carina asked sharply.

“I am just a curious person by nature, Lady Maura,” Stitcher answered with a casual shrug. “And you are a person who inspires many questions.” He wrapped his clean pipe in a handkerchief and tucked it inside his jacket—all while intently observing her.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Carina muttered.

“That’s an interesting expression,” Stitcher replied as he scratched his chin. “But I don’t like cats.”

Carina shook her head and glanced out the window. “We should be arriving at the boutique shortly. Here—” She reached into her bag and pulled out a mask with gold stitching “—wear this and don’t take it off until we’re back in the carriage.”

“Are we going to a masquerade?” Stitcher joked as he held the mask in front of his face.

“Consider this a necessary part of protecting my identity,” Carina answered with strained patience. “Where we are going, I am only known as Lady Aconitum, and that is how you will address me—if you must speak at all.”

“Very well,” Stitcher slid the mask on and tied it in place. “Then call me—Lord Hell.”

Carina refrained from rolling her eyes.

“Is that the Master’s dagger?” Stitcher gestured to the black flame hilt that peeped out of her bag.

“Yes, though it's bothersome to carry without a sheath,” Carina answered as she pulled out the blade, wrapped in cloth and leather and bound with twine. “Witch steel is incredibly sharp.”

“Ghost did refer you to the Master Blacksmith, Sir Ikes, did he not?”

“I’ve been a bit busy,” Carina muttered as she stowed the dagger away and adjusted her bag.

“So I have observed. How is your ankle?”

“Holding up. Is the prototype brace I asked you to make coming along?”

“It was simple enough to construct with your drawing,” Stitcher admitted. “I left it with a leatherworker at Master Ike’s weapon shop. He’s fairly good at custom jobs. Said he’d try to have it done by tomorrow or the next day.”

“Soon enough, I suppose.” Carina checked her mask as they pulled up in front of the Boutique shop.

“The lights are out,” Stitcher observed. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?”

“Save your questions for when we return,” Carina muttered as she opened the carriage door and stepped down. As always, her ankle chose the most inappropriate moment to buckle beneath her.

Stitcher chuckled as he caught her arm and steadied her. “Give me a moment before you go running off,” he requested patiently as he dismounted the carriage behind her and turned to speak to the driver.

Carina huffed, and after a few cautious steps, circled the shop and waited by the metal gate that separated the boutique’s back yard from the street’s traffic. When Stitcher caught up, she pulled the necessary key from her bag, opened the gate, then shut and locked it from the other side.

Stitcher followed without comment as Carina headed down the moonlit path that led to a storage shed shadowed by a bowed oak tree in the back of the fenced yard. She knocked on the shed door and waited until the metal window slap slid open. A pair of eyes accompanied by candlelight peered down at her.

“Lady Aconitum wishes to enter the Artist’s Lair,” she greeted neutrally.

The man behind the door grunted in acknowledgment and closed the window. The sound of bolts being drawn back proceeded the door opening towards them.

A tailor from the boutique stepped out and hurriedly bowed. “Welcome back, Lady Aconitum.”

Carina nodded and entered the shed, followed by her silent shadow. She glanced over the boxes of thread, dyes, buttons, lace, and various rolls of silks and cloths. She wove her way between them and headed to yet another door at the back of the shed.

With a quick check over her shoulder to confirm Stitcher had not gotten lost, Carina opened the door, entered the tight space, and lifted the trap door inside to reveal a staircase that led below the surface.

“As I said,” Stitcher muttered as she took the first step. “You inspire a lot of questions.”

Carina smiled, pressed a finger to her lips, then motioned for him to follow her into the darkness.

Three men waited below, armed with pistols, and seated around a table playing dice in the light of a solitary candle.

They turned and rose as Carina reached the last panel of the staircase. “They are waiting for you inside, Lady Aconitum,” said the youngest while his companion’s eyed Stitcher curiously.

“Kritanta’s flame,” Stitcher whispered as he caught Carina’s elbow and gently held her back. “Are you leading some secret rebellion?”

“Lord Hell is here for my protection,” Carina announced to the guards as she shook off Stitcher’s grip. “Please provide him with a seat as he will be waiting outside with you gentlemen.” She turned and added to the assassin in a low whisper, “This is as far as you can accompany me tonight.”

“Or as far as you trust my Master and me?”

Carina smiled. “I trust no one, Lord Hell. Please don’t take it personally.” She left the assassin to fend for himself and headed to the opposite end of the room, where she opened another door that led to a short hallway trapped between two doors.

With the first door sealed behind her, Carina took a few slow breaths, then knocked on the final barrier. The metal slab opened just a fraction as a familiar voice asked, “Who seeks entrance?”

“One who would glimpse paradise,” Carina replied and tilted her masked face up as the slab opened further. “All beauty is pain.”

“All beauty is pain,” the man echoed back. “We have been waiting for you, just a moment.”

The window shut abruptly. The sound of metal grating filled the silence before the door finally creaked open. A middle-aged timid looking man, dressed in bright colors of arctic-blue and chartreuse-green, peered over his spectacles as he greeted her with a relieved smile. “I was beginning to worry. You’ve never been this late, Lady Aconitum.”

“I had to come by a different route,” Carina replied as she stepped through the opening. “How are you, Sir Everly?”

“Excellent, excellent, but let’s not keep your other guests waiting.” Everly closed and bolted the door. Then he led her down a narrow hallway that brought them to an open room where four men and two women waited around a large table in hushed discussions.

The whispers died the moment Everly and Carina appeared.

“My apologies for the lateness of the hour and my unfortunate tardiness,” Carina said as she dipped a curtsy to the members of Frost’s secret organization, Cerberus—otherwise called, Watchdog.

“Not at all. It is a pleasure to see you again, Lady Aconitum,” greeted the extravagantly dressed noble as he set down his pipe, which had filled the meeting room with its usual rare and exotic aroma. Lord Seymour, one of the leading members of the Royal Merchants guild.

“Who are we to reproach the trusted partner of Mr. Frost,” replied Lady Charity with a welcoming smile. The second daughter of a fallen noble family, Lady Charity had made a name for herself when she managed to snag Baron Price for a husband and reclaim her noble title. At twenty-six, she now secretly controlled the Commoner’s Merchant Guild through her husband, who many mistakenly believed held the reins of both the business and their marriage.

“Despite the lateness of the hour, I’m sure we are all thrilled to be here,” assured the handsome rogue, Lord Austin. Captain of the Golden Lion, and co-owner of three other merchant ships: Dancing Fairy, Lost Pearl, and Fair Weather, which were also co-owned by Mr. Frost. “So please don’t trouble yourself over a few minutes.”

“We appreciate your apology, Lady Aconitum,” added Lady Ursula, Sir Everly’s wife, backbone, and business partner. “Though some of us seem to regard their time as more valuable than others.” Ursula’s disapproving glare turned in the direction of the two noble lords seated at the furthest end of the table.

Carina smiled as she turned her gaze towards the remaining members of Cerberus, who had not yet spoken. Lord Walter, Viscount and Lord Principal of the Royal Medical Office, which controlled all hospitals within Lafeara. And Lord Tobias, a notable, ambitious physician as well as the newest member of their secret organization. Both gentlemen nodded in her direction with the barest gesture of respect. They were here for the sake of Mr. Frost’s name, not some designer who appeared to have more connection to the elusive investor than anyone else at the table.

[B1] Chapter 103: The Beginning of the End { Part 2 }

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Chapter 103: The Beginning of the End { Part 2 }

“Then shall we begin today's meeting?” Carina smiled as she met the expectant gaze of Cerberus’s members. ‘With everything that is to come in the next few weeks, I have to ensure they’re prepared to finish their assigned tasks while I’m preoccupied with palace matters.’

“Lord Walter,” Carina turned her gaze to the Lord Principal. “Mr. Frost has successfully procured the two hospitals you listed as being the largest in the capital. He also purchased an abandoned factory inside the slums, which he intends to remodel into a working hospital within the month.”

“Ah?” Lord Walter sat forward and cleared his throat. “I must applaud Mr. Frost for having thought ahead so thoroughly. However, finding physicians willing to work within the slums will be difficult.” He glanced at Lord Tobias, who snorted and nodded his head in agreement. “While it’s true, the slums are usually the worst hit during any widespread illness or plague—this is because of the squalid conditions its residents choose to live.”

“Naturally, we would not expect the noble doctors of your order to lower themselves to such unsavory conditions,” Carina replied without missing a beat. She could hardly expect any noble to enter the slums when the Capital Knights no longer patrolled nor policed the area. “Mr. Frost has already located two promising doctors to take over the slum hospital. He trusts you will offer them whatever aid you can to prepare for the crisis we face.”

“Of course,” Lord Walter murmured with a tight smile. “Though—it will be hard to alleviate the expected death rates in the slums if there is no change to the environment and lifestyle of these vagrants.”

‘In other words, you would prefer not to waste precious medicine on those you consider beneath you. Even if that medicine was purchased and acquired by Frost.’

“That matter is already well in hand,” Carina replied with a benign smile. “Lord Seymour, if you would.”

Seymore lifted a stack of small wooden boxes from the crate behind his chair and passed them out as he circled the table. “This is Mr. Frost's latest investment, which the Royal Merchant’s Guild has already approved for sale.”

“Is this soap?” Lady Charity exclaimed as she lifted the small pink object covered in delicate rainbow flowers. “It looks almost edible.”

“You are holding one of the prototypes that will be sold to the nobles, Lady Charity,” Lord Seymore explained. “The Crown Prince himself has already put in a special purchase for his—” He stumbled, cleared his throat, and gestured across the table. “Lord Walter has the more basic, practical design that commoners can purchase at one-eighth the cost that nobles will pay.”

“One-eighth?” Lord Walter protested. “Surely Frost will suffer a loss at that price.”

“Not at all,” Lady Ursula said with a chuckle. “Rather, the loss will be compensated by the high price tag the nobles will pay for our cake soaps.”

“How can you be sure they will purchase enough to cover the difference?” Lord Tobias interjected in a dubious tone.

“Lord Walter?” Carina replied as she nodded to the Lord Principal.

Walter rose from his chair and coughed. “Ah, yes, I shall be publishing an article to commend her Highness, the Crown Princess, on becoming an Ambassador for Mr. Frost’s soap stores and promoting the importance of cleanliness.”

“Beauty stores, we’re calling them,” interrupted Lord Seymore with smug satisfaction.

“In the article,” Lord Walter continued with a note of irritation, “Physicians such as Lord Tobias will expound upon the health benefits of regular washing and its relevance to the prevention and spread of illness and disease.”

“The spread of the plague is a little more complicated than that—” Lord Tobias cut off under Walter’s sharp glare.

“The article will also cover the skin and hair benefits of more specialized soaps and conditioners that Frost intends to release in celebration of Holy Saint’s Day,” Lord Walter finished, then glanced towards Carina as he retook his seat.

“Correct, the Crown Princess and her ladies-in-waiting will provide the perfect public campaign to sell these products to the nobles and populace when they stand before the great cathedral,” Carina replied.

“And at the first sign of plague, the nobles will panic and buy it all in bulk,” Lady Charity commented with a smirk of approval.

“We will target the nobles immediately after Lord Walter’s article is published,” Carina continued as she laced her fingers together and leaned against the table. “If rumors happened to spread that even the Crown Prince’s mistress uses our soap, you can expect high sales, even from those who don’t support the Crown Princess.”

‘And the more the rumors about Lady Rosamund circulate, the more pressure placed on Nicholas to either discard his Mistress or consummate his marriage with Eleanora.’

Carina unlocked her fingers and gestured to the royal merchant. “Lord Seymore will manage the shipments to all shops that deal with independent merchants and nobles. Lady Charity will oversee the soaps distribution to the commoners. We also have a large reserve of soap set aside for Lady Ursula to distribute as part of our charity effort to reform the slums before the plague hits. We will keep our identity as the organization behind that charity anonymous. And finally, Lord Austin will handle shipments outside of Lafeara as Frost expands his trade and business to Strugna and Ventrayna.”

“That’s me, charismatic ambassador and purveyor of wealth,” Lord Austin announced as he stood and offered the group a dramatic bow. “Ventrayna presents its own difficulties due to the desert heat and controlled trading routes, but Mr. Frost—our mysterious leader and prophet—has already provided a suitable alternative to at least mitigate any losses due to melting.” He reached into the large leather pack, slung over the back of his chair, and produced two glass bottles colored blue and green.

“Is it already time to start drinking?” joked Lord Seymour.

“Not unless your mouth needs extra cleaning,” Lady Charity replied in a satisfied tone. Lady Ursula snorted and hid a smile behind her fan.

“This is a liquid soap,” replied Austin as he extended one bottle to the royal merchant.

“Liquid?” Lord Walter exclaimed as he attempted to snatch the bottle from Seymour.

“It looks like medicine,” observed Lady Charity as Seymour passed the bottle to her. They both ignored Walter’s indignant scowl as the Lord Principal leaned back into his chair.

“Which is why our craftsmen have clearly labeled the bottle as soap,” Austin replied with a rueful grin. “And why we won’t be selling this product here in Lafeara. Wouldn’t want someone drinking it just because they can’t read.”

“It smells nice enough,” Lady Ursula commented as she passed the bottle to her husband. “What about Strugna?”

“Not much difficulty there.” Austin shrugged as he accepted the bottle from Sir Everly and returned both bottles to his bag. “Though they seem rather keen on meeting Mr. Frost in person.”

“Who isn’t,” Seymore snorted and folded his arms across his chest. “Speaking of in person, Crown Prince Nicholas has put out a royal request to meet our mysterious Patron.”

A silence fell over the small gathering as the members turned their attention to Carina.

“Mr. Frost is unreachable at present,” Carina replied slowly as she clasped her hands together. “But I will relay this information to him at the earliest opportunity. Now, Frost has already put forward the necessary funds to see these products reach wide distribution. Should any issues arise before or after its release, please bring them to Sir Everly’s attention, and he will relay that information to Frost through myself or Frost’s attorney.”

“I also helped designed the cake soap, as you called it,” Sir Everly blurted out, with an awkward smile of pride.

“That explains the flowers,” Lord Seymour joked, though he quickly withered under Ursula’s sharp gaze.

“And what about the new fellow?” Ursula turned her disapproving green eyes to the silent physician beside Lord Walter. “Why is he here?”

“We cannot combat the plague with soap alone,” Carina explained. “Lord Tobias will help our cause by working with Mr. Frost to create a medicine to alleviate the symptoms and cure those infected by the plague.”

“As Lady Aconitum said, we hope to obtain the first victims that come down with the plague—most likely from the slums—and use them to produce a radical treatment known as inoculation or vaccination.”

“You intend to infect people?” Lord Walter protested. “Saint’s Mercy, if the Church catches wind of this—”

“Every bit of Frost’s predictions and this organization’s activities is condemnable in the eyes of the church,” Tobias interrupted with a dismissive wave. “The Pope and his cardinals still preach that all plagues and sickness originate from witchcraft. Even doctors must be careful how we go about treating illnesses, or we may end up being labeled witches—like my unfortunate master.”

“Inoculation was the act of heresy that got your master burned at the stake,” Walter replied with a shake of his head. “The church has no interest in scientific experimentations of any form. Not when they can blame everything on the evils of magic and witches.”

“He’s right,” Ursula commented as the mood in the room became despondent. “I hear the church is already looking for Mr. Frost to test his clairvoyant abilities. I, for one, am not at all surprised he’s gone to ground with that sort of attention on him.”

The room fell silent as the gathered members of Cerberus exchanged nervous glances.

“I do not deny there is risk involved here,” Carina said gravely as she rose from her seat. “Which is why we have taken every precaution to remain anonymous. Should the worst happen, you will shift the blame to Mr. Frost and deny any knowledge of the coming plague.”

“If there is a plague,” Tobias muttered with a wistful sigh.

Carina clenched her jaw and took in a slow breath. She needed Tobias more than any other member in this room because only he understood how to perform the vaccination properly. Tobias had learned the treatment under his Master, who used it to treat a minor disease outbreak some years back.

‘If we can prove on such a large scale that science, not faith, can cure this illness and save lives, then we’ll be one step closer to proving witches aren’t to blame for plagues and other natural catastrophes.’

According to Maura’s memories, Tobias had successfully thwarted the plague by using inoculation—but a quarter of the population had already died, and King Nicholas himself had fallen ill before Tobias was officially granted permission. Then, as now, the Church, the Royal Family, and the Royal Medical Office had been reluctant to permit such an unorthodox method to fight the plague until they were faced with the possibility of the king dying without an heir.

‘At least this time we have the support of the Royal Medical Office, however secretive our alliance.’ Carina sighed and brushed back loose ash-brown hair.

“Mr. Frost hasn’t gotten it wrong yet,” Lord Seymore retorted, breaking the silence as he picked up his pipe and glared at Tobias. “He predicted a tropical storm weeks in advance if you remember.”

“Not to mention his insight into my husband’s family embezzlement that even I had missed,” Lady Charity added with a painful smile. “And Frost has practically funded this entire operation out of pocket. If anyone has taken the larger risk, it is our Patron.”

“I can’t deny the power of his predictions—even if I still find them hard to believe,” Lord Walter admitted reluctantly. “You would have to be mad to throw that kind of capital into preparing for a disease that might not come at all.” He shrugged and stroked his beard thoughtfully. “In either case, what harm could come from spreading the practices of frequent washing and opening a few more hospitals. The slums could certainly benefit from a cleaner environment.”

“The plague will come,” Carina interjected forcefully. “And the death toll will be catastrophic if we do not prepare adequately. All of Mr. Frost's investments and planning have been directed towards this approaching calamity. If saving thousands of innocents from a faceless enemy is not enough to convince you, then remember the profits you have all gained and still stand to gain from your partnership with Mr. Frost.” She swiveled her gaze from one member to the next as she continued. “You are all well aware of the impact such a plague would wreck upon every Lafearian citizen, our economy, and the security of Lafeara’s borders.”

“Let’s not forget what the last witch plague did to Strugna,” added Lord Austin grimly. “The entire royal family died within a week. If Lafeara were to suffer the same fate, forget paying taxes to the Emperor—Tharyn would invade us the moment the plague loosens its grip.”

The gathered members of Cerberus turned their resolved faces towards Lord Tobias, who chuckled and raised his hands submissively. “No need to worry. Any opportunity to study a disease and practice inoculation is a yes from me, regardless of the circumstances.”

“Then that will conclude today’s meeting,” Carina announced firmly. The members each rose from their seats as she left her chair. “As always, thank you for attending and for your cooperation. If another meeting should become necessary, the time, date, and password will be sent to each of you.” She briefly placed her hand on Sir Everly’s shoulder before she curtsied to the Lords and Ladies before her.

The designer rose and followed as Carina returned to the hallway. Everly unlocked and opened the first door, then shut it behind them as Carina turned to face him.

“This is the finalized design for Holy Saints day,” Carina explained as she held out a sealed envelope. “Also, Lord Austin will be bringing an exotic package to the boutique a few days before the festivities. The contents must be kept alive and secret until after the holiday has passed.”

“Ahh—I’m not good with living things, Lady Aconitum,” Sir Everly said uneasily as he fussed with his laced cuff. “And Ursula can’t even keep a plant alive.”

“Not to worry, a special caretaker will arrive with them. Keep the package and caretaker out of sight until the King and Queen’s coronation.”

“Oh, if it's hiding and disguising people—” Everly winked as he opened the door that led to the stairwell and a pacing Stitcher “—then I’m your man.”

❆❆❆❆❆

Back in the carriage, Stitcher pulled off his mask and studied her silently.

“You won’t get any answers staring at me like that,” Carina commented as she closed her eyes, folded her arms, and attempted to find a comfortable spot in the corner of her seat. It was already nearing 2 am, and she had to be up in four hours to attend to the crown princess.

“I’m just curious.”

“You’ve mentioned that already,” she muttered dismissively.

“How do you know Mr. Frost?”

Carina opened her eyes, glanced over at him, and sighed. “One of the guards?”

“Yes, the one that smells of tobacco and fish. A sailor, I presume from his horrible accent.”

‘Austin’s man? I’ll have to bring that up with him next time.’

“So?” Stitcher pressed as he nudged her foot with his boot.

“What would you do if someone told you that your future would end with a horrible death; and then offered you a way to change that future?”

“I’d ignore their words as the ravings of a mad person,” Stitcher replied without hesitation. “It’s more likely they’re trying to manipulate you than anything else.”

“So, you would ignore the warning rather than take the chance to prepare for the worst and change that future?”

Stitcher regarded her with an intrigued frown for a moment. “If you’re referring to Mr. Frost—I suppose if they were someone who was able to predict the future with notable success—then I would at least take some precautions.”

His expression darkened as he leaned back and crossed his arms.

“What are you thinking about?” Carina asked with a bemused smile.

“Just how strange—that Mr. Frost should have such an ability when it belongs to the bloodline of Saints.”

Carina snorted and tapped on the window as they drew up beside the bell tower. “Would you let me know when Ghost returns to Lafeara?”

“Sure—though it might be a while,” Stitcher admitted hesitantly. “In the meantime, get a sheath for that dagger. It has torn a hole in your bag.”

Carina glanced down and muttered as she located the Witch Steel that protruded from the corner of her leather satchel. “Remind your Master to provide an appropriate scabbard when handing out daggers next time.”

“I don’t think he’s in the habit of handing out weapons or gifts of any kind,” Stitcher replied with a faint smile. “Safe journey back, Lady Aconitum.”

“Good night, Lord Hell.”

[B1] Epilogue: The Pope of Zarus

❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦❦

Epilogue: The Pope of Zarus

One week later. Zarus, the Holy City.

The halls of Holy Saint’s Palace shimmered under the morning sun that bathed the marble pillars and floors beneath its sacred glow. Cardinal Gallagher’s footsteps echoed through these silent halls as he wandered past Zarus' religious history, captured in stained-glass windows, and headed towards the holy sanctum. The cardinal’s pace was unhurried. He enjoyed the quiet reflection of his morning walk, particularly before the storm that awaited him amongst the conclave of cardinals.

At forty-two, Gallagher was still considered young to be a prince of the church. His position was a gift from Pope Jericho in honor of the sacrifice Gallagher and two other priests had taken to smuggle the last Divine Heir from the prison cells of old Zarus across the desert to the Holy City.

At the age of twenty-three, Gallagher strangled Jericho’s prison guard and stuffed the future Pope, then a sickly lad of ten years, inside a wicker basket wrapped in furs. His two other comrades had not survived their escape from the conquered city, but they had managed to buy Gallagher enough time to slip inside the tunnels of the hidden labyrinth beneath old Zarus. Once through the tunnels' maze, Gallagher carried Jericho across the treacherous desert, a distance of over 500 miles, to the Holy City.

The journey had taken them nearly two weeks to complete on foot. Gallagher silently fasted without complaint to ensure the frail boy did not go without food and water. Two years later, at twelve years old, that same pale, sickly boy had taken up his holy robes and office with renewed body and spirit as Pope Jericho the III, the Divine Heir and Ruler of the Holy City.

Gallagher had watched that boy become a man. One strong enough to push back against the tyrant Emperor Arius, rebuild New Zarus, restructure the Holy Church, and even restore the fallen Witch Hunter Order.

The cardinal paused before the statue of Saint Harmonia, the third and last of the saints, and knelt before the undisputed patriarch of the bloodline of Popes.

Saint Harmonia held her bow in one arm and her firstborn, Pope Zigor, in the other. Her divine gaze remained hidden behind a marble blindfold, a testament to Harmonia’s early life when she had been swayed by the deceitful words of witches. The artist cleverly captured the tears of sorrow that slid beneath her blindfold and fell down the Saint’s cheeks, even as she smiled in celebration of her victory.

It was a stirring piece of artwork that always evoked a conflict of emotions from Gallagher. Saint Harmonia was the first saint to live long enough to bear children to whom she passed her holy powers, but she died at a relatively young age of thirty-seven. Along with her will, Pope Zigor declared her final words a prophecy.

“When the last of my line returns to the earth, a new Saint shall appear.”

The past eight centuries had seen the long line of popes flourish. The absence of a new Saint served to enforce the sacredness of their bloodline and power, as well as Harmonia’s prophecy.

Even Emperor Arius, the most omnipotent pure-blood born in the past three centuries, dared not extinguish the last holy descendant to test its authenticity.

It was for this reason and this reason alone that Arius had spared Jericho, the sickly, youngest son of the late Pope Ivan, after massacring his entire family.

For eight long years, the remnants of Zarus had lived in the Holy City in quiet isolation beneath the watchful eye of their conqueror. The young Pope had focused upon his new role and many responsibilities, while the cardinals had done their best to guide and support him. But the fragile tolerance between Zarus and Ventrayna was not meant to last. The death of an inbred witch, Queen Catalina, and the Witch Star's disappearance had turned the Emperor against New Zarus and its Pope once more.

Gallagher rose and regarded the tears on Harmonia’s cheek thoughtfully as the sun shimmered off her pearl white robes and the painted golden curls of her child.

The sharp thud of feet running in his direction turned the cardinal’s attention towards the approaching figures of two witch hunters who escorted a foreigner, covered in sand, between them.

“What’s this?” Gallagher snapped as he stepped into their path.

“Pardon, your eminence,” the foreigner replied with a hasty bow. “I have brought a message for the Pope from the Abbess of Lafeara.”

“The Abbess?” Gallagher glanced down at the box the messenger held. A modest container of oak wood with a simple brass lock coated and sealed with red wax. “What’s in the box?”

“Pardon, your eminence,” the simple man repeated. “I do not know its contents. I was instructed to deliver the box to the Pope with a message that its contents were urgent.”

Gallagher scratched his brow as he eyed the red wax that matched the scarlet armor of the witch hunters that stood before him. “Very well, you may come with me.” The cardinal turned and resumed his journey to the inner sanctum of the Holy Palace with the foreigner and his two escorts close behind.

Built as a palace by Saint Matthew, the Second Saint, the Holy Palace served as a residence for the Pope and his cardinals. The surrounding Holy City was fortified by the Holy Army, who guarded the Pope and the surviving citizens of old Zarus.

The governing of new Zarus was divided amongst the cardinals, who reported to the Pope in the holy sanctum twice a week after prayers and breakfast. Trusting his subordinates to run his city left Pope Jericho otherwise free to focus on his war with the Emperor. To that end, the Pope maintained sole control over the Holy Army and Witch Hunter Order, though he had rarely left the Holy Palace in recent years.

Jericho’s continued absence among the populace of Zarus sprouted a rumor that the Pope’s lifelong illness had become life-threatening. The cardinals and their representatives quickly dispelled such gossip. However, truthfully, Gallagher had no explanation for the Pope’s sudden isolation—though he suspected it related to the pale-haired witch hunter, who had taken up a permanent residence in the Pope’s shadow.

Soon enough, the large sanctum doors loomed before the cardinal and his guests. The impenetrable iron barrier embedded with the skull of a great ice dragon, slain by the First Saint, was an imposing sight to behold. For Gallagher, viewing the legendary creature’s remains was a daily occurrence, but the foreigner beside him quivered in awe as he gawked beneath its monstrous gaze.

Male slaves garbed in black bowed their shaven heads as they strained to open the iron doors. Gallagher turned to the two witch hunters as he waited for entrance. “Remain outside and escort the messenger back after his task is finished.”

“Eminence,” the half-witches replied in unison with a respectful bow.

When the entryway had opened wide enough for three men to walk through side-by-side, the slaves ceased their labor. Gallagher stepped forward then stopped to snap his fingers in front of the messenger’s dazed eyes. “Come on then; we haven’t got all day. Follow.”

“Sorry, your Eminence,” the foreigner mumbled and hastily trailed behind the cardinal.

Ten of the twelve appointed cardinals waited within the holy sanctum. They turned to Gallagher with polite nods and greetings while they eyed the dirty foreigner beside him inquisitively. Gallagher ignored their questions as he took the messenger’s arm—cringing at the grime and sweat upon the man’s sleeve—and led the foreigner towards the Divine Heir.

❆❆❆❆❆

From his raised golden throne, Pope Jericho observed his cardinals with silent boredom. After twenty years of living in the Holy City, one would think these princes of the church would understand how to govern and keep his people fed and satisfied. Yet once more, he had to suffer through the festering squabble of their complaints, grumbles, and bickering.

‘The Emperor will not need to conquer us a second time if we allow ourselves to crumble from within.’

Jericho shifted restlessly inside the pale golden robes of his office, conscious of the tremor in his left hand that he kept tucked discreetly at his side. He focused on his breathing as he tried to block out the noise of the cardinal's debate, keenly aware of the headache that clawed behind his scarred eyes.

The inner sanctum door opened, and Jericho recognized the familiar visage of one of the few mortals he trusted inside this room.

“Cardinal Gallagher,” Pope Jericho greeted as his old friend approached the throne with a dirty foreigner in his shadow.

The cardinal bowed humbly in greeting, but even when Jericho motioned for him to rise, Gallagher avoided the Pope’s divine gaze and focused on Jericho’s right hand.

There were few who dared look upon the sacred eyes of the Pope.

Jericho had taken burning coals to his eyes at nine-years-old rather than watch his sisters be raped by witches. His eyesight returned slowly over the years, one of the blessings of the Saint’s bloodline, but the scars on his hands and cheeks remained as a testament and constant reminder of the hatred he bore.

His pupils still retained their cloudy-white color. Jericho was often told his eyes resembled pearls rather than the eyes of a common blind man, but he assumed all such talk was flattery, for while Jericho could see, his vision lacked color of any form by which to judge.

“Greetings, your Holiness,” Gallagher murmured respectfully as he pushed the trembling messenger to his knees.

Jericho’s nostrils flared as a strange odor preceded Cardinal Gallagher and the unwashed man beside him. His gaze shifted from the foreigner’s face to the box held in the man’s trembling hands.

“What news?” Jericho asked. His raised voice trembled with power that silenced the cardinals around the room as they hastily found their seats.

Gallagher glanced down at the quivering foreigner and nudged the man with his knee. “Go on then.”

“I—ah—bring a message—from the Abbess of Lafeara!” The foreigner explained hastily as he set down the box.

Jericho’s white pupils narrowed at the wretched scent that radiated from the box like a dark cloud and slithered in his direction.

‘How long has it been since a witch dared to parade their tainted magic before me?’

“And just what sort of message requires a box?” Jericho raised a hand and snapped his fingers. The box shuddered as the red wax cracked, the lock snapped open, and the lid popped free. “Why don’t you show us.”

The foreigner nodded vigorously and lifted the lid back. He took one look at its contents, and with a choked guttural squeak, fell over in a faint.

Gallagher gagged as he staggered back from the stench of rot that permeated from the human head inside the box. “Wh-what—unholy curse is this?” The cardinal riffled through his robes for a handkerchief to thwart the rancid stench.

Jericho stared into the dead man’s empty eyes as his memory stirred. He turned as the pale-haired witch hunter behind his throne stepped forward and whispered a name into the Pope’s ear. A sly smile slid across Jericho’s lips as he studied the priest’s now withered complexion. “It would appear that Father Alden has returned to us.”

The cardinals murmured in surprise. Many of whom appeared to have forgotten the name of the priest who had requested a witch hunter be sent to Lafeara almost two weeks ago.

“Cardinal Gallagher, there is a small bag tucked beside the priest’s head. Fetch it for me,” Jericho commanded.

Gallagher glared at the unconscious foreigner as he approached the open box.

Jericho shook his head as he watched the cardinal struggle to breathe behind his handkerchief. ‘Those robes have made you soft, old friend.’

With a great deal of discomfort, Gallagher managed to locate the hidden object. The cardinal tugged the soiled brown bag free and held it gingerly between his fingertips as he examined it cautiously.

“Permit me, your Eminence,” murmured the pale-haired witch hunter.

Jericho turned to his shadow and nodded. “Very well.”

The Commander of the Witch Hunter Order bowed and moved swiftly down the steps to Gallagher. The cardinal eyed the white-haired witch hunter with evident fear and distrust but relinquished the blood-stained satchel with visible relief.

“What is it, Ripper?” Jericho asked impatiently as the witch hunter untied the bag and pulled out a stained rolled parchment.

“It would appear to be the Abbess’s message, your Holiness,” Ripper replied as he turned towards the Pope.

“Read it for us,” Jericho commanded as he leaned forward with interest.

Ripper unfurled the bloody scroll with long pale fingers, cleared his throat, and read the message aloud.

"Greetings to the Divine Heir,

I have sent back what little remains of the priest, Father Alden. With heavy regret, I must inform you that his death came at the hands of his witch hunter, Sir Nero, as witnessed by the sisters of my church.

The witch hunter Nero has fled Lafeara. He is pursued by a pure-blood fire witch who wears a blue ghoul's mask. They were last seen heading west towards the mountains of Tharyn.

I understand such news will require an official investigation from the Holy Church. Our doors remain open, and I extend to your representative what humble accommodations we sisters may provide.

However unfortunate his demise, my sisters and I take heart knowing that Father Alden is now closer to your ancestors, the Saints.

Your devoted servant,

Abbess Mercy."

Ripper’s gaze had darkened by the time he finished reading. Jericho watched his Commander compose himself silently as Ripper rolled up the scroll and returned to the Pope’s side.

“What sort of ludicrous claim is this?” demanded Cardinal Murdock as he rose from his seat. “A witch hunter turning on their priest? How is such a thing even possible?”

Jericho accepted the blood-stained scroll and motioned for Ripper to withdraw. Although Jericho derived no small amount of comfort and security from his shadow, he was well aware of the effect Ripper had over his cardinals.

“Set aside your doubts, Murdock. It is clear enough to all that Father Alden is dead!” shouted Cardinal Langham. “An investigation will prove or disprove the Abbess’s claims, though what could she possibly gain by such a lie, I wonder.”

“You have long questioned the trust his Holiness places in the Witch Hunter Order,” returned Murdock. “Do not forget that we would be unable to quell those foul witches without them.”

“Do not forget it was a witch hunter who betrayed Pope Ivan and his family and brought about the fall of Zarus,” Langham snapped back bitterly.

“That is hearsay!”

“Let us not leap to conclusions so easily,” interrupted Cardinal Halstone. “Where is the rest of Father Alden’s corpse? Where is his witch hunter? Who is this pure-blood witch the Abbess mentioned? An investigation is necessary, not conjecture, and further discord.”

“I agree with Cardinal Langham,” added Cardinal Lentulus. “The presence of a pure-blood, the death of a priest, and a witch hunter’s sudden betrayal of his oath? I suspect the Abbess is not telling us everything. This is what happens when a woman is left in charge instead of a Bishop.”

The other seven cardinals quickly grumbled their agreement as they turned towards the Pope, who slowly turned the scroll between his fingers as he examined Father Alden’s empty gaze.

‘It's clear enough that a witch killed or had something to do with Father Alden’s death. Only one foul order of witches would bother eating the eyes of a priest. But why invite the inquisition to their doorstep? And why accuse Nero of such a crime?’ Jericho crumpled the message in his hand and discarded it upon the white marble steps. ‘This drawn-out war and the Emperor’s barricade has left our granary severely depleted. At such a time, I cannot overlook the promised aid of Lafeara from King Henri. I must secure Crown Prince Nicholas as a future ally—but just what sort of deception am I being pulled into?’

“We suspect there is treachery in Lafeara,” Jericho said aloud. His calm voice soothed the nervous agitation of his cardinals, who each resumed their seats. “Crown Prince Nicholas’s coronation approaches with this year's Holy Celebration. We must use Lafeara’s long-held tradition to our advantage and secure Lafeara’s future king as our ally.”

“And what of his future queen? This adopted niece of that murderous Emperor?” protested Langham.

“We suspect our young ally was forced against his wish to fulfill his father’s treasonous promises to the Emperor. The work of the Dowager and her followers, no doubt. We must solidify his loyalty first and foremost and then aid him in securing his power as King,” Jericho replied patiently. “According to our spies, the union between the prince and this tainted princess has yet to be consummated.” He glanced towards Gallagher and smiled. “Perhaps we may offer Lafeara’s future king a way back from this unfortunate marriage.”

“It is a good plan, but will he be willing to risk offending the Emperor?” questioned Gallagher. “We are little able to repel Ventrayna’s forces ourselves.”

“The sacred ground of the Holy City has not fallen in a thousand years,” snorted Cardinal Murdock. “Nor, I suspect shall it fall in another thousand years.”

“Our efforts to reclaim old Zarus have been thwarted time and time again,” Jericho continued with determined focus. “It is time to consider another path. Perhaps our union with Lafeara may provide us with such an opportunity, but we must deal with this atrocity first.” Jericho leaned back and wrapped his scarred hands around the throne’s golden arms. “The agreement with Lafeara and our Witch Hunter Order still stands. We will locate whatever nest of witches has taken roost within Nicholas’s kingdom and burn them out.”

The Cardinals rumbled their approval.

“And who will lead this inquisition, your Holiness?” Gallagher asked curiously.

“Ripper shall go as our representative,” Jericho replied without hesitation.

Gallagher’s hopeful expression crumpled, and the room fell silent as the witch hunter stepped forward again and bowed to the Pope.

Cardinal Murdock rose to his feet unsteadily. "R-Ripper? Your Holiness?"

“Yes,” Jericho confirmed with a thin smile. “And you shall accompany him, Cardinal Murdock. We suspect our churches in Lafeara need reorganization and a trusted figure to comb through and remove the unfaithful. As our cardinal, you will have all the authority necessary to see Lafeara’s churches are purged of any who would betray their vows to the Saints.”

“Y-yes, your Holiness.” Murdock bowed and then glanced hesitantly towards Ripper.

The white-haired witch hunter’s ice-blue eyes gleamed as he regarded the cardinal. “Don’t worry, your Eminence. I shall ensure you survive the journey in one piece.”

The cardinals shivered and murmured sympathetically as Murdock sank back into his seat a few shades paler.

"You doubt our reasoning?” Jericho observed somberly. “Ripper is the only witch hunter strong enough to take down a pure-blood. And if, as we suspect, a coven skulks within Lafeara, he has the experience necessary to draw them out and exterminate them.”

"But—your Holiness," interjected Cardinal Langham. "The Abbess’s letter stated that Nero and the pure-blood fled to Tharyn!"

"The Abbess’s letter is a magpie’s nest of lies," Jericho snarled. "Which is why Cardinal Murdock will take over leadership of the holy church in Lafeara while Ripper begins his inquisition with Abbess Mercy and her sisters. Let them prove their innocence through blood and tears."

Jericho rose from his throne and folded his arms behind his back as he proceeded towards the sanctuary doors. He paused briefly beside the unconscious foreigner and the pungent rotting head. “Ripper.”

“Yes, your Holiness?” The witch hunter asked as he regarded Father Alden’s remains thoughtfully.

“Bring that to my chambers.” Jericho nodded at the priest’s head. “A witch may have eaten Father Alden’s eyes, but I will carve out whatever secrets lurk within his soul.”

“As you wish, your Holiness.”

❆♕❄❆♕❄❆♕❄❆♕❄❆♕❄

And here we are! Thank you to everyone who has read the first book of CoRW from beginning to end. Thank you for the comments, critiques, feedback, poll answers, and all your encouragement. For those of you easily confused, yes, there is another Book to this series, the story is not over. You can find the early chapters on Patreon. Interlude Chapters and Book 2 will begin uploads after my hiatus :)

If you have enjoyed the journey I ask you to please take the time to write the review. Your opinions will be helpful both in the final rewrite before publishing and might even convince another curious reader to give this book a try.

* So far that rewrite will include adding in more scenes with the Turnbells to flesh them out a bit earlier on as well as work in more Frost business scenes.

* Working in a scene with Percy's memory of Carina/Maura's dance (if possible/by request). Now an Interlude Chapter.

* I will also be shortening the fight between Tristan and Nero as much as possible to lessen the disappointment at its conclusion (hopefully). He's still not going to die though, keep reading to find out why that is lol

If you have any other recommendations, this would be the chapter in which to voice them.

Otherwise, I hope you will share your experience and feedback in a review :) I could really use some reviews that cover the full 1st Book or at least the second half! They will also be used a source of inspiration as I take the next two weeks and go on hiatus to work on more chapters of Book 2

With all my love and gratitude,

From Lafeara,

Vera Anne Wolf

Interlude Part I: The Disgraced Prince

✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫

Interlude Part I: The Disgraced Prince

Lafeara. Poesy Palace. Two years before the Selection.

The Lafearian knights snapped to attention with startled expressions as Crown Prince Tristan stormed past them, a dripping goblet in one hand, down the marble halls of Peony Palace. Captain Garrett followed at the prince’s heels, his Red Wolf uniform splattered and streaked with remnants of vomit and blood.

The closed double doors of the throne room loomed before them as a knight stepped forward to intercept the angry prince. “Your Highness, his Majesty, and the Dowager are in a private meeting.”

“The Dowager is here too? Good!” Tristan shouldered past the knight lieutenant. Garrett subtly shifted a hand to his knight’s sword as the other knight moved to protest. His gesture did not go unnoticed, and the knights hesitated long enough for the crown prince to shove one of the doors open and enter—without permission.

‘Saint’s Mercy—we are so fucked!’

Tristan stepped through and hesitated for a moment at the threshold. Garrett removed his hand from the blade before he followed. A swift glance past the crown prince’s shoulder took in the matriarch of the royal family and several members of the House of Lords around King Henri’s throne.

To Henri’s right stood Dowager Octavia and Marquess Borghese, who turned towards Tristan with looks of disapproval, and something else that made Garrett’s skin crawl. To the King’s left: Prime Minister Attwood, Lord General Commander Stryker, and Garrett’s father, Colonel Durante, held mixed expressions of doubt, anger, and disbelief.

Garrett shifted his focus to King Henri. Lafeara’s current monarch now approached his fiftieth birthday, though the gray that filled out his light-auburn hair, the sallow complexion of his skin, and the shadows that clung to his eyes made him appear even older. One look at the seething fury in the King’s cobalt-blue eyes as he glared back at his eldest son told Garrett all he needed to know.

‘This isn’t going to end well.’

But before the knight captain could contemplate grabbing Tristan and wrestling him to safety, the crown prince strode forward and flung the goblet at the steps before the Dowager.

“Care to explain yourself, grandmother?” Tristan asked coldly.

“I don’t quite know what you mean, Tristan. Though by your tone and apparent disregard for courtesy to the King, I’m sure that you’ll have no problem filling me in,” Octavia replied, her tone patient but marked with cold cynicism.

Tristan scoffed, then turned and knelt, belatedly, before the King. “Forgive the intrusion, your Majesty, but I thought it best to warn you someone attempted to poison me this morning.” Tristan raised his head and turned his enraged ember eyes back to Octavia. “But for a strange mishap, I might be dead this very moment, instead of my bodyguard, Sir Aaron, who drank the wine meant for me.”

“Is this true!” Colonel Durante demanded as he turned to Garrett, who knelt behind Tristan but dared not raise his head. “Speak up, Captain!”

“It is, my Lord. Captain Aaron died after drinking from the Crown Prince’s cup this morning.”

“Fortunately, we were able to catch the servant who delivered the poison,” Tristan continued, his gaze still glued to Octavia. “Who confessed to being under the Dowager’s orders.”

“Fascinating,” Marquess Borghese interjected with a condescending sneer. “So they confessed—just like that, did they? And where is this treasonous poisoner?”

“In the prison cells under Commander Quentin’s protection,” Tristan replied. “Quentin was also present and can testify to the servant’s confession. I have it written here with the Knight Commander’s seal.” He pulled the document from within his jacket and presented it towards the King.

After a tense, awkward moment of silence, Colonel Durante stepped forward to accept and open the document. He scanned its contents with a hardened expression then presented it to the Prime Minister. “What’s written here matches the Crown Prince’s testimony.”

The Marquess snorted and glanced towards King Henri. “It would appear his Highness is accusing your esteemed mother of trying to murder him.”

Something in the way the Marquess said Tristan’s title set off a warning in Garrett’s gut. He glanced towards his father, but Colonel Durante was discussing something quietly with Lord General Stryker.

King Henri looked agitated as he stared down at an ornamental jewel box that rested on his lap between his clenched fingers.

“Regrettably, my accusations do not stop there,” Tristan continued as he rose to his feet, again without permission. “The manner in which Sir Aaron died was also highly suspicious. He vomited black blood while his lips, fingers, and eyes turned black and blue.”

“What?” Prime Minister Attwood whispered as the courtroom fell silent.

None of them mentioned the fact that these symptoms eerily mimicked those of the strange illness that had killed Queen Rosalinda. Then again, any mention of the late King’s wives was all but forbidden—let alone the topic of their deaths.

“Have you finished?” King Henri growled as he raised his cobalt-blue eyes. “You barge your way into my throne room to accuse the Dowager of attempting to poison you, and then you accuse her of poisoning Queen Rosalinda?”

❆❆❆❆❆

Tristan focused on the King, mystified by the fierce anger that dripped from his father’s every word. ‘What has happened?’ He glanced towards Octavia and did not miss the tall tale smirk upon her lips or the smug confidence behind her ice-blue eyes. ‘Somehow, it feels like she’s one step ahead—again! But I can’t back down now. Someone has to stop this madness.’

Tristan turned to face the full wrath of King Henri’s gaze and answered firmly. “I stand by my claims and the evidence here presented before you. I would be more than happy to turn the matter over to Knight Commander Quentin for further investigation.”

The King sighed as Borghese snorted and shook his head.

“It’s a shame she did not succeed then,” Henri muttered as he tapped a jeweled finger against the box.

The blood drained from Tristan’s head as his father’s words fell like a gavel upon his chest. The anger and grief that had brought him here flickered out, and something unfamiliar and terrifying took its place. “Father?” King Henri smiled, and Tristan flinched beneath its cold malicious embrace.

“A gift arrived for you,” Henri said, his tone casual but devoid of any warmth. He raised the box in his lap and then flung it across the floor. The polished black wood engraved with two golden scorpions embedded with rubies collided with the crown prince’s boot.

Tristan stared down at the box in confusion.

“Open it, Prince Tristan,” Henri urged.

A sticky feeling of uncertainty coated the back of Tristan’s neck and hands as he knelt and picked up the box. He glanced towards the officials around the King, their expressions suddenly cold and unfamiliar, as if Tristan were some unknown outsider. Except for Durante, Tristan’s mentor and trusted confidant, who glared at the floor with tightened fists.

Tristan took a breath and straightened. Then he unhooked the latch, shaped like a scorpion’s tail, and opened the box.

A jeweled dagger lay inside. Its hilt shaped like a black flame wrapped in black leather, while the steel sheath was embedded with black diamonds and rubies that formed a decorative scorpion. It was a beautiful blade, clearly forged and crafted by one of Ventrayna’s Master Blacksmiths.

“Is this from Eleanora?” Tristan asked as he lifted the dagger. It was lighter than expected, so he wasn’t surprised when he pulled the blade free to find it made of witch-steel.

“Perhaps we should read him the letter that came with the gift?” Octavia suggested as she laid a hand gently on Henri’s shoulder.

Tristan narrowed his eyes, then sheathed and returned the dagger to the box and closed it. “What letter? And what does this have to do with the Dowager’s attempt on my life?”

“Read it, Stryker,” Henri commanded as he turned to the Lord General.

“Yes, your Majesty.” Stryker opened the parchment in his hand and read its contents aloud.

“Crown Prince Tristan,

Please accept this dagger and know that it is your birthright. You are the son of an Emperor, not the son of a King. Would that I had known the truth of your birth sooner. Would that I had treated your mother better and kept her at my side. I cannot undo the past, but I would not see you robbed of that which is rightfully yours.

I have no desire to impose my will upon you at this time. You are still young—but know that there will always be a place for you at my side.

May Kritanta’s flame bless and keep you safe.

Your true Father,

Emperor Arius Constantine.”

The Lord General folded up the letter and passed it to Prime Minister Attwood as all eyes returned to Tristan.

“General Stryker intercepted this gift from one of the Emperor’s shadow assassins,” King Henri hissed coldly. “I wonder—what other purposes those assassins had to enter Lafeara?”

Tristan’s jaw clenched as the box trembled visibly in his hands. ‘The timing is too perfect for this to not be a trap. To think a fancy dagger and forged letter could so easily persuade Father?’

“Have you anything to say, Prince Tristan?” King Henri demanded.

“It’s not true,” Tristan bellowed as he flung the box and dagger aside. “Where is this assassin? Are they still alive? Do they even exist?” He turned his gaze from Henri to Stryker. “Or is a pretty dagger and a letter all you have to accuse me? If I was truly the Emperor’s son, why would he wait until I’m almost a man to claim me? What has changed in the past decade that would suddenly convince him of this?”

Stryker blinked, and for a moment, his troubled gaze turned towards the Dowager.

“The poison you accuse me of administering to you,” Octavia interrupted smoothly. “Is not actually poison.”

“What?” Tristan snapped, both elated by her confession and baffled in the same breath.

“It is an herb called Aconitum, and you have been drinking it since you were five years old,” the Dowager continued. “As I’m sure you’ve read in your studies, Aconitum is a special herb raised by the royal family which has the power to suppress a witch’s power and even neutralize it if taken for a long period of time.”

Tristan gaped at her silently as horror, disbelief, and the invasive chill of fear spread throughout his body.

‘Why is she insisting on this nonsense? Of course, they can call me a witch since they all know my mother was one.’

“That proves nothing, Sir Aaron—”

“It is lethal to those who are not witches,” Octavia explained patiently. “But your mother clearly was one, so we could administer it to you safely. Unfortunately, there have been a few accidents along the way. Incidents like Sir Aaron, where people who did not know drank from a cup meant only for you.”

The weight of her words shattered the fog upon Tristan’s mind as realization sank in with suffocating guilt. “Queen Rosalind—”

“Drank from your glass when you were still a child.”

“But—she was ill for several days before she died—”

“As you grew older, your magic, instead of being suppressed, burned away the effects of the Aconitum, so we had to increase the dose and administer it more frequently.”

Tristan sucked in a breath as he clenched his fists. “Why—why didn’t you tell me—what if Nicholas had—”

“After Rosalind’s death, we realized more precautions needed to be taken. Sir Beaumont is aware of your identity and has always carefully monitored Prince Nicholas whenever he was around you. As I’m sure you know, part of Beaumont’s education as a knight and the prince’s bodyguard is detecting poisons, something he is especially good at.” Octavia moved gracefully down the steps towards Tristan. “As it stands, your built up resistance to Aconitum serves as proof that you are not the King’s son.”

“What?”

“Aconitum will suppress the magic of all but the most powerful of witches,” Octavia explained. “Pure-blood witches. And the only way one can be born a pure-blood witch—” she leaned in with a sympathetic smile as she brushed a drop of wine from his cheek “—is if both parents are strong coven witches.”

Tristan had no recollection of when the Dowager returned to King Henri’s side nor how he came to be kneeling on the floor. He felt only the weight of Garrett’s hand upon his shoulder as the world spun around him, accompanied by the words of the man he had once called father.

“Prince Tristan, you are hereby rightfully stripped of your title and the position of Crown Prince. You shall no longer be recognized as a prince of Lafeara. You and your mother are a disgrace to this royal family, and were Catalina still alive; I would burn her at the stake for keeping this treasonous secret from me.”

Garrett’s grip tightened, but Tristan lacked the will to move.

“I ought to burn you for killing Queen Rosalinda, but I have no wish for war with Ventrayna. So I will spare you for Nicholas’s sake.” There was a moment's pause, during which the Dowager leaned down and whispered in King Henri’s ear. “Instead, as my last decree to the Commander of the Red Wolf Army, I order you to lead your forces to Wolfthorn Forest. Subjugate the pagans who have invaded our borders. Redeem your crimes against Lafeara with a victory.

“After the battle, you will pass command of the Red Wolf Army to Colonel Durante and continue your way to Ventrayna. Your father will no doubt welcome you with open arms. Do this—and I will not banish you from Lafeara for good—nor stop you from visiting Nicholas should he wish to see you in the future.”

Silence filled the throne room and accented the ringing in Tristan’s ears.

“Refuse, and I will have General Stryker arrest you and send you to Ventrayna as a eunuch,” King Henri spat.

Tristan stared numbly at the black veins in the marble floor before him. His nails scraped across the cold surface as his fingers curled into fists. Footsteps approached, and Garrett’s hand relinquished its hold as Colonel Durante appeared beside him.

“Get up, Prince Tristan,” Durante ordered. The familiar words from Tristan’s early years of sword training shook him from his daze. He looked up into the dark-hazel eyes of his mentor but found little reassurance within them. “Don’t you quit on me now, son,” the Colonel whispered as he took Tristan’s arm and helped the disgraced prince to his feet.

Tristan turned to face King Henri's wrathful gaze, the unsettled looks of Stryker and Attwood, and the equally satisfied and triumphant smiles of Borghese and Octavia.

‘This isn’t over.’

Tristan bowed to the King of Lafeara one last time, even as the first wave of tears burned against the back of his eyes. “I hear and obey, your Majesty,” he recited through clenched teeth.

‘And I will remember.’

Without waiting for permission, he turned and marched past Durante and Garrett towards the only place that made sense. The battlefield, where his foes were clearly marked, and death and glory were decided by the strength and skill of a blade—not the poison of words.

The cold winter air stung against his burning eyes as he blinked beneath the morning sun. Tristan stumbled down the first step, and Durante, who had shadowed him silently, caught his arm and steadied him quickly.

“Breathe, son,” the Colonel reminded him firmly.

Tristan nodded mutely as he sucked in a strained breath of air. His chest felt as if a giant’s hammer had battered holes through it, his hands were visibly shaking, and the ringing in his ears would not stop.

“We should head to the armory. The other captains and General Liam will be waiting for us there,” Durante said as Garrett caught up to them, holding the box with the Emperor’s gift under his arm.

“Morning, brother, did father call for you as well!”

Tristan slowly turned his gaze from the box to Nicholas, shadowed as always by the imposing giant, Captain Beaumont. The second prince skipped up the steps two at a time, as energetic as ever. Though judging from his garments and the horses that had been left by the palace gate—

“You went outside the palace again, didn’t you,” Tristan observed.

Nicholas blushed like a schoolboy and grinned as he scratched the back of his head. “Don’t you start. It’s already bad enough that Grandmother knows and wants to meet her.” Nicholas stopped just below Tristan on the steps. His bashful smile faded as his gaze focused on his older brother’s face. “You don’t look so good. Are you ill—” his gaze shifted towards the blood and vomit on Garrett’s uniform and then snapped back to Tristan “—what happened?!”

“It’s nothing,” Tristan replied quickly. “Captain Garrett, if you would take that on ahead to the armory.”

Garrett nodded and quickly circled past Nicholas and Beaumont.

“Armory?” Nicholas repeated.

“His Majesty has ordered the Red Wolf Army to Wolfthorn Forest to deal with an invasion of pagan barbarians,” Colonel Durante explained with a polite bow. “And the matter is urgent, so we should be on our way.”

“Oh, I see.” Nicholas laughed as if reassured. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble with them, brother.” He slapped Tristan’s shoulder affectionately. “Just try not to get a scar on that pretty face. You’re getting married in a few months—”

Tristan pulled Nicholas into a sudden tight hug and all but crushed the air from his brother’s lungs as he held on for dear life.

“Oye—” Nicholas tapped Tristan’s shoulder frantically “—can’t—breathe.”

Captain Beaumont stepped closer but stopped as Tristan relaxed his grip.

“Okay,” Nicholas cringed as he rolled his shoulders. “For someone who doesn’t like hugs, that was a bit intense.” He tapped Tristan’s shoulder again. “Can you let me go now? This is getting awkward, even if you are my brother.”

“Your Highness,” Durante whispered urgently.

Stryker’s knights circled towards them on the palace steps with hands on the hilts of their swords.

‘They’re here to protect Nicholas from me,’ Tristan realized and chuckled darkly as he leaned his head against his confused brother’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Nicholas said grumpily. “Are you sure everything’s alright?”

Tristan nodded as he ruffled Nicholas’s light-auburn hair—so similar to King Henri’s—so unlike his own dark midnight-blue curls. “Yeah,” he whispered tiredly. “Everything’s fine.”

“Good, good,” Nicholas murmured, noticing the knights around them as Tristan stepped back. “Are you and the Dowager fighting again?”

Tristan studied his younger brother silently, then turned to the giant behind him. “Look after him for me, would you?”

Captain Beaumont’s violet eyes narrowed, but he gave a single nod in response.

‘As good an answer as any.’ Tristan nodded back.

“Your Highness!” General Stryker called out from behind them. Tristan and Nicholas both turned towards him, and Stryker snorted. “Prince Nicholas, his Majesty is waiting for you.”

“You’re all being so bloody mysterious,” Nicholas muttered as he turned back to Tristan. “Go kill some pagans and get back home so we can plan your bachelor party. And I don’t care what Eleanora says; there will be plenty of scantily clad tits and lots of ale.”

‘My wedding? Eleanora?’ Tristan swallowed back a cold knot of fear as Nicholas shook his head.

“Where’s my confident older brother gone, eh? You look like you’re running late to your own funeral,” Nicholas joked.

Tristan laughed as he pulled his brother in for one final embrace, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Long Live the King.”

Interlude II: Mask of the Ghoul

✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫

Interlude II: Mask of the Ghoul

The ragged, jaunting edges of Fogtooth Mountain loomed over the Red Wolf Army as they trudged their way through the narrow ravine. Tristan reined in the black warhorse as, once again, war horns signaled the scouts had lost the trail of their quarry.

“Damn those bloody pagans!” Captain Garrett swore as Colonel Durante’s forces slowed to a halt behind the second regiment, led by General Liam.

“That’s the trouble with chasing down a smaller, lighter force that’s tactically more familiar with the terrain and mountains,” Colonel Durante replied with a hint of sarcasm. He slipped two fingers between his lips and whistled. Two war hounds, one a soft gray the other doe brown, ran through the lines of Red Wolf Soldiers towards their master. “What did you hungry devils find?”

“Looks like they caught a piece of one,” Garrett observed as he dismounted and pried a bloody rag from the gray hound’s fangs. “It's smeared with some sort of mud or paint?”

“The Tharyn’s have camouflaged themselves,” Durante muttered and heaved a weary sigh. “We’ll be chasing our own tails at this rate.”

“Give it here.” Tristan held out his hand, and Garrett passed over the cloth, which the prince inspected. “It will certainly be hard to spot them now that night is approaching. It’s been bothering me for a while, but why did the pagans linger at the border? Normally raiding parties are gone by the time an army can even get this far. It’s almost like they were prepared and waiting for us.”

“Now that you mention it,” Garrett grumbled as he turned uneasy eyes to the mountains around them.

A flutter of wings drew the crossbows of nearby soldiers to the sky. Tristan followed the echo of wings and spotted, not the mountain eagles that had been harassing them all day, but a smaller, darker bird.

“Don’t shoot!” Tristan shouted. “It’s a crow, not an eagle.”

The archers lowered their weapons as Tristan pulled a thin whistle from inside his glove, blew on it, and held out his wrist. After the prince played the correct tune, the crow circled and swooped down to alight upon Tristan’s wrist.

“And who would be sending you messages way out here, your Highness?” Durante asked curiously.

“Lord Percy,” Tristan replied as he pried loose the string affixed to a note around the crow’s leg. “No doubt, he’s caught wind of current events.”

“Be wary of that one. Percy’s more tenacious than he lets on, and cunning like his father.”

Tristan shook his head and unscrolled the note.

“The Dowager has sent someone to assassinate you. Don’t drink water or wine. Trust no one.”

“Ha—” Tristan crumpled the note and flung it into the dense, dry shrubs.

“Bad news?” Garrett asked.

“Let’s not linger here,” Tristan replied as he cast the crow back into the sky and watched it climb up the ravine. “I’d rather not run the men ragged on a wild goose chase this deep inside Tharyn territory—or worse, lead them into an ambush.”

“Captain Connor!” Durante barked. The war hounds’ ears pricked up at their master’s tone. A young knight captain eyed the beasts warily as he moved his steed closer to the Colonel. “Send word to General Liam. We’ll withdraw back to Lafeara’s border and set camp.”

“Yes, Colonel!” The knight captain saluted and spun his bay mare towards the front lines.

“Captain Garrett,” Tristan added sharply. “Get our men into formation and make sure the scouts keep their eyes peeled. I don’t want to lose a single cavalry unit to so much as a gopher hole.”

“On it, Colonel.” Garrett turned his gray stallion towards the row of calvary behind them and selected three lieutenants to carry the prince’s order to the backline.

“Turning an army of this size around in the bloody mountain. What a nightmare,” Durante muttered and clucked his tongue as he encouraged his giant red warhorse to change direction.

“And General Liam was so confident that we’d catch the pagan pillagers by now,” Tristan agreed sarcastically as his gaze dropped to the canteen tied to his saddle.

‘I drank some earlier—I don’t feel any different—am I already poisoned, or is this canteen safe?’

“Where’s your head at, your Highness?” Durante barked.

Tristan snapped his attention back to the Colonel and sighed. “My heads a bit of a mess right now, Colonel. You know that.”

“Well, pull it out of the mud, your Highness,” Durante replied impatiently. “We’re not out of danger yet.” He slapped a hand across Tristan’s back and clucked his tongue as the giant red warhorse picked up its hooves and bucked against the Colonel’s restraining grip.

The muffled thunder of rapidly approaching hooves drew Tristan’s attention back to the forward regiment as Captain Connor reappeared.

“Colonel! Your Highness!” the Captain shouted as he waved an arm.

Tristan tightened his grip on the reins and eyed the back of Liam’s regiment that still had not turned around. “What is it?”

“General Liam asks leave to set camp here as it's already near dusk, and the men are tired.”

“He wants to camp here?” Durante growled with evident exasperation. “In enemy territory.”

“General Liam says he can manage on his own if your Highness wishes to withdraw with the First Regiment.”

“Splitting up is an even worse idea, what has gotten into him today,” Tristan muttered. He glanced towards Durante, who glowered at the mountains around them with the same suspicion Tristan could not shake. “I don’t like it either, but he has a point. We’ve wondered in too far, and if we take a wrong turn in the dark, we might be the worse for it.”

“Understood, Commander,” Durante replied with a heavy sigh.

“Tell the General his request is granted, but I want the number of night guards tripled from each regiment and on rotating shifts. We break camp at first light tomorrow.” Tristan waved his hand, and the Captain turned around once more to relay his orders. “Perhaps General Liam doesn’t feel the need to listen to this bastard anymore,” the prince added sourly under his breath.

Tristan felt the slap aimed at the back of his head but didn’t bother to dodge it.

“Better?” Durante growled.

“Much,” Tristan replied with a wince as he shook his head. “Let’s set up camp.”

❆❆❆❆❆

Tristan tossed restlessly for most of the night as he listened to the sounds of soldiers settling down while the night wind blew through the ravine around them. At some point, the weariness of the day’s ride pulled him into a restless dream, and he found himself in the mountains alone, surrounded on all sides by fog and angry voices.

“Bastard.”

“Liar.”

“Traitor.”

“Witch!”

The words slithered and echoed inside his skull even as Tristan stumbled through the rocky ravine, looking for Captain Garrett, Colonel Durante, and the Red Wolf Army. ‘How did I miss an entire army departing? And why would they leave me behind?’

Logic told him this was just a dream, but Tristan could not break free from the chill of loss, betrayal, and abandonment.

The obscure path before him turned upwards. Tristan's gaze drifted towards the rising moon illuminated above the canopy of fog.

“Tristan.”

His chest ached as the memory of his mother’s voice, once long forgotten, returned to him—and Tristan no longer cared if this was a dream or a nightmare. He climbed the path, sword drawn, eyes warily searching the shadowed rocks and boulders as he slipped past them.

“Tristan, come.”

The moon glowed like an ethereal giant at the mountain’s peak, and before it stood the woman in red. Her white hair floated around her shadowed face like rays of moonlight while her scarlet gown whispered above the ground she did not touch. She extended a slender pale hand towards him and beckoned. “Come, Tristan. Your queen is waiting.”

A harsh chill encircled him as he took a step forward. Tristan stared down at small pale arms wrapped around his waist and turned to find a little dark-haired girl pressed against his back. Her face was hidden beneath her dark midnight hair, but the crown of frost she wore chilled him through his armor. Tristan struggled against her hold, but her ice-like skin resisted his grasp and held firm.

“Wake up,” the frost child whispered desperately. “Tristan. Wake up, or they will kill you.”

The strange child’s warning sparked like a cold flame across his skin as Tristan turned towards the woman in red. Beneath the shadows, her welcoming smile cracked open to reveal fanged teeth as she flew down the mountain path towards them.

“Too late—”

Pain shot through his chest as Tristan’s eyes snapped open. The mountain, the moon, the frost child, and the sinister woman were gone—and in their place, a blue ghoul’s mask loomed over the prince as a dagger descended towards his chest.

Tristan flung his arms between them instinctively. The blade sliced through his left forearm and struck bone as Tristan thrust himself from the bed and kicked the intruder away.

The assassin dropped low with inhuman speed and took out Tristan’s supporting leg. The prince crashed onto his side, then rolled under the bed and atop his sword.

“Garrett!” he yelled and drew the blade free. The assassin kicked the cot aside and lunged after him. Tristan swung his sword in a narrow arch as he rolled onto his hip. The killer danced back and hesitated, seemingly perturbed, as the blue ghoul mask tilted to one side to examine him. “Connor!”

‘Where are my bodyguards?’

“Don’t bother,” the assassin cackled. “I took care of your knights before I came in. And yelling won’t help—” he held up a hand and tapped a wide bracelet embedded with moonstone gems “—this enchantment means no one will hear you, no matter how close they come to the tent.”

‘An enchantment? Mercy’s tit. But does that mean the magic will only work while we remain inside the tent?’ Tristan grit his teeth as he shifted into a defensive stance. ‘I just have to get past him and outside.’ His vision seemed cloudy, his focus unsteady, even his limbs were unusually heavy. Tristan shook his head sluggishly—and dodged as the assassin came at him with the speed of a striking viper.

He deflected the dagger again—but not the assassin’s second blade. Pain burned along his inner thigh as the blue mask dipped beneath Tristan’s backswing, and the killer rolled away, once more between Tristan and the tent door.

“She said you’d be drugged and unable to wake up,” the blue ghoul commented casually.

“She? Who? The Dowager?”

The assassin laughed. “Wouldn’t be much of a professional killer if I told you that, now would I?”

“Guess you’re not so confident about killing me,” Tristan taunted. “Otherwise, what harm could come from telling a dead man.”

The blue ghoul cackled as he raised a dagger, fresh with the blood from Tristan’s leg, and shrugged. “Maybe I’m just waiting for the poison to take effect while you and I exchange pointless banter. But I’ll tell you what, Prince, drop the sword, and I’ll give you a name right before I send you off to the underworld.”

Tristan growled. The burning in his left leg had gone numb too quickly. ‘Damn it, of course an assassin would use poison.’ The blurriness returned as the blue mask before him faded from two, to one, to three.

“A lesson for your next life, prince. Any assassin worth his weight in gold will prep his blade with poison. In the worst-case scenario, it will wear down a tough opponent or kill the one who manages to run away.”

“I’m not running anywhere,” Tristan growled as he shifted once more into a protective stance.

The assassin chuckled and beckoned with his blade. “Neither am I.”

‘I’m running out of time, and he knows it.’ Tristan calmed his expression as he surveyed the tent around them. ‘I said I wouldn’t run, but if I don’t get outside—well, I’m already a disgraced prince.’ He smiled and locked eyes with the demonic black gaze of the ghoul’s blue mask.

He lunged forward, but the assassin moved quicker. This time Tristan blocked both blades with his sword and then shoved his fist into the assassin’s face as flames ignited from his palm and spiraled towards the blue mask.

The assassin stumbled as he leapt back with a startled gasp. He recovered with admirable dexterity, but Tristan had already shoved past him through the tent flaps. A drizzle of rain greeted the prince before his injured leg skid across the slick mud and sent Tristan crashing down into the muck. He rolled with the momentum of his fall and came up on his knees. The tent flaps moved as the killer blurred through them.

“Garrett!” Tristan shouted at the top of his lungs as he struggled to rise. His left leg buckled as soon as he regained his footing, and then the assassin was upon him.

“Thought you said you wouldn’t run!” the ghoul hissed as Tristan deflected his attack.

“I lied,” Tristan snarled and swung his blade. His attack was slow—too slow. The poison coursing through him made the assassin’s movement increasingly challenging to follow. The blue mask moved like a blur, and then a sharp pain in Tristan’s wrist sent his Commander’s sword spiraling out into the darkness.

Tristan shielded his neck and chest instinctively and caught the assassin’s wrist by pure luck—but not before the savage impact of the blue ghoul’s attack knocked him back down into the slippery earth. His fingers, coated with mud and blood, slid free from the assassin’s blade, which buried itself into his shoulder.

Searing pain ripped past Tristan’s lips as the fire in his left arm shout outwards and engulfed the assassin’s face and arms. This time the blue ghoul did not retreat, though a strained growl of agonizing pain slipped past his emotionless mask.

Then a blurred volley of punches battered into Tristan’s face. His skull rang, his vision spun, and blood filled his mouth as he fought past the pain to remain conscious.

“Fuck!” Tristan roared. He kicked his right foot against the ground as he tried to shake the assassin free. His right arm, his sword arm, had gone entirely numb along with his left leg.

All too quickly, the magic burning from his left hand flickered out and died.

“Hell’s Teeth,” the assassin whispered hoarsely. “Guess you’re not much of a witch after all.” The blue ghoul yanked the blade free from Tristan’s shoulder and raised it above the prince’s throat. A cross-bolt hissed through the air and jammed into the side of the ghoul’s neck with a quiet yet triumphant thud.

“Your Highness!” Garrett’s voice crashed through Tristan’s pounding heart as the mirage of three—no, four ghouls danced before his eyes. Blood trickled down from beneath the blue mask as the assassin toppled over beside him into the mud. “Tristan!”

Garrett’s face was above him. Two knights raced past with blades drawn.

“Sound the bloody alarm!” Garrett snapped as he yanked the cape from his shoulders and pressed it hurriedly against Tristan’s shoulder. “And drag the physician from his bed!”

The blast of a war horn filled the cold dark sky as Garret tightly wrapped Tristan’s shoulder and then moved down to bandage his leg.

“What is it?” Durante shouted as he rushed towards them, still in battle armor. “Your Highness! How did this happen? Where is Connor?”

“Dead, Colonel,” a knight reported. “So is Sir Bennett.”

“Assassin,” Tristan whispered as he raised his left hand and tried to keep the figures before him from blurring into each other. “Poison—”

“Get my medical kit now!” Durante roared.

“Fuck. Fuck!” Garrett muttered desperately as he fumbled with Tristan’s leg. “I need another pair of hands!”

Faces merged into each other even as the knight’s voices grew distant. The poison clawed across Tristan’s skin and wrapped his body inside its deadly numb cocoon. In the suffocating silence that filled his ears, Tristan watched the frost child kneel beside him as the moon illuminated her dark hair and frozen crown.

Warm hands touched the side of his face. Tristan grasped the wrist blindly and held on desperately as he stared into the child’s frightening ice-blue eyes.

“Don’t you dare quit on me, your Highness.” Durante’s voice boomed through the fading specter. “Here, eat this—” something wet and mushy pressed between Tristan’s lips. “—don’t choke on it like a dog. Chew, then swallow.”

Tristan willed himself to listen and held onto Durante as he swallowed down the bitter taste.

“Here’s a bit of water,” Durante murmured encouragingly. “Slowly, your Highness.”

Tristan drank, and for a moment, the darkness receded. He could see Garrett shouting at the physician for not moving fast enough. The knights of the Red Wolf Army were pressed in around him with pale, shaken faces. Tristan rolled his head to the side and stared at the blue ghoul mask of his would-be assassin. Its demonic black eyes stared at him defiantly across the bloody mud, welcoming him to hell.

“Don’t trust anyone!”

“Wake up, or they will kill you.”

“If they can kill a prince—they can kill a Queen.”

Interlude III: The Betrayed Prince

✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫

Interlude III: The Betrayed Prince

A dark circus of shadows loomed over Tristan as the mountains tilted, and the ground swayed below. The familiar cadence of an army in movement hummed past the muted rattle of wagon wheels and the pulsing drums of pain that spread along his skull. When he was finally able to pry his dry eyes open, Tristan found himself, not in a tent, but the back of a Red Wolf supply wagon. The hilt of his Commander’s sword glistened against his chest, and he was in full battle armor—as if they had dressed him for a funeral.

The dark thought twisted Tristan’s dry, numb lips into a bitter smile. ‘Still alive—for now.’

Garret sat nearby. The knight’s back jostled against the wagon’s high panel walls, while his arms remained braced against the sword that lay across his lap. Streaks of blood shadowed the knight captain’s face. His unfocused gaze stared across the wagon into the distance, fighting sleep and exhaustion.

Tristan swallowed the cobwebs in his throat as he attempted to move his right arm, his sword arm, but it remained as lifeless and numb as his useless, bandaged left leg. ‘Damn it!’

The wagon bumped over a hole, and Garrett snapped fully awake, his blade half-yanked from its sheath before he spotted Tristan’s open eyes.

“Your Highness!” Relief flooded the knight captain’s face as he sheathed his sword and leaned over to grasped Tristan’s left arm. “How are you feeling?”

“W-water,” Tristan croaked.

“Just a moment!” Garrett fumbled with his sword as he uncorked the canteen beside him. “Slow the wagon a moment. His Highness needs to drink!”

Whispers that sounded like prayers echoed around the supply wagon as Garrett slid his arm behind Tristan’s neck and brought the open canteen closer.

“Don’t drink the water or wine.”

Tristan pushed the canteen away and vomited over the side of the cot.

“Captain Garrett, how is he?” Durante’s voice echoed above them as the Colonel’s red warhorse puffed warm air over the wagon in their direction.

“Puking his royal guts out—as you can see,” Garrett replied with restrained calm.

“Hang in there, your Highness. We’re nearly out of the mountains.”

“H-ow long—” Tristan spat out the lingering putrid taste “—was I out?”

“Not long, your Highness,” Durante answered as he gestured towards the cliffs above them. “It’s about mid-morning now. We’ve been traveling since you were attacked last night.”

Colonel Durante’s countenance was ragged and pale. Even Durante’s armor lacked its usual imposing shine beneath the drying splatter of mud and dust. But one look into his mentor’s dark-hazel eyes told Tristan that the danger was far from over.

The Colonel turned and shouted to a nearby soldier, “Tell General Liam to pick up the pace. I want to be out of these foul mountains before I see the bloody sun come over those mountains.”

“Yes, Colonel,” the soldier snapped a salute and hastened from view.

“This path—” Tristan observed the strange purple moss that crept up the side of the ravine and black shrubs around them “—is this the path we took last night?”

“General Liam’s guide could have us going in circles for all I know,” Garrett growled as he lifted the cloak from Tristan’s injured shoulder. “The bandage is soaked again. It won’t stop bleeding.”

“Physician!” Durante snapped. The army medic quickly hopped off the back of a knight’s horse and then clambered onto the back of the wagon to squeeze in beside Garrett.

“The powder should have worked by now,” the physician explained fretfully. “But his blood isn’t congealing properly at all.”

“We’ve kept him as still as possible, so what’s the problem then?” Garrett snapped.

“Poison?” Tristan muttered as the image of the blue ghoul holding a dagger wet with Tristan’s blood, flashed behind his eyes.

“A blood-thinning agent would explain this,” the physician admitted unhappily. “In which case, my experience is limited. Keep pressure on the wound and a tourniquet on the limb. We need to return to the capital as quickly as possible for a stronger counteragent. The longer we delay, the more likely his Highness could bleed out—or lose a limb.”

“Right, I’ll go see what’s going on with this guide that General Liam is following,” Durante growled and whistled for his hounds. “Your Highness, as uncomfortable as it may be, please try to keep still and rest.”

Tristan grunted and waved his good hand weakly. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

Durante and his baying hounds galloped on ahead while Garrett resumed his uneasy scowl as the medic double-checked the tourniquets and tightened the pressure on Tristan’s shoulder. Then both men sat back upon the barrels of barley grain, which served as the army’s gruel.

The view of the mountain above Tristan remained the same as the shadows stretched, lightened, and changed course as the wagon wheels jostled and bumped along the pathway that grew narrower before them. The sun threatened to defy Durante’s wrath as it climbed steadily overhead, and Tristan knew without asking that they were lost.

As if to confirm his darkening thoughts, the wagon rolled to a halt as hooves of horses rapidly approached.

“Your Highness!” General Liam’s voice called out.

Tristan gestured to Garrett, who reluctantly helped the prince sit up upon the cot. Liam quickly bowed his head as Durante pulled up beside him.

“Forgive the delay, your Highness. My guide got turned around in the early hours, but we are back on the correct path now,” Liam explained hastily.

“Or so your guide claims,” Durante growled.

Liam shot the Colonel an exasperated look but quickly masked his annoyance. “Unfortunately, the path we were on to return to our original route has been blocked off—”

“Of course, it is!”

“—which leads us to a choice I wished to run past your Highness.”

“Right, now he wants to run decisions past his Commander,” Durante growled.

“Which would be?” Tristan asked impatiently. As much as he shared the Colonel’s anger, his pounding head could not deal with the clamor of their bickering.

Liam shifted in his saddle. “We can turn around and go through the mountains to our original path—”

“Veles breath! And spend another day in Tharyn territory?” Durante roared.

“—or we can take an alternate path up ahead that will bring us to Deadwood Forest,” Liam finished tensely as his face flickered between resignation and anger.

“Deadwood Forest will take us into Ventrayna territory,” Tristan replied with restrained anger. The very thought of entering Ventrayna before his mission to defeat the Tharyn invaders had been completed— “Is that the only path ahead that will take us out of Fogtooth Mountain?”

“Exactly so.” Liam pulled a map from his saddle, dismounted, and spread it over a box of dried meat beside Tristan. “The path we will need to take is here. We enter Deadwood at this junction then take a detour south-east to this ridge, at which point we would be safely inside Lafearian mountains and close to one of our border fortresses.”

“And you expect the Emperor’s border guards to let us waltz through?” Durante snapped.

“Why wouldn’t they?” Liam countered bluntly. “Since Tristan is the Emperor’s son and still engaged to Princess Eleanora.”

Tristan narrowed his eyes as suspicion coiled in his gut. On the surface, it might look like Liam was just trying to lead the army through the safest route back to Lafeara, but to travel half the night and morning just to coincidentally end up lost with only one safe path that would deliver Tristan to Ventrayna?

‘Am I overthinking it? Liam has been with the Red Wolf Army almost as long as I have been its Commander.’

“It is the safest route,” Garrett interjected. “And should we encounter the Emperor’s men, we can request medical aid as well, your Highness.”

“As loath as I am to admit it,” the physician added. “Witches are very proficient in poisons and antidotes. I’ve no doubt they are the prince’s best chance at saving his limbs.”

‘Well, with that enlightening vote of approval.’ Tristan glanced down at his limp sword arm. “How long would it take us to backtrack, find the original path, and returned to Wolfthorn Forest?”

“A day, possibly longer,” Liam answered grimly.

“At which point your Highnesses arm and leg will be lost and require amputation—and your life very well in danger,” the physician commented.

Tristan refrained from glaring at the unhelpful medic. He had expected as much. “And the path to Deadwood Forest?”

“We should reach it within a couple hours, your Highness.”

‘Guess that’s the better option, no matter how little I like it.’ Tristan sighed. “Colonel Durante, thoughts?”

“Given your Highness’s condition—Deadwood Pass is likely the safest path forward,” Durante relented unhappily. “But if that guide gets us lost one more time, I’ll put his head on a pike and watch the eagles pluck his eyes out.”

“I’m sure that will provide him with ample motivation,” Liam replied tersely as he rolled up the map, bowed to Tristan, and returned to his horse. “I’ll get us moving again. The pace might be a bit rough, so let me know if we need to slow down for his Highness.”

Tristan watched the General ride off and glared at the mountains as Garrett helped him settle back down against the bloody blanket of the cot. ‘If I die in these mountains, King Henri and the Dowager will be pleased.’ The helpless rage that welled within his chest barely sparked his magic before it withered out in cold acceptance.

Just as General Liam predicted, the increased pace brought with it heightened discomfort and pain as the prince swayed and bounced in his cot. Tristan bore it all with clenched teeth. His crippled limbs might be useless, but the wounds inflicted by the assassin’s dagger roared to life with each abrupt jostle.

Beside him, Garrett winced and scowled at every bump, intermittently checking Tristan’s injuries and muttering to himself. As if the agonizing pain alone wasn’t enough, the swaying motion of the wagon soon had Tristan heaving into a bucket Garrett had ready for him this time.

“Oh, nearly forgot, saved this for you,” the knight commented as Tristan rinsed his mouth with water and spit. Garrett fumbled with a leather satchel and pulled out the ominous blue ghoul mask. “Something to hang on your wall in Ventrayna.”

Tristan laughed dryly as he stared at the mask and then held out his hand. Garrett handed over the grim memento and set about dealing with the puke bucket.

The demonic mask had high arched brows, dark fiendish eyes, a sloped flaring nose, and a fanged mouth. Tristan flicked his finger against the painted blue metal. “Witch Steel,” he muttered.

‘The Dowager must have planned pretty far in advance if she got ahold of an assassin from Ventrayna. Perhaps she even found someone to act as a member of the Emperor’s shadow guards to frame me with that dagger and letter?’

Dark conspiracies filled his head as Tristan passed the mask back to Garrett. “I appreciate the thought, Captain,” Tristan said as he reached beneath his chain mail and bloody tunic. “Now, I’d like to ask a favor of you.”

“Oye.” Garrett narrowed his eyes at the scorpion medallion that Tristan pulled free and unclasped from his neck. “I don’t think—”

“If the worst should happen, I want you to return this to Eleanora,” Tristan interrupted firmly. “Tell her what’s happened, all of it. Tell her to stay away from Lafeara at all costs.” He held the necklace between them and glared at the knight captain until his friend relented and accepted the token. “And tell her—that I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise.”

“This goes against every superstition I’ve ever known,” Garrett growled. “Just so you know, if the worst should happen, I’ll be dying before your royal ass.”

Tristan laughed and gripped the side of the cot as he spat blood and bile into the bucket. “Don’t be too sure.”

Garrett clasped the necklace around his neck and held up the golden scorpion with his thumb. “I think it looks good on me.”

“Bastard.”

“Actually—” Garrett’s eyes narrowed as his gaze rose up the side of the mountain “—what in Veles’ breath is this!”

Tristan followed the knight captain’s frantic gaze. Fog rolled down the mountainside towards them with unnatural speed.

“Light torches!” Garrett shouted as the pace of the army noticeably slowed. “On your guard, men!” The frantic movements of soldiers about the wagon soon produced a line of torches that glowed eerily as the ominous fog descended with silent ferocity and swirled ominously around them.

“This is a new trick,” muttered the wagon driver uneasily.

A horse screamed, and one of Durante’s hounds bellowed savagely. Tristan and Garret recognized the sound and what it signified just as the warning horn boomed through the dense clouds of mist.

“We’re under attack! Get ready!” Garrett roared.

The rumble of an army echoed through the shadows before and behind them. The savage whoops and screams of pagans bounced off the mountain walls as Tristan dragged himself upright and pulled his sword from its sheath.

Garrett took his shoulder gently and shook his head. “Knights, defensive shield formation!” Five knights climbed into the wagon to erect a protective barrier of shields around Tristan, and Garrett, who crammed in close beside him. The sounds of two armies engaging reverberated around them.

“Are they in front or behind us?” Tristan hissed.

Garrett shifted and slid his head and shoulders through the knight’s shields. A few moments later, he returned and shook his head. “We’re surrounded, and the Calvary is no good in these cramped mountain paths.”

“How close are we to Deadwood Pass?”

Garrett shrugged helplessly, then growled as he seized the knight to his right. “Lieutenant Cantu, I’m leaving his Highness with you. Make sure he stays in the wagon, alive and in one piece, or I’ll feed your entrails to the hounds.”

“Yes, Captain!” Cantu replied promptly.

Garrett turned back to Tristan. “Stay put, your Highness. I’ve got a plan. I’ll be back soon.”

“Be careful!” Tristan shouted after him and clenched his sword’s hilt tightly.

‘Damn that assassin. My crippled bastard hide is going to get us all killed.’

The clanging sounds of metal bleed into the shouts and screams of war that rose into a blood-thirsty crescendo as the battle raged on. Tristan waited patiently in his tiny protective bubble, inwardly torn between guilt and frustration as he counted the minutes to Garrett’s return.

“Your Highness!” Durante's commanding voice preceded the snarl of hounds. Tristan propped himself up unsteadily, using his sword as a cane, and pushed against the shield before him.

“Please, your Highness, stay put,” Cantu pleaded as he held his shield firm. “I’d rather not be eaten by dogs.”

Tristan cursed, but his quivering leg forced him to return to the cot. A few tense moments later and Cantu, who kept watch between the barrier's tight space, suddenly lowered his shield.

“Highness,” Durante panted as he gripped the side of the wagon. “We need to get you out of here.”

“What’s going on?” Tristan demanded. “How many pagans are there?”

“Three of Tharyn’s princes are here, earth witches all of them and nearly five thousand pagans between them,” the Colonel answered grimly.

Tristan’s breath caught in his throat as he quickly calculated their rapidly depleting odds of survival.

“But we’re close enough to Deadwood Path that a small squadron should be able to push through with our calvary. If we delay any further, we’ll lose this chance.” Durante turned to the knights around him. “Get his Highness onto his horse!”

“Where is Garrett?” Tristan demanded as Cantu hopped down from the carriage. The other knights lowered their shields and lifted Tristan to where Cantu pulled the prince’s black warhorse beside the wagon. Tristan grit his teeth as they eased him into the back of the horse. The moment his weight settled into the saddle, he felt the wound along his inner thigh reopen again.

“Garrett is waiting with the calvary. I’ll take you there, your Highness,” Durante explained as he eased Tristan’s left foot into the stirrup and tied a lead to the black stallion’s harness. “Hold onto the reins, and don’t let go. If you can’t stay in the saddle, Garrett can carry you behind him, but don’t stop for any other reason.”

“Why does it sound like you’re not coming with us, Colonel?”

Durante did not answer as he hoisted himself atop the red warhorses and pulled Tristan along beside him.

The chaos Tristan had heard from inside the wagon was even closer than he realized. Only three-hundred paces away, the pagans were battering their way mercilessly through the Red Wolf Army’s front ranks.

The overwhelming number of enemies was not the only danger his men faced. A suspicious rumble from the mountain above proceeded a rockslide of small boulders and stone that struck the sides of the Red Wolf Army with little warning.

‘The work of the pagan princes.’ Tristan squinted his eyes over the clouds of dust and men to see two banners ahead of him. ‘The third prince must be behind us, but how did they find us? How did they know to intercept us here? Was the guide leading us into an ambush this whole time?’

A jumble of thirty men on horses skittered away from another rockslide. Garrett was amongst them, shouting out encouragement as he kept the men together.

Durante eased back his warhorse and grabbed Tristan’s left hand. “We'll meet again, your Highness, after I’ve smashed enough pagan skulls to block the path behind you,” the Colonel said as he wrapped the reins tightly around Tristan’s wrist. Garrett joined them and took the lead from his father. “You keep him alive now,” Durante ordered as he narrowed his gaze on his son.

“Keep yourself alive, old man,” Garrett grumbled. “I’ll send back help as quickly as I can.”

“His Highness’s wellbeing comes first,” Durante barked as he turned his red warhorse back towards the chaos. “And these pagans will regret underestimating the Red Wolf Army.” The Colonel lifted the ram horn slung about his shoulder and blew out a signal to advance.

A reserve of Red Wolf Soldiers lowered their spears and braced their shields as they rushed steadily through the ranks that opened ahead. The pagans swept through, still screaming in their foreign tongues even as the Red Wolf Spears pierced through them as their shield swept together like a tide of merging bulls and rammed back against the unbalanced stream of pagans.

The battle continued with renewed desperation as the Red Wolf spear unit pushed the pagans back. The retreating Red Wolf soldiers reformed behind the spears with swords raised high while the archers at their back launched a series of volleys into the fray before them. Colonel Durante led the remaining hundred and seventy cavalrymen, still blowing the notes of war as the pagans lost their momentum and fumbled to regroup.

Garrett whistled sharply, and the calvary unit selected to protect Tristan lunged into the break, towards the suddenly visible narrow pass that led to Deadwood forest.

It was only then that Tristan realized General Liam and his regiment were nowhere in sight. His spine went rigid as his limbs went cold, and blood rushed to his ears. Only Colonel Durante’s regiment of six hundred men remained to face the pagan’s five thousand. Tristan exhaled sharply and clenched his teeth together so hard that his mouth filled with the taste of blood and betrayal.

Interlude Part IV: Goddess of Destruction

✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫✫

Interlude Part IV: Goddess of Destruction

Tristan coughed towards his chest as the cloud of dust and dirt from the swarm of calvary men and horses around him filled his burning lungs. The scarf meant to protect his airways had fallen free during their breakneck pace through the narrow pass. Tristan could do nothing about the scarf. His only useful hand was wrapped tightly around the reins as he fought to keep himself in the saddle with one good leg.

And to think King Henri had once praised him for his warrior’s prowess on horseback. ‘Can’t hold a sword. Can barely stay in the saddle. I might not even walk again if I lose my leg.’

A growl of fear and anger tightened against the back of Tristan’s throat, then choked as the horse vaulted a fallen boulder, and Tristan nearly went over the stallion’s head. His chest landed against the warhorse’s neck, while his left hand and the reins awkwardly remained twisted and trapped beneath his gut. The stallion’s muscles tensed as its footing faltered, and Tristan’s gaze came closer to the pounding hooves beneath him.

A hand grabbed a fist full of the prince’s armor then hoisted him back into the saddle. Garrett eased his horse a safe distance away, the tether still tied between them as Tristan scrambled to secure his position.

The stallion tossed its head as it tried to follow the confusing signals of its rider. Tristan managed to get his right foot back into the stirrup while Garrett paced beside them and soothed the confused animal. A moment later, with his sore left wrist readjusted around the reigns, Tristan leaned closer to the stallion’s neck—and recovered from his latest brush with death.

Bright flashes of light danced before Tristan’s eyes as he tried to focus through the blur of knights, horses, hooves, and dirt; and the never-ending ravine path. When he wasn’t choking from the constant inhalation of dust, he struggled to breathe at all. His armor seemed to have tightened around his chest, and even his helmet felt like a death trap intent on crushing his throbbing skull.

Tristan gritted his teeth and glanced towards his left leg, which dangled uselessly beside the stirrup, the saddle beneath it coated in dust and blood.

Liam’s betrayal clouded his head along with the image of the blue ghoul’s mask. No matter how Tristan arranged the facts and events of the last two days, they all led to the same conclusion. King Henri and the Dowager had sent him on this expedition to die.

“Rockslide!” The knights shouted ahead of them.

“Don’t stop, or they’ll pin us in!” Garrett roared back.

The heart-sinking rumble of death descended towards them with a billowing cloud that obscured the path ahead moments before the boulders crashed and flooded the pathway behind them. The black stallion flicked its ears back and forth but maintained its gallop with the steel nerves of a beast that had faced the destruction of war many times before and become numb to it.

Tristan pressed himself closer to the stallion’s neck as he glanced back and willed his men to move faster. The calvary's desperate movement was muffled by the monstrous pounding of massive rocks that collided at their heels—and then the back row of knights vanished as a giant boulder devoured them.

Garrett took one look back and cut the lead to Tristan’s stallion before smacking the beat’s flank with the flat of his blade. With an indignant cry, the warhorse surged past Garrett then jostled its way through the knights ahead with the speed and ferocity its bloodline had been bred to produce. Tristan held onto the beast desperately as the adrenaline of terror exploded in his chest, roared against his ears, and twisted his stomach in helpless panic.

Clouds of darkness rained cold dust upon Tristan’s neck and pelted against his armor as death closed in. He thought he glimpsed Garrett somewhere in the roaring storm of earth to his left just as the path before them narrowed—and ended in a solid mountain wall.

Tristan barely turned the stallion’s head before Garrett’s warhorse collided with them. The mountains tipped sideways as their horses toppled and fell. Then Tristan's face and shoulder impacted with the ground below.

The muted screams of man and beast mingled with the desperate thrashing of hooves. Boulders crushed and shattered the trapped calvary as a cloud of earth and dust billowed over the ravine.

Tristan spit up blood and choked on earth as he rolled to his left and tried to rise. A shield loomed overhead as Garrett grabbed him and hoisted the prince to his feet. The thrashing black stallion screamed in agony before another boulder obscured it from view and silenced its pain. Tristan tore his eyes away as he focused on Garrett, struggled to keep his right leg useful, and tried to shake the disorienting ringing from his ears.

Then a boulder bounced towards them, crashed against Garrett’s shield, and they were flung apart like grass dolls.

This time Tristan’s helmet and ribs took the blow. His lungs protested the abuse as he rolled onto his side beneath yet another cloud of dust. The ringing in his ears overwhelmed all other senses as Tristan’s gaze seemed to float above the rock and soil beneath hands he knew were his—yet could not feel.

‘Shelter. I have to find shelter.’

He crawled towards a large boulder only a few feet away. Dirt and dust filled his mouth, nose, and ears as he dragged in one painful breath after another and felt his ribs shift unnaturally.

Like an injured animal, he curled beneath the crevice of the boulder, helpless and afraid as the giant rocks continued to descend, their massive size and brutality unnervingly muted as Tristan waited for the double vision and ringing in his head to stop.

Garrett was gone. The few knights and horses he could see disappeared within the span of two blinks. Boulders filled in the gaps—and then the sun vanished as soil and pebbles poured in around him. Tristan pressed a hand against his mouth and nose and smothered a scream as the mountain buried him alive.

A heartbeat, his own, flickered and faded beneath the river of earth pressed in around him. Tristan held his breath and carefully turned until the grating of dirt against his hand and closed eyelids faded. With slow, shallow breaths that tasted of clay, Tristan stretched out his hand until his fingers found the brittle surface of the boulder. He wiggled closer then rested his helmet against it before he cautiously opened his eyes.

A tomb of earth and stone awaited him. The loosened soil assured that the slightest careless disturbance would extinguish his small reprieve of limited air.

Tristan’s lungs tightened with panic as fear raced through his body in small tremors. “If they can kill a prince, they can kill a Queen.” He choked down another scream as helpless fury filled his gut and chased away the cold sweat of fear.

They would tell Nicholas the Tharynians had killed him. They would feed Eleanora the same lie. And if Durante and the rest of the Red Wolf Army perished, then there would be no one left to thwart their claims.

“Trust no one.”

Angry tears burned through the soil caked against his cheeks, slid across his lips, and pooled against his clenched teeth. The salty-earth taste chased away any momentary thought of revenge.

He was going to die here, alone and powerless—another forgotten victim of Lafeara’s corruption and power struggle.

“Do not yield to death so easily, Tristan. How could the son of the Phoenix and Scorpion perish to a bit of earth?”

His helmet scraped against the boulder as Tristan turned and blinked into the darkness.

“So this is what it feels like to be mortal?” the disturbing yet feminine voice whispered. “A bug trapped under a rock, waiting to die slowly—or is it praying to die quickly?”

Rage burned through him, yet fear held his tongue in check. ‘Where is this voice coming from? They sound close by. Did one of the Tharyn witches get buried with me?’

“Who are you?” Tristan rasped.

Deep laughter echoed through the darkness around him, and the boulders trembled in its wake. No, not just the boulders, the mountain, and earth below him shook, yet not a grain of soil moved.

“I am Death. I am Destruction. I am the Slayer of Gods and the Ravager of Kingdoms. I am the Goddess of Ice and Fire.”

The rock against his ribs and the soil around his chest grew warm as sweat slid from beneath the helmet down Tristan’s brow. He struggled for a moment or two to form the name—that of the most feared immortal among all the forgotten gods. “Kritanta?”

The name ignited the magic within his chest as Tristan’s courage shattered, and painful tears spilled down his cheeks unchecked as he fought to breathe. The soil around him shimmered into brittle shale, then turned to dust as the boulder beside him rippled with heat.

“Do you want to live, Tristan, son of Arius, Emperor of Witches?”

Sparks filled the darkness and only burned brighter when Tristan shut his eyes. “Yes.” Another stab of pain, this time in his gut, made him curl up in agony. “But—more than that—I want—I need—”

“Revenge?”

His left leg spasmed so painfully that a scream slid past his lips. “Yes!”

“Swear your body, soul, and heart to me, Tristan, and I shall give you more power than even Arius can lay claim too. With it, you shall enslave your enemies and kill all who dare to offend you. I shall give you such power that the world will kneel at your feet and beg to name you their king—but I have one request you must fulfill in return.”

The fingers of Tristan’s right arm twitched as feeling returned to his injured limb and his shoulder burned. Tristan focused on her words as his lungs filled with thermal air mixed with pure magic. “What—Request?”

“Find what was stolen from me. Return my frozen heart.”

Tristan blinked in confusion but nodded readily. The weakened magic within him snapped beneath the weight of her invading fire. He could feel his consciousness fading as his body burned with magic so potent, his left-hand glowed against the boulder in the darkness beside him.

“You must swear it, Prince Tristan.”

Tristan clenched his fist and opened his lips to answer, but his voice remained locked inside his dry throat. He was drowning in her magic. He could feel neither the ground below nor the boulder that stood before him a moment ago. There was only darkness and the burning magic that consumed him from within.

Cold hands touched his face and turned his gaze. Kritanta knelt above him. Her face a withered, dry corpse with peeled, cracked skin. Her soulless black eyes blazed and flickered with a pure white flame. Frost tinged her ashen hair and faded brows, while her cracked purple lips spread into a smile before they descended towards his own.

She breathed into him and Tristan’s mouth filled with the bitter, rancid taste of rotten flesh and brimstone.

“Swear your loyalty to me, Prince Tristan, and I will make you a dragon.” Bile filled the back of Tristan’s throat as the Goddess stroked his cheek. There is nothing of tenderness in her gaze as she assessed his burning body. “Speak my name, and the pact is sealed.”

“To speak the name of the Goddess of Death is to invite calamity and destruction.”

Tristan could not recall where he had heard those words. Eleanora had told him stories of Kritanta, the Goddess of Fire that the Emperor and all of Ventrayna served. But even those stories paled in the presence of the Goddess herself, who knelt before Tristan with an offer he dare not refuse.

“Kritanta.”

Her dry lips drew back into a death-like smile of sharp black fangs. Ebony nails and boney, dry fingers slid across his chest plate. His armor and the garments beneath burned and evaporated into smoke that left his mortal heart exposed. “Mors est in porta,” she whispered, and then her nails ripped through his flesh and bone.

When Tristan watched Iker, the Master Blacksmith, work the forge, he had witnessed the power of magic to mold and shape metal into elite weapons of destruction.

Now his body and soul were at the mercy of Kritanta’s hands, and she burned away his impurities with the callous gaze of a Master who would accept nothing less than perfection.

The power that rippled through him, merged with him, and stretched the very fabric of his soul could only be described as magic—and yet it was so much more.

Life and death pulsed with each breath, heartbeat, and flicker of his eyes. Tristan had never been more afraid of magic—or himself—than in that moment.

When the darkness receded and sensation returned to his body once more, Tristan found himself in the Goddess’s arms on the highest peak of Fogtooth Mountain. Nightfall had claimed the horizon around them, though the stars remained hidden behind the ominous clouds above.

“I have purged poison, both new and old, from your body,” Kritanta said as she studied his naked figure critically. “Your mortal shell has been refined into a vessel strong enough to wield the powers I have granted you, but you are still far from indestructible.” She set him down, and Tristan stumbled on his feet for a moment like a newborn infant. “You must make use of this new power now. Bend this magic to your will, Tristan, or it will break you.”

Her bony finger pointed towards the eastern section of Wolfthorn Forest as her dry lips tugged into a malicious smile. “Behold, the three princes that buried and left you for dead now march on your beloved Lafeara.”

Tristan followed her gesture and spotted the three formations of pagan armies trudging at a steady pace towards Wolf-shield Fortress that guarded Lafeara’s western border.

“And there slithers the general that betrayed you, on his way back to Lafeara with his tail between his legs,” she added and shifted her finger south.

General Liam’s army scurried north while keeping a wide birth of the Tharyn princes. Even from a distance, Tristan could see their numbers had dwindled significantly, yet the Tharyn army made no move to pursue them, though it would have been a simple matter to change course and crush the remnants of the Red Wolf Army.

‘Then, Durante—is he?’

Heat ignited in Tristan’s hands. Twin flame dragons curled up his wrists and hissed against his skin, eager yet patient, as they waited for the massacre to come.

Kritanta moved behind Tristan and whispered against his ear, “Which shall you spare?”

Tristan’s jaw clenched as his burning gaze moved between the Tharyn forces of three thousand men to the north and the barely four hundred Lafearian soldiers before him. “Neither.”

The Goddess of Destruction chuckled. Her breath ruffled the curls of his midnight-blue hair while her left arm slid around his waist. “You will make a worthy consort.” She slid her ebony nails along his right arm and raised it towards the horizon. Tristan followed her movements towards the dark clouds above Wolfthorn Forest, which flickered ominously with an orange-red hue. “Now, let me give you a taste of dragon magic.”

The crown of the forest swayed beneath the glow of a hellish dawn. The Tharyn and Lafeara armies paused, their unease as tangible as the sulfuric taste of destruction that coated the breeze just before clouds erupted and shattered the earth below in a deluge of hellfire.

The mountain trembled at Tristan’s feet as forest and armies vanished in an instant. The projectiles of heavenly brimstone descended and exploded in an endless volley of fury until all that remained of the western territories of Lafeara was a lake of burning souls, a reborn pure-blood fire witch, and the Goddess of Death and Destruction, Kritanta.

❆❆❆❆❆

Eleanora followed the palace steward with her parents, Lord Alastair and Lady Isabella, close behind her. They moved in absolute silence through the sand and marble sculpted halls of the Scorpion Palace. Eleanora shivered as the open windows permitted just enough of the cold morning breeze outside to send goosebumps up and down her arms.

The steward led them to a side chamber, which he unlocked and opened. “If the Lord and Ladies would please wait here until you are summoned.”

Eleanora fidgeted with the hem of her transparent veil as she entered. She examined the familiar, private space that connected to the throne room through another door in the back corner. She headed towards the door promptly and tested the handle. “It’s locked,” she muttered tensely.

“You must be patient, Eleanora,” Lady Isabella hushed as she took her daughter’s arm, adjusted Eleanora’s veil, and then pulled her towards a long comfortable sofa set before a glass bowl of exotic fish.

“I would feel less impatient if I knew why the Emperor had summoned us so suddenly,” Eleanora grumbled as she grabbed the nearest pillow and hugged it against her lap. She picked the golden flecks from its woven cover absently as she focused on Lord Alastair. “You heard it too, Father. The palace servants were gossiping about an attack at our border near Deadwood forest. What if Ventrayna goes to war with Lafeara?”

Isabella glanced towards her husband, who waited silently by the door. His fingers fidgeted with his empty sword belt as he sighed.

“If there was an attack, it more than likely had something to do with the Tharyn,” Isabella said reasonably. “Or some manner of trickery from the Pope.”

“Father.” Eleanora turned her pleading gaze towards the silent Lord, who had once been a prominent member of Lafeara nobility and government before he married Lady Isabella. “Can you hear nothing?”

Lord Alastair turned towards his wife and daughter and shifted his brows uncertainly.

“No!” Isabella interjected. “Until we know what has happened, we mustn’t do anything to anger the Emperor!”

“Father, please!”

Alastair drew his lips into a thin line as his topaz-blue eyes examined the door at the end of the room. He silently mouthed an incantation, and the women fell silent as his invisible magic slipped past them through the cracks into the throne room.

“Alastair!” Isabella hissed urgently.

Alastair's steady gaze remained focused on the door. Shock and anger flashed across his face before he blinked and turned to Eleanora. “Tristan is dead.”

Eleanora’s fingers dug into the pillow on her lap as Isabella gasped.

“The Tharyn princes ambushed him at Deadwood Pass,” Alastair explained solemnly.

Isabella turned towards her frozen daughter and grasped Eleanora’s hands with tender concern. “Elly.”

Eleanora’s amber eyes filtered around the room as her shoulder and jaw slackened, and her trembling lips trailed out a single response. “Dead?”

Alastair quickly moved beside his shocked daughter and wrapped an arm around her gently. “I’m sorry, Elly.”

“You shouldn’t have told her—they will know you listened in just by looking at her,” Isabella hissed angrily.

“No—it’s—better that I compose myself—before meeting the Emperor,” Eleanora whispered numbly. Her veil trembled as she fought to control her anguished breathing.

A knock proceeded the turning of a lock, and Ambassador Haemish entered through the side courtroom door. His sharp gaze swept over their huddled position around Eleanora, and he sighed. “Really, Lord Alastair.”

Haemish turned, shut the door, and then moved towards the sofa, his gaze focused on his niece. “I can see you already know. I am sorry for the upsetting news, Eleanora. The border troops managed to dig out one survivor who had a final message for you from—Prince Tristan.” He knelt, took her hand, and placed the gold scorpion medallion against her palm.

“A—message?” Eleanora rasped.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise,” Haemish relayed and then patted her knee awkwardly before he straightened.

“Who—was the messenger?”

“A knight captain of the Red Wolf Army, one of its sole survivors by the looks of it.”

“Who?” Eleanora repeated sharply.

“Elly,” Isabella hushed.

“It’s alright,” Haemish murmured as he hooked a thumb through the silk belt of his official robes. “Captain Garrett Durante, son of the Wolfhound Colonel, who also perished while protecting the prince’s escape.”

“Where is he?” Eleanora asked as she rose from her seat, the pillow falling unnoticed at her feet.

“Elly, you should take a moment,” Alastair urged as he moved between her and the Ambassador.

“Your father is right,” Haemish agreed quickly. “At present, Captain Garrett is barely conscious and being seen to by the royal physicians. He has suffered extensive injuries—there is no guarantee he will survive to see tomorrow. The Emperor has given him a room in the palace as a sign of respect to his father.”

“Very well.” Eleanora looked down at the necklace and scraped her nail against the blood and dirt that lined the scorpion’s body. Disbelief and grief battled within her chest as she struggled to maintain her composure and clenched her fist tightly around the engagement gift she had presented Tristan. “I will visit the captain later. If you’ll excuse me—”

“Actually.” Haemish held up an arm quickly to block her path. “There is one other matter I’ve been instructed to inform you of, Princess Eleanora.”

Eleanora tensed at the mention of her title and turned wary amber eyes towards him. “What does the Emperor require of me now, uncle?”

“Nothing really,” Haemish replied as his usually bored expression twisted with the hint of a smile. “Except to inform you that your marriage to Lafeara’s future king still stands.”

Eleanora heard her mother’s gasp as her father brushed past her and slammed Haemish up against the wall.

“What game are you playing at?” Alastair snarled. “Her fiancé just died. Eleanora was engaged to Tristan, not Nicholas!”

“On paper, she is engaged to the next king of Lafeara, which is now Prince Nicholas,” Haemish replied with a grimace. “Now, let me go, or I will alert the shadow guards.”

“Alastair,” Isabella pleaded.

“I won’t do it,” Eleanora breathed out. The scorpion’s tail bit into her palm as her trembling grip tightened. “I won’t—I can’t marry Tristan’s brother.”

Alastair grunted and slowly lowered the Ambassador to his feet. “And there you have it. Eleanora will not marry Nicholas.”

Haemish shook off the noble’s grasp and smoothed out his garment. Then he turned his steady cold gaze towards Eleanora, shook his head, and gave her a pitiless smile.

“You don’t have a choice, Princess. This is the Emperor’s command.”

Special Interlude V: The Crow and the Earl

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Special Interlude V: The Crow and the Earl

“Tristan is dead,” Constance announced as she entered the study.

Percy continued to stare at the painting before him, a portrait of his father, Earl Ethan Hawthorne, staring heroically into the distance with a crow upon his shoulder and the earl’s signet ring upon his right hand.

“Percy, did you hear me,” Constance continued impatiently.

“I heard you, Mother,” he replied neutrally, eyes focused upon his father’s missing signet ring. “I simply don’t understand why you feel you needed to inform me.” He turned slowly to face her with a cynical smile. “It’s not as if you allowed me any friends.”

“Percy,” Constance sighed as she approached him and took his hand. “You will be free to do as you wish in two years when you are twenty. I understand you are feeling frustrated, but you don’t have to remain in the Manor all day. You have the garden to walk in and the grounds to ride your horse.”

She smiled brightly, but it did not hide the concern behind her eyes.

“How did the Crown Prince die?” Percy asked casually.

Constance’s face tensed as she withdrew her hand from his cheek. “I thought you didn’t care about that?”

“Now that you have told me, I’ve grown curious,” Percy replied as he turned his gaze back to the portrait. “After all, the poor Crown Prince was surrounded by death growing up. First his mother, Queen Catalina, then my father, and then Queen Rosalinda—”

“The prince had an unfortunate fate, that is all,” Constance interrupted briskly.

“That isn’t right, Mother,” Percy replied as he turned his winter-grey eyes—eyes that he had inherited from his father—towards her once more.

“Sorry?” Constance blinked and frowned.

“A Crown Prince is still a Crown Prince, even in death,” Percy reminded her patiently. “Nicholas will inherit the title, of course, but that does not remove it from his dead brother.”

“Oh—of course.” Constance cleared her throat as her gaze drifted to the portrait and away. “In either case, there will be a brief mourning period, but that need not concern you.”

“There won’t be a funeral?” Percy asked with sharp curiosity.

“No,” Constance answered with a hint of frustration. “They were unable to recover his body, so King Henry decided against a funeral. Just a public mourning period of two days—”

“Only two?” Percy laughed. “One would think the King had grown to despise his favorite son.”

“Perhaps he had cause to do so,” Constance replied with a hint of impatience as she turned towards the office door. “I have other matters to attend to.” She paused in the doorway to look back at him. “Do go outside Percy, you are looking paler than usual. Some sunlight will do you good.”

“As you wish, Mother,” Percy bowed politely and raised his head when she had gone.

He stared for a moment at nothing in particular, then opened his hand to reveal the crumpled note he had read just before his mother entered the room.

A pureblood fire witch decimated Wolfthorn Forest, most likely the Emperor. No sign of Prince Tristan. All of the Red Wolf Army have fallen.

‘Have you finally left me too, old friend?’

Percy sighed and lifted his gaze to the crow perched upon the lantern which hung from the ceiling. He held up his hand and whistled softly. The blackbird hopped down to land upon his finger and fluttered its wings as Percy moved towards the partially cracked window.

He raised the window frame and released the bird to return to the Coven of Crows, who would continue to watch the border to see if the Emperor made any further movement.

“King Henri is a fool,” Percy hissed and shut the window. “The Dowager no doubt pushed him to this decision—but how blind does a man have to be to overlook the danger he may have placed us all in.”

He grabbed his jacket from the desk chair, descended the stairs two at a time, and swept past Russell, who waited below with a raincoat and hat. “No need,” Percy replied tersely. “I’ll just be in the garden.”

The crunch of pebbles below and the scent of approaching autumn filled Percy’s senses as he crossed his hands behind his back and walked in a composed manner towards the garden. He knew without looking back that his mother’s servants were watching him from the windows above.

‘She didn’t bring up my investigation into Father’s murder. No doubt she thinks Tristan’s death will discourage me from looking further.’ He let out an abrupt laugh as he turned the corner and entered the garden. ‘Without Tristan, I have no one inside the royal palace who can dig into the past. The Dowager already killed every spy I slipped in, including that historian, Lord Koresh. Even Mercy is limited by her position as Abbess.’

His feet led him towards the water fountain of their own accord, and Percy glared down at his dark reflection among the lily petals.

‘I will find another way. Once I have proof—’ he spun and sank onto the edge of the fountain. ‘Even if I find proof—who will I condemn? The Dowager? The King?’ He raised his gaze to the Manor’s windows just in time to see a maid duck out of sight. ‘My Mother?’

Percy dipped his left hand into the fountain and then pressed his cold, damp fingers against the back of his neck. ‘I still don’t want to believe she had a hand in Father’s death, no matter what Mercy says.’

He bowed his head between his knees and let his left hand drop to his lap. “Veles, help me untangle this web of deceit and lies. Give me a sign? How am I to reclaim what is mine? How can I unify the covens behind me when I cannot even condemn my father’s killers?”

A black crow landed upon the garden path before him with a flurry of wings. Percy flinched and scowled at the bird. It was not the same crow he had released from his room earlier, nor did it have a clasp on its leg for carrying messages. Instead, the crow’s legs appeared to be painted red, and even its dark black eyes seemed to hold a crimson gleam.

A strange sensation overcame him as Percy leaned against his hand and examined the bird. “Are you a servant of Veles?” he asked with a hint of mockery. “Does your Master even listen to prayers anymore?”

The wind picked up with sudden ferocity as leaves, stems, and berries from the hedge bushes flung about the garden and tore through the flower beds. The crow remained unmoving through the storm, but its eyes seemed to pool with crimson red as they stared without blinking at Percy.

‘It cannot be.’

“So even the Hawthorne’s hatchling and future earl dares to defy my existence? What am I to do when such a weak and arrogant witch wishes to rule over my covens?”

An invisible grip bound itself around Percy’s throat. He clasped his neck and stumbled down to his knees, unable to breathe.

“I have blessed the Hawthorne family for generations, but you would let such a treacherous woman cut down your father’s house and lineage just because she is your mother?”

The choking grip faded away, and air returned to Percy’s lungs as he hastily bowed his head to the crow.

“Forgive me—Veles—God of Air.”

“You have ambition, young Earl. The same ambition your father once had, but without my blessing, you lack the power to fulfill his hopes for you.”

“That is all I desire, to claim what is mine,” Percy replied passionately. “And to uncover those who dared to plot and murder my father.”

A dark chuckle filled the garden.

“I have interfered too much already, yet she will not survive without someone capable by her side.”

Percy blinked and hesitantly raised his head. “Veles, to whom do you refer?”

“Even though I have led her to you—you have yet to realize.” The crow cawed mockingly and flapped its wings as it rose into the air. “Come. She is close by.”

Percy hastily climbed to his feet and sucked in a quick breath before he was forced to jog after the bird, who flew silently against the breeze over the garden towards the back pastures.

Beyond his mother’s prized garden lay the servant’s houses surrounded by ancient oaks. Once through the trees, the fenced pastures filled his view. Percy had learned horseback riding here, after the farmers harvested their wheat.

He raised a hand to his brow as he stared across the familiar sight of golden crops ready for harvest once more. The crow hovered across the bountiful plane, then turned and glided towards the willows which surrounded the Hawthorne Pond.

Percy sighed but trudged through the field until he found a dirt path that indirectly led him towards the willows around which the crow circled like a vulture.

He had worked up a sweat by the time he reached the willows. The skies above darkened with the promise of rain. Percy scowled as he thought of the raincoat Russell had offered him, but he wasn’t about to anger a god over a little bit of rain.

‘What is it Veles brought me all the way here to see?’

Percy stepped through the swaying branches of the willows, that teased and kissed his cheek as if welcoming his return. He swallowed a lump in his throat and stared at the notches in the willow’s bark where his father had measure Percy’s growth each summer the Earl brought his son to the pond to fish. Three notches lined the tree's trunk, the first when Percy was three-years-old, the last when he turned five—the same year the Earl was found dead in his carriage after being ambushed by thugs.

Percy turned his gaze to the embankment that rested within the canopy of the willow. His father’s chair was gone, but he could still remember the slope of the Earl’s back as he knelt over the two sailboats placed in the water.

“Now remember, Percy, you don’t have to force the wind, merely guide the direction you wish it to move.” The Earl placed his hands gently upon the five-year-old Percy’s shoulders. “Remember the words. Fustibus Saxisque.”

“Fustibus Saxisque,” Percy repeated.

“Now concentrate. Remember, the words only help you focus the magic. Your emotions give it strength, while your mind controls the intent.”

Percy smiled with sad fondness. Through the branches of the willow, he could see the marker they had once raced their boat towards. Percy had lost seven races in a row before winning the eight and cheering his little heart out as the Earl bowed humbly in defeat.

‘Of course, Father let me win—I know that now—but he was not the sort of man to give others what they did not deserve.’

“When you’re bigger, we will race real sailboats on the Serpentine River,” the Earl joked as he hoisted Percy upon his shoulders to return to the Manor.

Percy clenched his fists and turned to leave—but stopped as he caught a movement of colors through the willow's branches. He raised his hand and carefully parted the curtain of leaves. Beyond them, beneath another willow tree, he could make out a young girl dancing in a light blue dress with a rainbow-colored shawl draped around her shoulders and arms.

The crow above him cawed softly and nodded its head in silent confirmation before it too silently stared at the dancing girl. As she turned towards them, with her flushed cheeks and ash-brown hair waving about her shoulders, Percy recognized Lady Maura, his mother’s pet and protégée.

‘What is she doing here? Isn’t she supposed to be taking lessons with Mother? What sort of dance is that?’

He couldn’t deny the gracefulness with which she moved, how light and weightless she appeared as she spun and leaped from the ground, her hand gliding elegantly through the willows leaves as if she were dancing with them to some strange music.

Inadvertently Percy took a step closer but caught himself as he carefully closed the willow's branches, leaving just enough space to watch Maura’s dance. She was barefoot, not that the embankment offered much in the way of thorny stones, but it was most unbecoming of a lady.

‘I suppose that’s the half-blood in her,’ Percy mused with a sigh. ‘Honestly, I don’t know why she tries so hard to please the Countess.’

“She’ll never rise above the status of her birth,” he muttered aloud.

The crow cawed loudly in the branches above him, and Percy stiffened as Maura, alerted by the sudden noise, stopped her dance. He almost tripped over the willow's roots as he scrambled to hide behind the tree. Percy pressed his shoulder against the bark as he held his breath and listened to his foolish heart hammer away in his chest.

‘Really, what am I doing in this ridiculous situation?’

The answer, of course, lay with the mischievous deity above, whose red eyes peered down at Percy with tangible amusement.

Percy knocked his head against the tree in silent defeat then stilled as he listened. He could hear every leaf in the willow tree around him, the ripple of the wind against the pond’s surface, the splash of a toad dropping into the muddy water below before it swam deeper into the pond. Beyond the willow, he heard the sound of Maura’s footsteps, no longer dancing but walking along the warm grass of the embankment down towards the pond.

Intrigued, Percy peered around the tree and parted the willow branches.

Maura waded in the shallows of the pond with her dress pulled up around her calves. Her back was towards him as she leisurely wandered along the embankment.

Percy scowled silently. He had never walked in this pond, but he assumed it must be filthy given all the mud and slippery creatures that lived in it. And yet, someone groomed to be a lady was happily splashing her toes among the toads and muck. He shuddered and glanced quizzically at the crow above.

“Why have you brought me here?”

“To unveil your eyes.”

“My eyes?” Percy sighed. ‘Of course, a god’s answer would be cryptic.’

“I have kept her masked from the world for as long as I could, but the longer I linger near her, the more the other gods will suspect.”

Percy’s ears pricked up at the mention of the other immortals. “I don’t understand,” Percy lamented. “What’s so special about a half-blood?”

“Watch and witness.”

Beneath the crow’s unnerving blood-red eyes, Percy could only nod obediently and return to observing Maura as the rain began to fall. It sprinkled against the surface of the pond as Maura paused and stared, not at the sudden shower that darkened the fabric of her blue dress, but at something below the water’s surface. She dropped her skirts and knelt to search the mud intently with both hands.

“What is she—”

Maura cried triumphantly as she straightened and held one muddy hand aloft. Percy could not make out the object before Maura rinsed it and her hands in the pond, then returned to the embankment. She retrieved her shawl from under the willow and wrapped it around herself before she slid what must have been a ring onto each of her fingers before finally settling it upon her thumb.

Percy might have laughed at her childish behavior—if he had not recognized the man’s signet ring with its large black diamond. He had last seen that signet ring on the Earl’s hand before he left to report to the palace—a trip from which he never returned after being ambushed by a gang of thugs.

“The assassins must have stolen his ring along with all his other valuables,” Constance had told him when Percy thought to ask about the ring after his father’s funeral.

‘I believed her—yet—why would assassins throw father’s ring into the pond?’ Percy sucked in a breath.

“Do you think it a coincidence that your Mother became the leader of the Aristocratic Party with the King's blessing and the Dowager’s support so soon after your father died?” Mercy’s cynical voice echoed through his ears.

Percy leaned against the tree as his lungs tightened and an uncomfortable feeling of confirmation curled in his gut. ‘So, it is true.’

After the funeral, many of the Earl’s loyal servants mysteriously vanished from the Estate.

“Because they displeased the Countess,” was Russell’s only explanation when pressed.

The Countess kept Percy locked inside the Manor after the funeral while insisting she would get to the bottom of the Earl’s murder. “This is for your own good, Percy. I would do anything to keep you safe.”

Percy raised his burning gaze to where Maura still studied the signet ring curiously as the rain eased into a drizzle. The breeze picked up, and raindrops from the branches above fell upon Percy’s head and neck. He shivered as he pressed a hand against the tree and stepped around the willow. “I should reclaim what is mine.”

“Wait!”

The command rooted Percy in place as the wind circled past him and twisted the willow branches around Maura. The girl watched them with a secretive smile as she extended her arms and twirled once more in a dance.

Percy shivered again and blinked as a cold breath of air evaporated before his eyes. His gaze snapped to Maura, who swayed with and bowed, caught up once more in her strange dance, blissfully unaware of the trail of frost that followed her footsteps upon the grass.

As Maura’s fingers glided among the branches of the willow, the leaves glistened like diamonds as raindrops froze beneath her touch. The rain upon her dress and the hem of her skirt glistened and turned white, and for the briefest moment, Percy glimpsed a crown of frost upon her ash-brown curls.

He exhaled in disbelief as the magic binding his limbs released. “Maura is—an ice witch?”

“Her fate lies on the edge of a blade. She will either perish a half-blood, be burned as a witch, or rise to become Lafeara’s rightful Queen.”

“Queen?” Percy echoed in disbelief. “Then her father—”

“She is the last descendant of the Isbrand bloodline.”

Percy muffled a laugh behind his closed fist. “No wonder you kept her hidden.”

“I have entrusted this knowledge to you, Earl of Hawthorne, so that you might protect her.”

“From the Church?”

“There are many who would wish her dead and many more who would claim her heart—not all of them mortal.”

“Kritanta?” Percy whispered anxiously. “I am not strong enough to defy the goddess of destruction herself.”

“Reclaim your father’s ring. It will unlock the magic that is yours to inherit.”

“Father’s ring?” Percy straightened.

Maura appeared to have realized her mistake. She hurriedly plucked her shoes from beneath the tree and dashed through the frost-covered branches. Maura paused as the leaves closed behind her and attempted to shake the frost from her dress, then stopped as she focused on the ring still upon her thumb. Her expression shifted from panic to mystified as she took off the signet ring and tied it to a willow branch with the dark-blue ribbon from her hair.

“Why is she?” Percy mumbled, confused.

“A suggestion on my part,” the crow answered. “She will forget about the ring by the time she returns to the Manor.”

“You can do that?”

“You dare to underestimate me, witch?”

Percy grimaced and bowed his head. “No, Veles, forgive my insolence.”

The crow chuckled as it evaporated like a dark mist upon the breeze.

“A King does not ask for forgiveness.”

Percy’s heart almost stopped as the god’s meaning became all too clear. ‘If Maura is destined to become Lafeara’s Queen—than the man who claims her heart will naturally become its King.’

He strode towards the frost-covered willow and untangled his father’s signet ring from the royal-blue ribbon. He stared into the black diamond and caressed the runes along its silver band. The magic that hummed within the precious metal brought back the feeling of his father’s presence. That same power tingled and spread like a rush of air throughout his body as Percy slid the ring onto his right hand.

Finally, the artifact that had been passed down through each generation, from Earl to Earl, had returned to him. It was one of two precious heirlooms safeguarded by the Hawthorne name since the day the second Saint executed the Isbrand royal family of Ice Witches—and left no survivors.

‘Or so they thought.’

Percy smiled as he wound the blue ribbon around his fingers and pressed it to his lips.

Story Art Work: CoRW - Book 1 & Book 2 (to come)

The Calamity of the Reborn Witch (CoRW) updates every Tuesday & Saturday with the occasional Thursday thrown in. If I miss a day its probably due to an appointment and an upload will follow the next day.

Since I can’t just throw up pictures, I figured I’d leave an Author’s Note as well. I appreciate each and every one of you for giving this story a chance. I know it's not the usual genre readers come to RR for. If you glanced over CoRW's reviews you’ll see a lot of what to expect in Book 1, but there are a lot more surprises in store. I hope you’ll enjoy the characters, the good and bad. I would also like to express that everything in this story happens for a reason, though it may take some time for those reasons to become visible. You'll see what I mean as the story progresses.

If you enjoy the read please show the story and its author some support by rating or leaving a review 😊 Enjoy the Artwork below, more to come later.

Love from Lafeara,

Vera

P.S. This chapter was recycled from a Temporary Hiatus Note back in August so please don't be confused by the comments!

❆♔❆ Gods & Goddesses of Lafeara ❆♔❆

❆♔❆ Spells of Lafeara ❆♔❆

Left to Right. Top to Bottom.

Fire. Air. Ice. Earth. Water.

❆♔❆ Family Tree's and Character Art ❆♔❆

Turnbell Sisters

Lafeara Royalty

Political Families of Lafeara

Royalty of Ventrayna

Hargreve Family

Side Characters of Lafeara

^ There are obviously a few others but my skill (not to mention time to play) with artbreeder is limited xD

[B2] Prologue: A Husk of Mortality

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Prologue: A Husk of Mortality

Tristan could feel everything. The timber and chiseled stone that crumbled, whined, and withered under the consuming destruction of his flames. The scent of hellfire swirled within the cloak of smoke that curled and rose towards the heavens as it purged earth and flesh below. The chapel’s skeletal structure's shuddering screams pierced through the insidious furnace as it groaned and succumbed to its blistering fate.

Kritanta’s magic pulsed from Tristan’s chest with every heartbeat. It hummed with life, death, and destruction to each of his fingers and toes. He could feel it channeling from his lungs to the very ends of his midnight-blue curls.

The power of a god radiated through him, ready to unfurl at Tristan’s command—and yet—he was powerless to stop the life that faded away from the husk of human flesh cradled in his arms.

Alex’s skin cracked around the corners of his eyes like crisp paper. His lips and eyelids were burned raw. His salt and pepper hair now a singed mat of soot against his blackened scalp. The only part of him that still looked human were those coal-black eyes, now rimmed with red veins, that stared back at Tristan and promised him an eternity in hell.

“I’m—sorry.” The words came out, even though Tristan knew they would never be enough. “It’s—” His voice choked, strangled by guilt and horror, as Tristan felt his comrade's limbs begin to crumble.

“We—all—make mistakes.”

Alex’s words, barely a whisper, were muffled by the chapel that collapsed behind them. Sparks of insatiable flames flickered out across the courtyard but died the moment they exceeded the barrier that Tristan had placed around the church.

“My Prince.” The shadow guard’s leader limped closer tentatively.

Tristan ignored him and focused on the dying man in his arms, unwilling to abandon Alex while life still flickered in his comrade's eyes.

‘Is this all I have to look forward to? The torment of those I never meant to kill dying in agony before my eyes.’

Alex’s chest did not move. His eyes did not blink nor flicker with movement. The scraps of his clothes that remained had melted into his skin like hardened wax. Only the faint wheeze of air between the assassin’s cracked lips told Tristan he still lived.

“There has to be—some way—to save him,” Tristan growled, even though he knew it was hopeless.

“My Prince,” the shadow murmured and heaved a heavy sigh. “The damage inside and out is too severe. The most merciful thing would be to let him die—quickly.”

Tristan’s fingers tightened against the shell of Alex’s body. The charred surface cracked and gave way at his touch as small chips of flesh broke free and fell to the ground.

“Don’t—cry—you bastard—” Alex’s last words contained the ghost of a smile even as a ragged breath shivered past his lips before they went utterly still. The light in the assassin’s hellish eyes flickered out, but the crooked tilt of his lips mocked death even in his horrific state.

There are no words for the pain that cut Tristan open as he gripped the shell of a man he had much admired—now nothing more than a burnt empty remnant. There was no magic to preserve the dry corpse that crumbled to dust before his eyes. The callous breeze that scattered the Master of the Fox Den from Tristan’s fingertips is but a mockery of the greatness the pure-blood was blessed with—yet could not control.

“My Prince, we should leave.”

Tristan exhaled sharply. His dust-stained fingers stared back at him as a tear burned down his cheek. The will to move and think eluded him. Images crashed and blurred together within his tormented mind.

The day King Henri stripped him of his crown. General Liam’s betrayal at Deadwood Pass. The ambush that had buried Tristan beneath a rockslide; and his oath to Kritanta. The power the goddess of death and destruction had granted him that now coiled below his skin. The same damnable hunger that leaked free whenever the beast within him woke.

Tristan had survived to seek revenge, but at what cost? Now he was chained to a dragon he could not control by an oath to a goddess he could not break.

After eradicating General Liam and the remnants of the Red Wolf Army, Tristan had fallen into a magic-induced sleep. He awoke in Ventrayna, where he had been reunited with Emperor Arius, that man who now claimed to be his birth father.

Whether Arius had indeed sired him little mattered. A year in Ventrayna had been long enough for Tristan to see what sort of tyrant the Emperor was and how treacherous the courts of witch covens could be.

So Tristan returned to Lafeara and began his war upon the corruption that empowered those who had betrayed him. Marquess Borghese was at the top of that list; after all, if anyone had something to gain from the death of two queens, it was the man who had put forward Lady Serilda, the King’s secret mistress.

Tristan had met Alex just as he’d begun to dismantle Borghese’s underground network of slavery that sold children to monsters, women to brothels, men to pagans, half-witches to the church, and witches to Ventrayna.

The Master of the Fox Den reminded Tristan that there were still those, even in the filthiest part of the capital, who wished to cleanse the corruption that lurked among Lafeara’s highest noble families.

Alex had led him to Lady Maura, who, in turn, had led him to Nero.

‘Fate is a cruel Mistress.’ Tristan rose slowly and stared into the burning inferno as he clutched his still burning chest. Beneath his shaking fingers, Tristan could sense, could still feel the monster that had taken control of his body. ‘Who am I—what have I become?’

He had lived on revenge, fear, and bitterness for over two years. No longer the Crown Prince of Lafeara. Not welcome by the Empress in Vetrayna’s royal court either. Tristan had become a ghost in every sense of the word. The Emperor had permitted his return to Lafeara to find Catalina’s killer, and yet—Tristan had failed.

‘I came this close to both her killer—and the Witch Star.’ Tristan ground his teeth together until he tasted blood. ‘But I couldn’t hold back enough to protect my allies, and I wasn’t strong enough to kill that snake-bellied pretender. What is the point of Kritanta’s blessing if I can’t control this power?’

“Are you in control?” the beast within his skin taunted. “Or is your fear controlling you?”

Tristan dragged his ashen hands along his scalp as his gaze dropped to Alex’s scattered remains. ‘It should have been mother’s killer burned to ash—but I failed her—again. The most powerful pure-blood in Lafeara—and I can’t even kill a half-witch?’

“Ha!” His bitter, hollow laugh echoed through the billowing smoke as the wind changed direction. The wet trail upon Tristan’s cheek evaporated as his hands tightened into fists.

“There is no greater weakness than doubt. No quicker way to shackle an Immortal than mercy.”

‘Shut up…’

“My Prince.” The shadow leader limped closer, and hesitantly, reached out to touch Tristan’s shoulder. “My Prince, we must—"

Like dry grass upon a burning ember, the shadow guard’s hand then arm caught flame as Tristan whipped his head around and roared, “Do not touch me!”

The shadow leader danced back, clutching his burning arm as a strangled scream of pain brought him to his knees. Other shadow guards rushed forward and pushed him to the ground as they attempted to quench the flames with their cloaks.

Tristan blinked slowly as the scene before him registered through the fog of anger that clouded his reason. The dragon at his back chuckled darkly before it evaporated into the breeze. Tristan hurried to the screaming man’s side and extended his hand.

“Cinis Cinerem.”

Tristan flinched as the female voice, rippling with power, chanted the incantation.

The assassins sprang back from their comrade, barely in time to avoid the flames that erupted over his entire body—and burned their leader to ash within seconds. The shadow’s dying screams echoed in Tristan’s ears as the two female witches glided gracefully towards them through the smoke.

Princess Aurelia, Tristan’s older half-sister, glittered in her scarlet and gold witch armor. Her jet-black hair trailed over her shoulders and down her back in braids adorned with onyx gemstones. Her golden skin reflected the light of the burning chapel while her deadly copper-brown eyes fixed upon him with a look of disgust and hatred.

Behind her, Lady Isleen, an equally talented pure-blood fire witch, stared towards the smoldering rubble of the chapel. Her dark midnight eyes, as always, were filled with an expression of wary caution.

Aurelia strutted through the dead man’s dust as the remaining shadow guards knelt before her in silence. Although two years older than Tristan, she was five inches shorter, a fact that always drew Aurelia’s scarlet red lips into a hard line of disapproval as she lifted her gaze to meet his.

“Father is tired of waiting,” Aurelia informed him coldly in Ventrayna. “Time to come home, bastard.”

Tristan’s jaw clenched as he stared down at her and cracked a smile. “It’s been a while, Aurelia.”

“Princess Aurelia,” she corrected without hesitation. “And I don’t appreciate being sent on an errand to bring home some pathetic wayward scab.”

“I am not finished here,” Tristan interjected quickly.

“Humph,” Aurelia snorted as her gaze drifted past him towards the chapel. “Haven’t done enough damage yet—have we?” She extended her hand, gracefully. Golden bracelets adorned with ruby scorpions glittered as they cascaded down her slender arm. “Perhaps the bastard needs a demonstration from a true fire witch,” she suggested as she flicked her fingers.

The fire serpent that snaked around her wrist hissed longingly in the direction of the capital that lay beyond Tristan and the burning chapel.

“No,” Tristan growled. “The Emperor doesn’t want a war with Lafeara.”

“Times have changed,” Aurelia scoffed as she brushed her braided jeweled hair over her shoulder. “As loathed as I am to admit it—I think the only thing that stopped Father from bringing Lafeara into his empire was Catalina and well—you.”

Pain twisted in his chest even as Tristan rejected her words. Catalina had died when he was five-years-old. For the past fourteen years, the Emperor had left his son alone in Lafeara to live with Catalina’s killers. Only after Tristan had been banished, nearly assassinated, and taken under the protection of Kritanta had Arius shown up to embrace his son and welcome Tristan to Ventrayna.

‘I traded a den of wolves for a pit of scorpions, and “family” on both sides want me dead.’

The talented witch princess that stood before him had once been crown princess of Ventrayna until her mother, Empress Alexandria, attempted to kill Tristan. The assassin she had sent died after drinking his own poison, but the furious Emperor quickly used the Empress’s foolish move to revoke Aurelia’s title.

Now his half-sister hated him with every spark of her witch fire, and Tristan couldn’t blame her. If anyone understood what it was like to be stripped of everything, he did.

“Well then, bastard?” Aurelia teased as the flame serpent grew steadily larger. “What shall it be? Come home willingly? Or should I set fire to Lafeara first and then drag you back?”

Tristan stared at his half-sister with a sigh of resignation. They might share the same father, but their personalities couldn’t be more different. Aurelia was everything Tristan despised. A powerful monster who relished setting cities on fire and preferred to rule through fear, cruelty, and intimidation—not unlike the Emperor.

Then again, if Tristan was brutally honest with himself, Aurelia represented everything Tristan feared he would become if he gave in to the dragon and Kritanta’s power.

He stepped forward instinctively and grabbed his half-sister’s wrist. Aurelia’s eyes narrowed in warning as her body tensed to fight, but the flame serpent coiled around her arm let out a feeble snarl before it withered and died as Tristan’s magic overpowered her own.

Aurelia’s eyes burned with rage as she tried, and failed, to yank herself free.

“Not today, Sister,” Tristan said calmly as he maintained his grip. He glanced from Lady Isleen to the shadow guards around them, none of whom dared to raise their voice or gaze in protest. “Come, let us return to Vetrayna.”

“Of course, Prince Tristan,” Isleen murmured and dipped into a curtsy as he strode past her dragging a fuming Aurelia behind him. “The shadow guards have already prepared the fastest desert horses for us. We should be home in about four days.”

Tristan ignored her; he would never call Vetrayna home. Tristan did not have a home. And as long as Nero continued to draw breath, a part of Tristan would forever remain—a ghost.

[B2] Chapter 1: The Fragrance of Sorrow

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Chapter 1: The Fragrance of Sorrow

Sunlight glittered through the break of stormy clouds to illuminate the freshly washed spires and walls of Gilwren Chapel. The persistent summer rain poured down the holy sanctuary’s gutters into the shrubbery as the grass and trees soaked in its resplendent glory.

A crow flighted through the branches and sought refuge in the oak’s bow that provided the Hawthorn carriage and its driver some protection from the harvest blessing. From his dry perch inside the carriage, Percy watched the parade of carriages churn their way through the increasingly muddy road that led up to the chapel steps. After the horse-drawn transports dropped off their prestigious passengers, their drivers pulled away to seek refuge beneath the willows and oaks that surrounded the small glen.

The black crow shook itself dry, then swooped down to perch upon the open carriage window. The winter-grey eyes of the Earl considered the softly squawking bird for a moment before he waved it away to watch the procession of umbrellas, most suitably black and grey, that made their way beneath the parvis to greet the priest at the archway doors.

Percy lifted his cane and tapped the driver’s window. “Keep an eye out. Averly’s Baroness will be arriving shortly.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

The line of carriages continued to wade through the gated chapel entrance. Percy observed the arrival of Baron Winslet’s carriage, which conveyed Lady Florence, Lord Asher, and his rumored soon-to-be fiancé, Lady Sophya Turnbell.

The funeral of the previously disgraced Lady Helena would hardly have sparked such a turnout were it not for the simple but unignorable fact that Viscount Gilwren himself had decided to give his daughter a proper burial in his family’s plot.

Despite their strained relationship since Helena’s elopement, the Viscount was determined to restore his daughter’s dignity by placing her beside the late Viscountess. Perhaps he found justification in Helena’s decision to finally divorce the “good for nothing Coin Hustler.” Helena had returned to her noble maiden name—however briefly—before death, and that restored her place as his child, however wayward her actions in life.

Percy knew all this because Viscount Rykard Gilwren was an old friend and trusted acquaintance of his father, the previous Earl of Hawthorne. Since discovering Rykard’s familial connection to Lady Maura, Percy had reacquainted himself with the reserved Viscount, who was, after all, just another mortal.

Percy had taken meticulous care to prepare the reunion between Lord Rykard and Lady Maura over the past several days. He visited the Viscount under the guise of assisting with the funeral preparations while subtly dropping compliments about Maura’s excellent progress through the Selection and her studies under the Countess.

He had also gifted a new carriage to the recently appointed Baroness of Averly to ensure Lady Maura arrived in style. Then he had informed his cousin, the crown princess, of the time and place for the funeral, trusting that Eleanora would ensure, if not pressure, Lady Maura to attend. Last but not least, Lord Percy had diligently applied for a palace pass to allow Lady Maura permission to leave the royal palace and attend her mother’s funeral—using the Countess’s name, of course.

And yet, as the carriage’s filled the muddy grounds and their gossip-hungry passengers waded inside to exchange what passed for conversation among such minor nobles—there was still no sign of his elusive ice witch.

‘There’s no way a brand-new carriage would have broken down. Could it possibly have gotten stuck in the mud somewhere?’ Percy’s fingers tightened around the cane laid across his lap. The crows had clearly informed him that Lady Maura had left the palace on time. ‘So, where was she?’

The driver’s sharp whistle snapped Percy from his trance. The team of speckled gray horses jostled against each other as they shook off the rain, and the Earl’s carriage bounced unsteadily over the tree roots and back into the mud.

‘She’s here then.’ Percy smiled with relief as he turned sharply to watch the new carriage that pulled through the chapel’s stone gate. The freshly painted crest of Averly, a hare strangled by thorns, flashed before his eyes as his driver settled into position behind the Baroness’s carriage as planned.

Percy relaxed against his seat with a small sigh of relief, then ran a hand through his carefully groomed mahogany-brown hair and adjusted his cuffs. His suit was suitably dark and unadorned, but of the highest quality. His silk necktie a light gray color that matched his winter-gray eyes, and also the handkerchiefs he had carefully prepared—it was a funeral after all.

Immediately after his carriage slowed to a halt, Percy opened the door and dropped down gracefully beside his startled footman. Affixing the black top hat upon his head, Percy stepped briskly towards Maura’s carriage and waved the pesky knight aside as he reached for the door.

He noted with mild curiosity the way his fingers trembled as they wrapped around the cold metal. It had been nearly a week since he’d last laid eyes on Lady Maura, who had become expectedly busy learning her new tasks as the Crown Princess’s lady-in-waiting.

Maura’s startled ice-blue eyes greeted him as Percy swung the door open and bowed. “Lord Percy?”

“I thought I recognized the carriage,” Percy said with an amused smile. “Glad you could make it, Baroness of Averly.”

“And why wouldn’t she make it?” Percy’s gaze shifted towards the familiar blonde beauty who sat across from Maura. The young woman’s turquoise-blue eyes narrowed in on him with an expression of wary disapproval. “It is her mother’s funeral after all,” Lady Hana finished pointedly.

Percy maintained his polite smile with practiced attentiveness as he dipped his head to his cousin’s lover.

‘What is she doing here?’ Her very presence, not to mention attitude, had thrown a wrench into the plans he had prepared for this special day. ‘Never mind, I should be reassured that Maura has won the favor of both Eleanora and her lover already.’

“Lord Percy, this is Lady Hana,” Maura introduced quickly with an uncertain glance between them. “Hana, this is the Earl of Hawthorne.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Hana replied with evident distaste.

‘What in Veles's breath is her problem?’

Percy ignored the pale blonde temptress and extended his hand to Maura gracefully. “We should probably get inside before the priest begins without us.”

“Yes, of course,” Maura said, with a sigh and expression that seemed to say, ‘Let’s get this over with.’

She laid her fingers lightly against his hand, and Percy noted the scowl on Hana’s face as he stepped forward and supported Maura’s descent from the carriage.

The sunlight caught against the silver chain along Maura’s neckline beneath the tassels of her purple court cloak. Although the Winter Rose remained out of sight beneath the bodice of her shimmering black gown, uneasy delight danced within Percy’s chest to see it adorn her person.

Maura blinked up at the confounding mix of sun and rain that drizzled down upon her fair skin and ash-brown hair, presently brushed into a woven bun and tucked beneath a silk-laced hairnet. “Perfect weather for a funeral,” Maura whispered, so softly, he knew she meant only him to hear it.

“If only I had thought to bring an umbrella,” Percy lamented, not at all disturbed by the damp that clung to his jacket, neck, and hair.

“Not to worry, we came prepared,” Hana announced as the knight who accompanied them opened an umbrella above the carriage door and assisted her down.

“This is Sir Malcolm Clemont, Lady Tiffany’s older brother,” Maura introduced as the knight hastily opened a second umbrella and offered it to her. “Thank you, Sir Malcolm.”

“Greetings, Earl of Hawthorne,” Sir Malcolm greeted with a respectful bow.

Percy smiled and inclined his head briefly in return. ‘The Diamond family. New nobility, politically relatively neutral, and with enough funds to secure both a title and high-ranking positions for both of their charming blonde brats.’

He smirked at the obvious nervousness with which Sir Malcolm studied him. ‘Money might buy a title, but it can’t buy a legacy to match the old families of Lafeara. Still, both Nicholas, Marquess Borghese, and even Eleanora are attempting to pull this rising noble family into their camps.’

“Lord Percy.”

His preoccupied thoughts quickly scattered as Maura lifted her umbrella and stepped closer to him.

“You ought to take better care of yourself,” Maura reproached with a worried frown.

Percy resisted the urge to wrap his hand around her delicate fingers, which held the umbrella. He hardly dared to move at all, let alone breathe, afraid that the slightest movement might scare her away. Maura had never willingly stood this close to him before, and he wanted to soak up this moment and memory with care.

‘How ironic that the one who meant to catch a Queen got snared by her instead.’

His winter-grey eyes snapped suddenly over her shoulder towards the Hawthorne footman, who quickly spun on his heels and disappeared from view with the umbrella he had foolishly retrieved from the Earl’s carriage.

“Is everything alright?” Maura asked curiously as she turned to look behind her.

“I am merely touched by your concern, Lady Maura,” Percy replied and held out his hand. “May I?”

She refocused those bewitching blue eyes upon him, smiled like the blessed sun, and handed over the umbrella. “Of course, thank you, Lord Percy.”

He held the umbrella above them both, offered her his right arm, and smiled as they proceeded down the stone gravel pathway towards the chapel.

One day Maura would call his name naturally, fondly, and without pretenses or titles. Until that day, Percy would remain discreetly at her side. His queen’s heart did not thaw quickly, but he was beginning to sense the warmth of spring in her smile.

❆❆❆❆❆

“Greetings, Earl of Hawthorne.” The parish priest blessed them both with the maiden sword of the Saintess, a relic worn about the holy man’s neck. “And to the noble young lady—”

“Father Barry, this is Lady Maura, Baroness of Averly and my mother’s favored protégé,” Percy supplied loudly enough to reach the gossipers who lurked by the doorway.

Maura’s grip on his arm tightened faintly, but she dipped a respectful curtsy to the priest as she murmured, “Greetings, Father Barry.”

“Delighted my child,” Father Barry answered quickly. “And Saints blessing upon you, Baroness.”

“Has Viscount Gilwren not arrived yet?” Percy asked with feigned curiosity.

“No, but I’m sure he’ll be here soon. Gilwren Manor is only just down the road.”

“Father Barry, this is Lady Hana, Baroness of Oplen, and Sir Malcolm, son of Baron Clemont,” Maura explained. She introduced the pair that shadowed them, which Percy had forgotten about—almost.

“Saints blessing upon you,” Barry repeated his blessing on Hana and Malcolm briskly, then gestured to the open archway door. “Please, do come in. The unfortunate Lady Sophya and Baroness Winslet are waiting in the foyer if you’d care to pass on your prayers and wishes to the young lady.”

“You speak as if Lady Sophya were the only surviving daughter,” Lady Hana interjected with a note of disbelief.

“Ah—oh yes, I heard the rumor there was another, unfortunate offspring,” Barry admitted as he rubbed his chin. “But she appears to have had the good sense to not come to such a public occasion.”

An awkward silence greeted the priest’s benevolent smile. Percy closed the umbrella in his left hand and smiled. “Saint’s blessing upon you, Father. May this chapel never crumble upon your fragile, holy head.”

Father Barry offered an uncertain smile in return.

Maura tugged on Percy’s arm firmly, her face a blank marble slate, though her lips tightened with just a hint of concern. “We should head in, Lord Percy.”

Percy relinquished his anger on her behalf—for now, and led her inside the clustered foyer. The eyes of all those who lingered within turned upon them with curious stares and whispers that Percy surreptitiously gleaned and organized with the help of his father’s ring.

“That is the Earl of Hawthorne.”

“Oh my, does he not resemble his late father?”

“But who is the young woman he’s escorting?”

“Perhaps that is the rumored Lady Evelynn, Viscount Hendrix’s daughter?”

“No, I heard him introduce her as the Baroness of Averly.”

“An Earl escorting a mere Baroness? What absurdity.”

“Does the Countess know who her son is escorting?”

Percy inhaled slowly and tapped an index finger against his cane. Magic curled around the witch oak stick as it struck the floor and muted the gossipers prattling tongues. He glanced discreetly at Maura to see if she had detected his use of magic but found her gaze focused towards the right corner of the foyer where a young woman with vivacious red hair was glaring in their direction.

‘Ah yes, the one that got away.’

[B2] Chapter 2: The Fate of Sisters

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Chapter 2: The Fate of Sisters

The foyer was filled with the musky scent of perfume, cigars, and a variety of black mourning apparel. Carina followed Percy’s lead and surveyed the many faces which filled the room, nearly all of them strangers.

‘How bizarre to be here. Helena wasn’t my mother after all, and she hardly qualified to be Maura’s mother either.’

Carina exhaled softly and frowned as a tingle ran down her spine. Beside her, Percy’s cane tapped loudly on the floor, and the muffled waves of gossip that had swelled up at their entrance seemed suddenly distant and undetectable—pleasantly so.

It was another familiar yet uncomfortable sensation that turned Carina’s gaze from the Earl’s use of magic to a group of mourners in the corner of the foyer. Between the bonnets and veils, she caught a glimpse of familiar scarlet curls and forest-green eyes that glared at her venomously.

Carina smiled back at Maura’s half-sister, Sophya, and with a gentle pull at Percy’s arm, turned them in the glowering young woman’s direction.

The disapproval in Sophya’s eyes quickly turned to panic as she took in Maura’s escort. But it was the unfamiliar older woman beside Sophya, who stepped forward boldly to greet them both.

“Lord Percy! I wasn’t sure whether to give the rumors of your attendance any credence,” the senior noblewoman gushed. “To think the Earl of Hawthorne would grace our humble gathering.”

Carina turned her attention to Lord Asher, who escorted Sophya up beside the elder noblewoman, and made the connection just as Percy replied.

“Lady Florence, I am a friend of Viscount Gilwren after all and a close acquaintance of his granddaughter,” Percy replied smoothly with a polite nod to the Baroness of Winslet.

“His—granddaughter?” Florence quickly turned towards Sophya, whose cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she clutched Lord Asher’s arm.

‘They don’t know who I am,’ Carina realized as a laugh bubbled up in the back of her throat. Lady Florence did not surprise her, this would be their first meeting, but Lord Asher had visited Turnbell Manor several times. ‘Though, at that time, my face was painted with blemishes to avoid his attention and Sophya’s jealousy.’

“Yes, the Viscount’s granddaughter whom I have the honor of escorting today, Lady Maura,” Percy corrected with a hint of cynicism as he gestured to Carina beside him.

Lady Florence’s hazel-blue eyes focused upon Carina with a mixture of surprise and disapproval. “The hal—how lovely—to meet you, at last, my dear.”

Carina resisted the urge to applaud the woman’s quick grasp of the situation. Whatever Lady Florence’s opinions on Maura or her origins, to insult any woman the Earl had chosen to escort was not a mistake lightly made nor forgotten.

“I am Lady Florence, Baroness of Winslet, soon to be your sister’s mother-in-law,” Florence greeted with the faintest inflection of her title as if to remind Carina of the vast gap between them.

Were it not for the spectacle Carina would have made—laughing at Lady Helena’s funeral—She might have lost the battle there and then. Instead, she coughed behind her fan with a discreet smile.

“Congratulations to my sister then, and you as well, Lord Asher,” Carina replied with a brief smile to her sister’s fiancé. “I believe you are well matched.”

Lord Asher inclined his head politely while Sophya refused to so much as glance in Carina’s direction.

‘Ashamed, perhaps?’ Their conversation had not gone unnoticed by the crowd around them, who appeared to be listening in eagerly.

Carina refocused on Lady Florence and offered another smile. “I am relieved my poor sister found someone to rely upon in her time of great need.”

‘Don’t think I don’t know you’ve only taken Sophya in because of our grandfather’s connections and wealth. But I wonder if the Winslet Manor is fully prepared to take on all of Josiah’s debts?’

Lady Florence narrowed her eyes as Carina’s neutral smile slipped into something more sinister. Carina quickly dipped her head and turned to leave—only to be held back by Percy’s firm grasp.

“Lady Sophya ought to congratulate her sister as well. Lady Maura is now Baroness of Averly as well as lady-in-waiting to my cousin, Crown Princess Eleanora,” Percy announced with a playful smile. His gaze shifted from the suddenly rigid Lady Florence to Sophya, who appeared to have stopped breathing as she focused upon Carina, horrified.

‘Is this his way of helping me settle old scores?’ Carina took in the wall of stunned expressions before her, then smirked as she leaned affectionately upon his arm. “We should head in, my dear Earl. We appear to be the last to arrive.”

It was worth acting against her usual caution around Lord Percy to see the stupefied expression of the Winslets and Sophya. ‘But beyond this, there is no point dragging up the past between sisters. I already decided to bury Maura’s ties to Sophya with their mother. With a bit of luck, our paths will never cross again.’ She turned to Sophya and studied the older girl’s pale cheeks, trembling lips, and silently blazing green eyes. ‘Though one rarely knows what the future will hold.’

“The most important guests are always the last to arrive, my sweet Maura,” Percy teased.

Carina didn’t miss the informal way he used her name, and neither did Lady Florence. However, the senior noblewoman’s look of shock quickly faded as the Baroness of Winslet managed to steel her discomfort and compose herself.

“Yes, I do believe it is time we all went in,” Florence announced formally to the utterly silent audience around them. “Father Barry!”

❆❆❆❆❆

Percy led Carina down the aisle to the front pew without hesitation. There he made a fuss of dusting off the seat and placing down his handkerchief before he would permit her to sit. Carina gritted her teeth and forced a smile as she turned away to admire the stain glass window beside their pew. ‘I did start this act of deception after all, but isn’t he overdoing it?’ She could feel the attention of the other guests, who filed in behind them and whispered like buzzing bees as they filled the pews.

“I didn’t know the Earl of Hawthorne was an admirer of yours,” Hana whispered discreetly as she joined Carina by the window.

“Oh, nothing like that, Lady Hana. The Earl’s mother, Countess Constance, was my mentor, benefactor, and sponsored me for the Selection,” Carina hastily deflected as she unfurled her fan and waved it against her flushed cheeks.

“So you know each other quite well?” Hana pressed with a coyly raised brow.

“We only met upon rare occasion during my training,” Carina corrected adamantly. “Lord Percy is supporting me on the Countess’s behalf in her absence. She recently retired to the country due to illness.”

“Oh?” Hana slid closer as she traced the pale gold halo that surrounded the saint captured in the stain glass artwork. “His intentions appear to be a bit more than that, my dear.”

Carina opened her mouth to protest but fell silent as Percy's reflection approached them.

“Ah, is the pew clean enough now?” Hana asked playfully as she took Carina’s arm and swept past him. “I think I shall sit beside you if that’s alright, Lady Maura.”

“Of course,” Carina replied, not missing the look of irritation on Earl’s face. “Thank you, Lord Percy.”

“I shall wait at the back,” Sir Malcolm said after accepting the lady’s cloaks. “Whenever you are ready to leave, you can meet me in the foyer, Lady Hana, Lady Maura.”

“Thank you,” Carina replied and, if only to seal the act, sat upon Percy’s offered handkerchief in the right corner of the pew. Hana immediately took a seat beside her while Percy accepted the ample space that remained to their left.

The bustle of people finding their seats behind Carina soon faded, though a quick glance over her shoulder confirmed most of the room remained focused upon their pew. Carina sighed and settled her gaze upon the lonely coffin surrounded by flowers that lay before her beneath the pulpit.

The priest finally appeared, accompanied by a tall, noble-looking man with ash-blonde hair tinged gray, hazel-grey eyes, and a silver-white cane adorned by a pale white hound holding a large sapphire in its immense jaws.

“That is Viscount Gilwren,” a woman whispered as the room’s attention shifted to the new arrival. The Viscount appeared indifferent as he made his way to the front of the church, shook off his hat, and fussed with his necktie as he stared down at the coffin.

“Indeed, that is Viscount Ryker of Gilwren,” Percy confirmed as he leaned across Hana to pass Carina another handkerchief. “Your grandfather, Lady Maura.”

Carina accepted the handkerchief as Hana coughed uncomfortably, and Percy withdrew his arm.

The Viscount turned towards them with a momentary expression of perturbed confusion. Then his gaze settled upon Percy, and he quickly presented himself to the Earl with a courteous bow. “Earl Hawthorne, I am honored by your presence.”

“Please, dear Viscount,” Percy replied as he rose to accept the Viscount’s greeting. “I am merely here to show my sympathies to my father’s old friend, as well as support Lady Maura through such a difficult time of grief.”

Carina tightened her grip on the handkerchief Percy had given her as the Viscount’s gaze flickered between herself and Hana.

“Lady Maura?” he repeated uncertainly.

“This would be our first meeting, Viscount Gilwren,” Carina replied as she rose and curtsied. “I am Lady Maura.”

“Indeed, you are,” the Viscount confirmed with a note of disappointment. “You appear to have a great deal of your father in you, though perhaps your mother’s stubbornness as well. To so shamefully use the Earl to obtain my attention. I am very impressed. Now we are met and introduced. And while I may be Viscount Rykard of Gilwren, your grandfather, I lay no claim to you.”

Carina could feel her fingernails chill even as they dug into the handkerchief trapped inside her clenched hand. Her smile deepened as a soft laugh escaped her lips, which only caused Viscount Rykard’s disapproving gaze to harden. “You appear to have greatly misunderstood me, Viscount. Though it would seem we are otherwise in agreement. I have no wish to be claimed nor any foolish desire to acknowledge you as my grandfather.”

Rykard blinked rapidly as her words sank in, then his jaw tightened as he turned rigidly from her to Percy. “A delight as always, Lord Percy. I hope this disappointment will not prevent you from visiting Gilwren in the future. I shall be hosting another annual fox hunt if you would care to participate in your father’s place.”

“I would be delighted,” Percy replied firmly though his expression was far from pleased. “Though I hope that invitation might extend to one more.”

Rykard’s eyes and cheeks twitched noticeably, but he nodded courteously. “The Earl may invite whoever he wishes. I only hope they will be humble enough to accept what simple accommodations Gilwren has to offer.”

Carina ignored his comment as she resumed her seat and unfolded the fan once more with an air of indifference.

‘Is it any small wonder Helena never summoned the courage to approach the Viscount for help? I “shamefully used” the Earl? On what grounds does he make such a baseless accusation?’

Hana’s hand slipped over Carina’s in silent comfort as the Viscount took his seat in the pew across from them, directly in front of the Winslets and Sophya.

From the corner of her eye, Carina observed Lady Florence attempt to make conversation with the Viscount, but other than a curt nod of acknowledgment, she also was utterly ignored. It seemed the Rykard had no interest in engaging with either of his daughter’s remaining children at present. Instead, the Viscount placed his hat and gloves on the pew beside him and focused his attention on the sealed casket surrounded by lilies of the valley, lavender blossoms, and a mixture of mint leaves arranged to mask the decomposition sealed within the wax-lined box.

Percy leaned across Hana towards Carina once more. “What was that response?”

Carina inhaled slowly and stared at her fan as she closed it and wrapped her white knuckles around it tightly.

Hana promptly pulled her own fan from her purse and flourished it dangerously close to the Earl’s nose as she cleared her throat and nodded to where the priest had taken his place behind the pulpit—finally.

[B2] Chapter 3: The Sting of Gossip

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Chapter 3: The Sting of Gossip

Carina decided that Helena’s eulogy was nice enough. Though how Father Barry turned a short highlight of the noblewoman’s life into a sermon that extolled the gracious mercies of Saint Harmonia was a tad heavy-handed, in her opinion. Still, Viscount Rykard seemed to approve, given the way he nodded somberly along—almost enthusiastically—with the speech that the priest finally wrapped up with a solemn prayer.

“May the grace of Harmonia guide the soul of this dearly departed daughter, mother, and noble sister of the church. For though we must toil through this mortal world until death, these are but the final hours of the flesh. And after the body is committed to the earth, the soul shall be released into the Saints' loving arms.

May Harmonia bless and guide Lady Helena’s surviving children, who must face the perilous struggles of this world without the loving protection of their parents. May Harmonia favor those who would give charitably to the bereaved from the kindness of their hearts. Let the passing of our esteemed sister remind us all to forgive, to be merciful, and generous to all humankind, who faithfully walk the path of righteousness. Amen.”

“Amen,” the congregation echoed back.

Carina opened her eyes and suppressed a sigh. ‘At least that’s done now.’

Hana’s hand slid over her own once more, and Carina squeezed it gratefully.

“Noble Lords and Ladies,” Father Barry called out from his pulpit. “On behalf of Baroness Winslet, who has taken in Helena’s daughter, Lady Sophya, I have been asked to announce that there will be a luncheon at Winslet Manor for prayer and reflection. All are welcome to join, as Lady Florence wished very much to thank you for attending today.”

He nodded to Lady Florence, who bowed her head in response and made a show of comforting Sophya. “Then, I shall now request that the family of Lady Helena Gilwren be allowed to come forward first to pray and bid farewell to the departed.” Father Barry closed his holy book and moved to stand behind the coffin as he folded his hands in silent prayer while the choir sang a hymn of mourning.

“Would you like to go up?” Hana asked gently as she turned to Carina.

“No, not yet,” Carina replied as she watched Sophya attempt to rise, only to be pulled firmly back into her seat by Florence as the Viscount stood.

The room fell silent as Helena’s father approached the coffin with measured steps. Rykard stared at the pale oak wood for a moment, with his back to the congregation. Then he pulled a necklace with a sparkling sapphire stone from his pocket and placed it carefully into a small square drawer built into the coffin’s lid.

It was a practice Carina had been unfamiliar with until a recent conversation with Lady Tiffany. The living presented the dead with a token by which to identify each other in the next life. It was a way for lovers, friends, children, and parents to be reunited with the souls of their loved ones in whatever form they took upon their rebirth.

A touching tradition and one Carina willingly gave credence to, given her own strange arrival in this world.

The Viscount turned and retrieved his hat and gloves from the pew. His hazel-grey eyes flickered in Carina’s direction as Percy rose from his seat. Rykard looked away first and, without another word, quietly left the chapel.

“Lady Maura,” Percy turned and extended his hand. “It’s our turn.”

Carina raised an eyebrow. ‘In what world would the younger, half-blood daughter go before the eldest, legitimate daughter?’ Her answer came as Florence once more pulled Sophya back into the pew beside her. Carina furrowed her brows and sighed. ‘Let’s just get this over with.’

The invisible pressure of the congregation's gaze intensified as she accepted Percy’s hand and allowed him to guide her towards Helena’s coffin. Percy touched her hand, now curled around his arm, with firm reassurance as they stopped before the wooden casket outlined in flowers.

Carina stared blankly at the polished paneled surface and silently wished Maura could be here, but the haunted specter remained trapped within the palace’s fortress walls though Carina wondered if the ghost simply refused to leave their premises.

“Did you not bring a parting gift?” Percy asked softly as he leaned towards her.

“I did not know what to bring,” Carina replied with a faint sigh. ‘I have nothing to offer her and want nothing from her.’

Percy nodded and reached into his pocket. He pulled out two small, white seashells and pressed one into Carina’s hands. “Sometimes, it is better for the dead and living to forget.” He tossed his shell into the opening beside the Viscount’s necklace and nodded to her encouragingly.

Carina stared at the small blank shell and felt a weight lift from her shoulders as she gave it a light kiss, then dropped it into the drawer beside Percy’s. “Forget me then.”

‘Forget us both and be a kinder person in your next life.’

Percy’s arm slid away from her hand and wrapped around her protectively. Carina glanced up at him as he leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Remember, you are not alone,” he whispered.

Carina blinked as he straightened, caught off guard and very much aware that many important noble families had witnessed his affectionate gesture. She exhaled sharply as she focused on the coffin before them. “I’d like to leave now,” she whispered.

Percy turned them around and led her down the aisle towards the exit without comment. Hana rose from her seat and quickly followed behind as whispered conversations filled the pews.

“Is that not the half-blood child?”

“I hear they still don’t know who the father is.”

“She was wearing the cloak of a court official when she arrived—does she serve the royal family?”

“I heard the Crown Princess recently chose her as a lady-in-waiting.”

“Is that how she got close to the Earl?”

“Meanwhile, poor Lady Sophya has been left all but destitute by that deplorable father of hers.”

“I hear their poor mother perished in a fire!”

“Is that why they sealed the casket?”

“Poor thing.”

“If you ask me, they're both better off without such unfortunate parents.”

“They say the eldest is already engaged. Do you think the Winslet’s are after the Viscount’s inheritance?”

“But for a half-blood to become a Baroness?”

“Shocking.”

“Perhaps she might rise higher still.”

“With a title and property, it won’t be long until someone claims her hand in marriage, but she won’t marry above a Baron with that background, mark my words.”

“No indeed, what noble family would risk the taint of a half-blood.”

The distance to the chapel foyer seemed impossibly long, and yet Carina bore it all with a smile. Percy’s grip upon her elbow remained light, but she could feel the muscles in his arm grow tense against her back as they crossed the threshold.

“Ignore them,” Carina whispered as she turned and offered the loud women in the back row a cynical smile. “Their words have no power over me.”

‘If I wasn’t being pulled in every direction trying to prevent an outbreak of plague, mend the relationship between Eleanora and Nicholas, ensure Hana’s safety, and keep my numerous alias secret—I might give them a taste of what this half-blood’s wealth can do.’

“Sheep should know their place,” Percy growled softly.

Carina glanced up at his stoic, clenched jaw and those winter-grey eyes that held a familiar cold she recognized all too well.

“It stopped raining,” Hana murmured as she circled them and signaled to Sir Malcolm, who jogged over quickly with their cloaks. “Have the carriage brought round, please.”

“Yes, my Lady.” Malcolm bobbed a quick bow and handed Carina the cloaks before heading out beneath the parvis and down the chapel steps.

“Unfortunately, all this rain and carriage wheels have turned the ground into a swamp,” Carina observed as they proceeded down the stone steps. The summer rain had barely left a chill behind as the glistening sun filled the humid air with warmth.

Percy removed his arm as he signaled to his carriage driver. Carina moved away from him as she donned her cloak. “Will you be returning directly to the palace from here, Lady Maura,” the Earl asked as he followed her.

“Not directly, no,” Carina replied and then drew in a breath of fresh air. “I have a few errands to run while I can make use of this.” She pulled the palace pass from her purse, a thin gold bar engraved with two wolf heads facing each other.

Percy blinked at the gold bar in surprise. “Those are passes granted by the King.”

“Are they?” Carina frowned as she examined the token that authorized her departure and return to the palace. “How surprising, I assumed her Highness obtained them for us.”

“What’s the difference, either way?” Hana asked curiously. “They’re not permanent. We have to turn them in once we’ve returned.” She moved between them as she asked, “Are you sure you don’t want me to come along with you, Lady Maura?”

“No, you should go back to the palace and rest. I only agreed to let you come along to dispel those rumors about you being gravely ill,” Carina reminded her pointedly as she wrapped the purple court cloak around her companion’s shoulders. “Let’s not risk a relapse when you’ve been feeling so much better lately.”

“Fine, but you still need a proper escort,” Hana grumbled as she adjusted the cloak and secured its tassel rope bindings in place.

“Why not let me give you a ride in my carriage then, Lady Maura,” Percy suggested quickly. “As it is, there was a matter that I was hoping to discuss with you. An event that I believe would help dear Eleanora gain more favor among the nobles and commoners.”

“Then shouldn’t you discuss it with your cousin, Lord Percy?” Hana replied pointedly as she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Is there anything wrong with discussing my idea with Lady Maura first to get her opinion?” Percy returned with a patient smile.

“I have—other matters I need to address before I’m expected back at dinner,” Carina interjected with an anxious glance between them. “But I would be happy to discuss the idea with you later, Lord Percy.”

His winter-grey eyes turned from Hana towards Carina with a relaxed smile. “Of course, then please tell my cousin I’ll be dropping by for dinner to discuss the matter with both of you.”

“Lord Percy,” Hana hissed as she turned fully to face him. “Might I speak with you for a moment in private?”

Carina glanced from Hana’s angry expression to Percy’s neutral smile with baffled confusion. ‘Why does it feel like they hate each other?’

“Certainly, Lady Hana,” Percy replied smoothly and motioned in the direction of the chapel.

“I’ll be just a moment, Maura,” Hana called over her shoulder confidently as she swept past the Earl and led the way towards the chapel steps.

“What on earth?” Carina mumbled just as the carriage marked with the Averly crest pulled up behind her.

“We were lucky she didn’t get stuck in the mud,” the driver called out as Sir Malcolm used the carriage’s front wheel to navigate from the driver’s seat to the stone-paved walkway.

The agile knight dropped down and offered Carina a boyish grin before his troubled eyes trailed off in the direction of Hana and Percy. “Is something wrong?”

Carina drew in a breath, exhaled disparagingly, and shrugged.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t stay behind to escort you?” Malcolm inquired with a note of worry. “I’m still not confident you should—”

“I have a trusted escort meeting me here who will safeguard my trip until I return,” Carina interrupted with a firm smile. “But thank you for your concern, Sir Malcolm.”

Malcolm scoffed and shrugged. “Tiff said you were stubborn.”

“Stubborn?” Carina echoed with a raised brow.

“Well, ‘remarkably strong-willed’ were the words she used. How is my little sister doing anyway?”

“Lady Tiffany picks up things quickly,” Carina replied honestly as she glanced back towards Percy and Hana, who were still engaged in a heated conversation. “All the more reason you should return so you can spend some time with your sister during lunch. The Rose Palace has an excellent chef.”

“Bribing me with food?” Malcolm scoffed. “That’s a different approach.”

“I’ll be sure to let Tiffany know she ranks lower than food,” Carina returned with a smug grin.

“Looks like they’ve finished,” Malcolm said tensely. “Hope it wasn’t anything serious. I certainly wouldn’t want to be on the Earl’s bad side.”

There was something in his tone that tugged at the uncomfortable unease in Carina’s gut. “What do you mean?”

Malcolm shrugged. “Bad things tend to happen to those who offend the Hawthorne family. Just last week, some herb peddler was found outside his shop with his eyes and tongue missing, and his guts picked clean by crows. And they’re still looking for the daughter that was living with him. Rumor has it the shopkeeper insulted the Earl and a maid of his a few days before.”

‘A maid? Ivy!’ Carina sucked in a breath as Percy brushed past Hana towards them with his usual confident smile in place. Hana glared after the Earl, clearly far from satisfied with their conversation as she followed him back towards the carriage.

“Is everything alright?” Carina asked as she refocused on Percy.

The Earl tilted his head curiously. “Why wouldn’t it be?” he murmured, but the reassuring smile he offered her did not match the turbulence that raged behind his winter-grey eyes.

‘Shit.’

[B2] Chapter 4: Roses at a Funeral

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Chapter 4: Roses at a Funeral

Hana pulled Carina cautiously aside as Percy’s carriage pulled up behind theirs and the footman dismounted to speak with the Earl. “Maura, are you sure you’ll be alright? Do you need money? You’ve only been working at the palace for a week, not that they’re very punctual with payments. At least let me wait here until your escort arrives.”

“I’ll be fine, Hana,” Carina replied with a bemused smile. “What do you imagine could happen while I’m standing in front of my grandfather’s church?”

“Not that the Viscount deserves to be called that,” Hana muttered with a scowl though she released Carina’s arm reluctantly. “Alright then, I will head back since you’re so insistent, but if you are one minute late, Maura, I shall have Eleanora send out a battalion of knights to find you.”

Carina decided not to correct Hana on Eleanora’s limited power when it came to Lafeara’s knights. Until the crown princess was officially coronated queen, she didn’t have much control over anything.

‘Not even enough power to obtain a palace pass for her own attendants apparently.’

She smiled and waved as Malcolm assisted Hana into the carriage and then climbed in beside her. The newly appointed knight seemed kind and considerate. He was certainly fond of dropping by Rose Palace to visit his sister whenever he could. Although Tiffany complained every time he did, it was easy to see they got along well, even when they quarreled.

Percy returned to Carina’s side as the Averly carriage pulled away and departed through the chapel yard gate. “You and Lady Hana seem to have gotten close,” he observed.

“Is there any reason we shouldn’t?” Carina replied curiously, half-tempted to ask what the two of them had been arguing about.

The Earl’s carriage pulled forward, and the footman opened the door.

“Not at all,” Percy replied as he slid his fingers around her hand and raised it to his lips. “I just hope you won’t forget about your other friends.”

“Your coven?” Carina whispered so lightly the syllables of the words were hardly audible at all.

But Percy heard them and smiled. “I’ll introduce you soon enough.” He turned as the footman appeared beside them with a bouquet of roses.

‘Roses at a funeral?’ Carina raised an eyebrow as Percy extended the vivid red blossoms tipped with white towards her. “Your timing for gifts and roses is rather curious, Earl.”

Percy scratched the skin above his collar and smiled as she accepted them. “I suppose I’ll have to raise the bar on the next occasion then. What color do you think goes well with a coup?”

Carina felt the discomforting weight of fear flip in her gut once more as she stared at him. Then she stepped forward, snapped off a bud, and slid the barely bloomed rose into his left lapel. “Let’s avoid any occasion that involves people dying, shall we?”

Percy wolfishly grinned, then slid his fingers through the flyaway curls of her hair and brushed his thumb down her cheek. “Whatever you wish, my dear.”

Carina tried to retreat but found she couldn’t move. She was reminded once more of that moment on the balcony when Percy had gifted her the Winter Rose. She had been completely powerless then. But this was different, a feeling she couldn’t quite name, something that seemed to connect her to the Earl and him to her in a way that made her feel weak and helpless.

‘I am not weak.’

That single thought somehow restored the balance between them, and Carina felt the moment pass as Percy lowered his hand.

“I will see you later tonight, Lady Maura,” he promised, then bowed low before he turned and boarded his carriage.

Carina reached towards the comforting chill of the Winter Rose as she watched the prancing team of speckled horses disappear down the gravel, country road. Around the glen, a flock of crows took to the skies with a flutter of dark wings. Carina eyed them warily as half of the pack broke off and followed the carriage while the rest moved into trees closer to the chapel to stare down at her.

“Damn pests,” Carina muttered under her breath and stifled a yawn as she dropped her hand to the pendant watch pinned to her waist. Sleep was a commodity in very short supply these days, especially when Carina had to wait until midnight to practice using her ice magic. Nothing flashy, just enough to release the uncomfortable pressure that built up inside Carina’s chest if she went too long without expelling the magic from her frozen heart.

Ever since Carina had used her magic to open the secret tunnel beneath Rose Palace, that demanding urge visited her more frequently and with increasing demand. ‘It is worrisome and something I should remember to ask Percy about the next time we meet.’

Carina sighed, and after confirming her ride and escort should be here in a few more minutes, repinned the pendant watch to the waistline of her dress. She heard the chapel door open behind her but did not turn. She had little wish to communicate with anyone here, least of all the people she actually recognized.

“Well, well, well. So the little half-blood is a Baroness now?”

Carina’s finger’s clenched around the tassels of her cloak as she turned slowly to face the familiar voice and visage of one of Lincoln’s old schoolmates. Lord Artemis, or Art, as Lincoln had called him.

Carina folded her arms as she regarded the insufferable young noble with sunken cheeks, a long flared nose, and spectacles that enlarged his eyes and, in Carina’s opinion, made him resemble a sickly camel. A resemblance not improved upon by Art’s fondness for chewing tobacco.

As punctual as a clock, Art spat a wad of yellowish-brown saliva onto the paved stone just inches from the hem of Carina’s dress and offered her a grin. “You’ve grown up, little half-blood.”

“Time has a way of doing that,” Carina replied neutrally as she circled past him towards the church. She knew better than to remain anywhere alone with Lincoln’s friends.

“Hey, hey!” Art caught her right arm and held her fast. “Is this how you greet an old friend? Shouldn’t you be commiserating with me—or at least apologize?”

“Apologize?” Carina echoed, baffled.

Art’s grip tightened as he stepped forward with a sinister leer. “It would seem your rise in station has made you forget your place, half-blood. But as every noble knows, those who rise may yet fall. Don’t forget who will be waiting to reclaim old debts when you do return to the mud.”

“There are no debts between us,” Carina observed calmly. “Now remove your hand.”

“You know—you’ve gotten a lot prettier,” Art observed as he stepped closer still. Carina’s stomach quivered in disgust as she watched him slide a lump of tobacco across his stained teeth to the other side of his mouth. “Why don’t the two of us find a way to resolve our grief and differences together? I could show you a thing or two now that you’re all grown up. I might even be gracious enough to marry you while you’re still—”

“Artemis!” a voice boomed behind them.

Carina shoved the trembling frozen fingers of her left hand into the fabric of her skirt and exhaled a pale breath of icy air as Lord Asher strolled over with a frown on his face.

“Art, your mother is looking for you,” Asher said with a reproachful glower.

“Don’t lie, Asher,” Art growled. Carina attempted to pull away while he was distracted, but the brutish camel only twisted her arm and yanked her firmly back to his side. “Mother knows exactly what I’m doing.”

“All the same, I think you’ve made Lady Maura uncomfortable,” Asher replied as his gaze darkened. “So either rejoin Lady Susan inside or leave.”

“Just what business is this of yours?” Art growled with evident irritation. “I thought you were after the redhead.”

“I’m making it my business,” Asher returned with a casual shrug as he flexed his right shoulder and wrist. “Satisfied?”

Art cackled as he held up Carina’s arm, released it, and promptly smacked her backside. Carina's lips trembled with rage, but she pressed them silently together. His behavior was nothing new. She had endured similar humiliation at the hands of Lincoln’s other friends before.

“Fine, I’ll play nice, but you can’t marry both of them,” Art mocked as he intentionally brushed shoulders with Asher on his way back to the church. “Though, I suppose you don’t have to go that far for a half-blood.”

A sharp whistle drew Carina’s gaze towards the chapel gate, where a new carriage drawn by two blood-red horses splashed through the rain puddles and turned in their direction. ‘Thank the Saints!’

She pulled up her hood and glanced towards the two nobles just in time to see Asher grab the front of Art’s jacket, drag the protesting camel to the end of the stone walk and hurl him face-first into the mud—directly in the path of the approaching carriage.

The driver reined in sharply and cursed, “Hells Teeth! Watch where you’re fighting!”

The carriage door opened as Stitcher alighted and moved towards Carina with a concerned glance towards the nobles. “You alright?” the physician and double-agent assassin muttered as he toyed with the short blade at his hip.

“Better now that you’re here,” Carina replied with a half-hearted smile.

“Oye, someone better break them up!” the driver called out, exasperated as he struggled to back his spooked team away from Asher, who now knelt on top of Art’s back.

Sophya’s fiancé and future husband smiled as he pressed Art’s face further into the mud. The overpowered noble thrashed beneath him, arms and legs flailing in helpless panic.

“Keep that up, and you’ll kill him,” Stitcher called out nonchalantly.

Asher turned sharply towards them, frowned at Stitcher, and then released the floundering noble as he stood gracefully.

Art yanked his face from the mud and gasped in a painful breath of air. “You—two-faced—Son of a—”

Asher pressed the bottom of his boot against Art’s head and shoved the noble’s still open mouth back down into the mud. “Insult or offend either Lady Sophya or Lady Maura again—and next time, I’ll see you choke on worse than this.”

Art spat out a series of curses and mud as he coughed and clawed his way free from Asher’s boot, then rolled over into a puddle like a dead fish.

“Who is this prince charming?” Stitcher whispered with a cynical smile as Asher wiped his boots against the stone path.

“My half-sister’s fiancé,” Carina replied indifferently. “No one of importance.”

“I apologize if Art offended you, Lady Maura,” Asher said as he crossed over to them.

“There is no need for that,” Carina said calmly. “Thankfully, I will have no further cause to associate with any of Lincoln’s friends in the future.”

“I hope that does not extend to me,” Asher replied with a rueful smile, “since we are about to become family.”

Carina raised her eyebrows and laughed. “If you think marrying Sophya in any way makes us family, you are mistaken, Lord Asher. With Lady Helena dead, Sophya and I are finally free of each other. I want as little to do with her as she does with me.”

‘Honestly, he would have to be blind to not pick up on the way they treated me when he visited Turnbell Manor. Now he suddenly wants to act like my savior?’

“I am sorry to hear it!” Asher called after her as Carina turned to leave. “Regardless of your differences, Sophya could use your help right now.”

“My help?” Carina pulled out her fan as she turned to face him. “Or my money?”

Asher’s lower jaw twitched in response to her question, but he covered it with a quick shake of his head. “Surely your financial position is little better than Sophya’s, Lady Maura. The Winslet family has more than enough wealth to cover what meager debts remain after selling Turnbell Manor.”

The fan stilled in Carina’s hand as she blinked. “Sophya sold Turnbell Manor?”

“Yes, she was uncomfortable living there alone without any servants or family. And it was impractical for her to hold onto it in the face of Josiah’s debts,” Asher explained patiently. “She’s more than comfortable at Winslet Manor, which will be her permanent home soon enough.”

Carina nodded slowly but continued to eye him suspiciously. “If it's not money, then what sort of help do you expect me to provide?”

“Well,” Asher continued hesitantly. “Sophya was hoping to reunite with her grandfather today, but, as I’m sure you noticed, Viscount Gilwren left rather quickly.”

‘Ah, so that is why you agreed to marry her even after Josiah lost his business.’

“The Viscount seemed to react favorably towards you earlier,” Asher continued in a hopeful tone.

Carina smothered a laugh behind her fan. “I’m afraid you are mistaken, Lord Asher. Viscount Gilwren was only polite on account of the Earl. I believe his first impression of me was far from favorable.”

Asher’s expression hardened for a moment, but then he shrugged as he glanced over to where Art had finally managed to get back to his feet. The muddy noble turned and staggered away from the chapel, presumably in the direction of his carriage.

“Well, in either case, Lady Maura, don’t be a stranger,” Asher said lightly with a bow before he turned and headed back inside the chapel.

Stitcher glanced at her, but Carina merely shook her head as she headed towards the waiting carriage.

‘What a fool you are, Sophya.’ Carina leaned back against the cushion and sighed as she closed her eyes briefly. Stitcher signaled the carriage driver that they were ready to depart, and the dismal chapel quickly disappeared from view.

[B2] Chapter 5: Tortured and Twisted Grief

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Chapter 5: Tortured and Twisted Grief

It was a sight to warm any maiden’s heart, and yet Sophya had never hated Maura more than when she watched Asher step forward gallantly to defend the half-blood from Lord Artemis’s repulsive advances.

Sophya seethed silently. Ragged nails that she was forever fretfully biting, snagged on the curtain and yanked her tender skin painfully. Her sharp exhale of pain briefly coated the window before her in a ghostly mist. She laughed bitterly as she flung the curtain between herself and the image of Asher sitting on top of Artemis, while another strange man joined Maura’s side protectively.

‘How does she always find someone willing to protect her?’ Sophya wrapped her trembling hands around her waist and glanced anxiously over her shoulder towards the private parlor door.

Sophya had taken refuge from the crowd of nobles outside after giving Lady Florence the excuse that she felt faint. She had also managed to bump into Lady Susan, Artemis’s mother, on her way over and let slip her half-sister’s recent rise in status. “A title granted by the Crown Princess herself, and a bountiful province to go along with it. If only Maura had a suitable husband to help her govern it.”

Lady Susan’s eyes lit up instantly. Artemis was twenty after all—the same age Lincoln had been—and of marriageable age, but as the second son, he could not hope to inherit land nor title from his father. He was also a coward who refused to enlist and far from suited to take on holy robes.

Artemis’s dismal reputation for being less than a gentleman had made marrying him off to any suitable heiress all but impossible. But a half-blood, who happened to have a title of her own—well, Lady Susan had not hesitated to set her son upon this task.

“Tsk!” Sophya muttered as she fiddled with the lace of her gloomy, shabby mourning dress. ‘If only Asher hadn’t interfered.’

The right husband or even a sullied reputation would surely be enough to see Maura knocked down from her recent position.

‘What right does she have to come here and flaunt her title, connections, and wealth? While I’m stranded, grasping at whatever charity my future mother-in-law will grant me and waiting for my engagement to Asher to be officially announced.’

Not that Lady Florence could back out now, Helena had been smart enough to get a legal agreement drawn up and signed before Lincoln’s funeral. Florence had agreed, provided that Sophya sign away whatever marital property or inheritance she possessed, excluding her dowry, to Asher as her lawful husband.

‘Not that I have any inheritance of which to speak. I was forced to sell Turnbell Manor at rock bottom price to cover Josiah’s immediate debts.’

Even the mourning dress Sophya wore was two years old, a smidge too tight, and shockingly close to revealing her ankles. It had been fashionable enough for the funeral of a friend’s family member two years back, but now it hardly passed for more than scraps. Asher had offered to buy her a new one, but Florence had promptly refused.

“The dress is suitable enough. We are already providing Sophya with a safe place to stay. Any more would be inappropriate until after your engagement is official,” the Baroness of Winslet had argued practically.

‘It would be official already if you would just announce it!’ Sophya raised a trembling hand to her lips, and finding the thumbnail too worn down to offer any comfort, moved on to another nail to grind between her teeth. She turned back to the window to check if Asher had returned but found him still speaking to Maura.

The half-blood laughed flirtatiously behind her fan, and Sophya felt her cheeks flush with rage as her throbbing heart spiked with jealousy.

‘She’s making me look like such a fool! Flirting with my fiancé? Does she imagine that I will let her get away with this?’

First Percy, then Acheron, and now Asher and even this goon dressed like some sort of mercenary. ‘I can only imagine how she wraps them around her little witch finger.’

Sophya smiled scornfully, then darted from the window with a gasp as the goon turned suddenly in her direction. ‘Did he—see me?’

Sophya took a moment to catch her breath. She was about to peek through the window again when a sharp rap came from the doorway behind her.

“What on earth are you doing hiding here, child?” Florence asked impatiently. “And do stop biting your nails!”

“Just—resting, Lady Florence.”

Florence sighed and laid the cloaks she carried over the back of a chair. “It’s time you and my son returned to the Manor.”

“Oh?” Sophya felt equally relieved and suffocated. At least here in front of the other nobles, Florence was less strict and vocally disapproving.

Florence narrowed her eyes impatiently. “Well? Don’t stand there like some niddy-nobody. Go find Asher!”

“Yes, Lady Florence.” Sophya dipped around the Baroness towards the door.

“Take the cloaks with you! Honestly, is your head even attached to your shoulders?”

Sophya bit her tongue as she grabbed the cloaks and rushed back into the foyer. Since entering the Winslet household, Florence had taken to using Sophya more like a servant—and used her more often than the resident’s maids to perform simple household tasks.

“She’s just trying to get closer to you,” Asher had insisted. “And this is a good opportunity for you to learn how the Manor is run.”

Her footsteps dragged as Sophya drew closer to the chapel door. She didn’t want to see Asher right now, smiling—or flirting—with Maura.

The archway door opened before her as Asher stepped inside with a distracted expression. “Ahh, is it time to go back already?”

“Y-yes,” Sophya mumbled and quickly handed over his cloak.

“You look upset. Is Mother giving you a hard time?” Asher asked gently as he retreated through the door and offered her his arm.

Sophya hurriedly pulled on her cloak, anything to hide the ugly dress she wore that could not compare to the sparkling black dress Maura had shown up wearing. “Not at all.” She glanced towards the end of the path and was relieved to see Maura’s carriage pulling away.

“There you are, Asher,” Florence called out behind them.

Sophya cringed as Asher turned back to the doorway. “Yes, Mother?”

“Take Sophya back and see to it the chef and kitchen staff prepare enough food for twenty,” Florence said briskly.

“Are you not returning with us, Mother?”

“No, I shall be riding back with Viscountess Hendrix,” Florence answered with a note of smugness. “Sophya, since the funeral is over, could you change into something—a little less depressing.”

“Mother,” Asher growled softly.

“And you should see about setting her up with a maid,” Florence muttered as she turned in the doorway. “She’s practically helpless without proper supervision.”

“Mother, Sophya is grieving,” Asher replied tersely. “Of course, she needs us to look after her—but a maid wouldn’t be a bad idea either.”

“Hmph, a week is plenty of time to grieve.” Florence waved her hand dismissively as she returned to the crowd of chattering nobles inside.

“Don’t mind Mother too much,” Asher said with a sigh as he turned and led Sophya down the walkway. “Father’s illness hasn’t improved, and though she doesn’t like to show weakness, his declining health has affected her mood.”

“Of course,” Sophya mumbled and twisted her trembling hand around the cloak’s fabric.

Asher pulled off his glove and whistled sharply to signal their driver.

“Your trousers are muddy,” Sophya commented, her tone forcefully casual as her grip on his arm tightened.

“Just a bit of backsplash from one of the carriages,” Asher replied distractedly.

‘I suppose I would prefer to hear a lie rather than you admitting that you got dirty fighting on Maura’s behalf.’

And yet, as her hands released his arm on their own accord, Sophya couldn’t squash the fear that slithered down her spine and coiled in her gut. One glimpse of her muted reflection in a muddy puddle at the end of the path told Sophya all she needed to know.

‘I look like a common peasant in this dress—while Maura—’

Sophya touched the curls of her once vibrant red hair and fought against the tears that burned behind her forest-green eyes. She couldn’t look at her reflection without missing Lincoln, the only person who had always taken her side no matter how wrong or unagreeable she behaved.

She missed her brother so much it physically hurt, like acid burning in her chest while her stomach felt forever empty. She even missed his dark, foul moods when he abused the house servants to vent his anger. Sophya hadn’t realized how much Lincoln had meant to her until there was no one left beside her.

“My princess deserves the very best.” Lincoln was forever telling her that. But where was he now—and Josiah? They were both dead and gone, just like Helena, just like Turnbell Manor, just like her old carefree life.

The tears slid down her cheeks unchecked as she smothered a sob behind her closed fist.

“Sophya,” Asher murmured softly as he pulled her hand away. “Don’t let Mother see you are biting your nails again. You know that upsets her.”

Sophya stared up at him with trembling lips as familiar anger flared awake inside her. “Can’t you see I’m the one that’s upset?” she demanded and ripped her hand free.

Asher blinked down at her in surprise, and Sophya recoiled.

‘No, I can’t let him see this side of me. I’m not this pathetic, useless person. I am Sophya Turnbell, future Viscountess of Gilwren. I am destined for greatness Maura will never achieve.’

“You are tired,” Asher said patiently as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and offered his handkerchief. “If you want to cry, then cry, Sophya. You have every right to be upset, but don’t take it out on your beautiful hands.”

His reassuring, adoring gaze calmed the rising panic in her chest as Sophya leaned into him willingly and accepted his handkerchief.

“Let’s head back, so you have time to rest before Mother’s guests arrive.”

“Do you think the Baroness will let me eat something, now that the funeral is over?” Sophya pouted as they approached the waiting carriage.

Asher chuckled. “She was hardly starving you, Sophya. You know it's customary to fast while grieving.”

‘Try fasting for a week and see how you feel about it then,’ Sophya almost grumbled aloud.

The weight of her sudden change in circumstances washed over Sophya anew. Lincoln’s death, followed by Maura’s remarkable transformation before the half-blood left Turnbell for the palace. Helena and Josiah’s shocking divorce. Florence's sudden acceptance of Sophya and Asher’s engagement. And then Lincoln’s funeral—and the awful, horrible nightmares that had plagued Sophya since that day.

The only good thing to come from that fire was the death of Judith and Josiah’s unborn bastard. ‘Imagine being related to the offspring of a slave?’

Sophya shuddered at the thought and rested her head against Asher’s shoulder as the lumbering carriage gently lulled her into a restless sleep and another uneasy dream where dark crows flocked in a circle about her rotting corpse.

[B2] Chapter 6: A Whisper of Malice

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Chapter 6: A Whisper of Malice

The breeze carried the scent of fragile summer romance that lingered in the rose petals scattered on the carriage seat where Maura’s bouquet had once rested. Percy stared at the mess absently. The Earl’s manicured thumb traced the crevices of the raven’s head carved into his cane as Percy contemplated the lecture his cousin’s lover had just given him.

“You should keep your distance from Lady Maura.” Hana’s turquoise eyes flashed with protectiveness as she continued to whisper fiercely. “You are already the subject of unfavorable rumors given your misconduct towards Lady Evelynn.”

“What rumors?” Percy asked sharply.

“That you broke your engagement to Lady Evelynn on account of another woman,” Hana explained in a reproachful tone.

“What?” Percy drew in a sharp breath as he carefully muffled their conversation with another wind barrier.

'Maura had finally lowered her guard. Where were these ridiculous rumors coming from?'

“I am not—nor have I ever been—engaged to Lady Evelynn, officially or otherwise!” he growled impatiently.

‘How many times do I have to repeat this to make people listen?’

Hana raised a cynical brow as she studied his restrained expression. “Well, only you and Lady Evelynn know the words spoken between you,” she replied without a flicker of sympathy. “But until these rumors are extinguished, do not drag Maura into your mess. She has more than enough adversity to overcome without you tarnishing her reputation.”

“As if that orphaned Zarus slut has any right to judge me or speak Maura’s name so intimately,” Percy muttered as his grip tightened around the cane. ‘But something must be done about these rumors.’

The first person who might benefit from battering Percy’s reputation would be the Dowager. After all, she and the Countess had hoped to weaken Percy’s hold over the witch covens by marrying him to a noble family without a drop of witch blood.

Percy scoffed. ‘As if the House of Hawthorne could be crippled so easily.’

But Percy could not discount Viscount Hendrix or Lady Evelynn either. They had been deluded enough to think they could pressure him into marriage by appealing to the Countess. Perhaps they were desperately hoping that public opinion would force him to accept the Dowager’s will.

‘If I am publically disgraced, my seat at the House of Lord’s will be in jeopardy.’

His mother would never willingly weaken the Hawthorne’s name or reputation. And in any case, Countess Constance was safely locked away in a carefully guarded country estate. According to the latest crow intelligence, she was already suffering a painful withdraw from the aconitum herb.

‘Recovering her powers may be impossible at this point, but Mother deserves to suffer for what she did to Father and the covens.’

And yet, despite the Countess’s sudden trip to the countryside, Percy could not deny that Constance still held considerable influence, especially among the wives of the Aristocratic Lords. The blood and bones of the Aristocratic Party itself, however, had been all too eager to welcome Hawthorne’s male heir as their leader the moment Percy came of age and freed himself from the Countess’s clutches.

Percy crossed his arms and sighed. The answer to this riddle was all too easy to guess. All he had to do was consider who had the most to gain or lose if his engagement fell through, and that was Lady Evelynn herself. Even if the Dowager was secretly providing her with support and encouragement, Lady Evelynn was its likely source.

Judging by the way the detestable girl had thrown herself upon him in front of Eleanora, Evelynn was clearly desperate to keep the engagement intact.

‘But why is she so desperate to link herself to me? I am not the only Earl in Lafeara. The son of a Marquess would raise her status even further. Even the son of a Viscount will be a suitable match if their family is connected to the ruling government.’

Eleanora’s reaction to Lady Evelynn’s public desperation had not helped the situation either. His cousin merely offered Percy an innocent, wide-eyed ‘I saw nothing’ smirk before she turned and walked away, leaving Percy to disentangle himself from her attendant.

The very memory of that awkward, disturbing moment made Percy scrape a thumb across his lips as if to remove the stain. ‘Perhaps it would be worth using words of cunning to convince Lady Evelynn to give up this foolishness.’ The Earl’s lips curved into a dark chuckle, and he shook his head. ‘No, that would be letting the bitch off too easy. The only thing that will squash these rumors is one of greater spectacle—a scandal backed with actual proof.’

Percy leaned forward and whispered the words of summoning. The air crackled along the hairs of his arms and neck as dark whispers echoed from within the black onyx gem of the signet ring that flashed an ominous red.

Two crows fluttered down through the open carriage window. The bird's small, sharp talons and wings scattered the rose petals as they hopped excitedly on the seat across from him.

“Make sure Mother has had no outside contact,” Percy instructed the first crow. “Tell Sister Tsillah to be extra vigilant. The longer the Countess is out of the public eye, the more the Dowager will notice her absence and grow curious.” The dark messenger bobbed its head as Percy extended his hand to the bird, which hopped upon his finger, pecked Earl’s signet ring in acknowledgment, and then fluttered off through the open window.

Percy watched its flight for a moment before he settled his winter-grey eyes on the last crow. “As for you, tell Mercy I will see her at Hawthorne Manor tonight at midnight. I have a feral cat that needs a cage and a heavy stone to see it properly drowned.”

He extended his hand again with a satisfied smile as a plan unwoven before him in the dark void behind the crow’s pebble-like eyes. The bird flinched away from his touch, then cawed apologetically as it obediently fluttered onto Percy’s hand, where it trembled as the Witch King stroked its black wings thoughtfully.

“I have been patient long enough—tell Mercy, it’s time to begin.”

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“I’m beginning to think I should apply for a full-time position as your bodyguard,” Stitcher commented as the carriage pulled back onto less muddy roads.

“And how would you justify leaving the knights with one less capable physician?” Carina replied with an amused smile. “In any case, it's not as if I will have many occasions to leave the palace in the future. It took a death in the family for me to obtain a gate pass this time.” She held up the golden bar she had been examining.

Stitcher scoffed and nodded. “Condolences on your loss and all, but it's probably best his Majesty doesn’t know you took advantage of getting one this time. The rules of court are different for men and women. I don’t think those nobles will find it amusing that you used a family funeral as an excuse to attend to other personal matters.”

“I hardly need you to tell me that,” Carina replied with a sigh. “An opportunity to move about in the daylight was too good to pass up.” She dropped the pass inside her purse and tightened the drawstrings. “Which reminds me, have you made contact with your friends in Ventrayna?”

“Yes, and finally received a reply,” Stitcher answered as he flicked a speck of dried mud from his trousers. “You were right on the money with regards to the Ambassador’s bad habits—though they appear to be a bit more dangerous than you originally guessed.”

“Oh?” Carina raised an eyebrow curiously. “What have you discovered?”

“The name you gave me belongs to a noble young girl from old Zarus who died five years ago. Her ashes were burned and scattered by the high priest at the Sacred Temple of Kritanta. However, the other name you gave me did enter the same temple during the same year, and then, two years later, was withdrawn when a high-ranking noble daughter chose her as a maid. That young woman then went on to become Baroness of Oplen and has retained her position beside that same noble daughter, who is now the current Crown Princess of Lafeara.”

Carina nodded as she loosened the cord of her court cloak. “You are telling me what I already knew or guessed. Did you find proof of what happened to the original child, Lady Nesta?”

“Lady Nesta and her family were prisoners of war from old Zarus,” Stitcher conveyed hesitantly. “Her people were not well treated by Arius or any of the witches of Ventrayna. They were enslaved, tortured, and slaughtered for sport.”

“And what happened to Lady Nesta?” Carina pressed even as her stomach turned unpleasantly with the knowledge she already possessed.

“Only her death is recorded, along with that of her family. The reason given was insubordination to Ambassador Haemish. Since they were slaves, there was no investigation into the matter, but—” Stitcher slid a hand through his dark hair before he muttered, “—the records did record Lady Nesta as being fourteen-years-old when she died.”

“And Lady Hana was fourteen-years-old when she entered the temple,” Carina supplied as she ran her fingers across the cloak’s tassels. “Eleanora found her after she turned sixteen and retained Hana as a maid.”

“If your guess is correct, and they are the same person—” Stitcher let out a slow breath “—then Lady Hana is fortunate to be alive. For a slave of Zarus to become a noblewoman of Ventrayna—is an unspeakable crime.”

“Hence my concern and your discreet investigation,” Carina replied softly as her hands stilled. “What else have you learned about the Ambassador?”

“As much as I’d like to impress you, this secret club you mentioned involves some of the most powerful witch patriarchs in Ventrayna,” Stitcher pointed out cautiously. “Dangerous men who share a close relationship with either the Emperor or Empress, as well as a sadistic interest in tormenting men, women, and children.”

Carina exhaled sharply and nodded. “Then—can we do anything with this information?”

“Not without exposing Lady Hana’s origins,” Stitcher replied. “As it is, I don’t see how the Ambassador could have overlooked her identity when she became Eleanora’s maid.”

Carina crossed her arms silently. She had been wondering the same thing. “What about Lord Haemish’s wife, Lady Lavinia? Would she be sympathetic, do you think?”

Stitcher sighed and shook his head. “You have to remember, in Ventrayna, as long as the victim isn’t a coven witch, torture, rape, and murder are not viewed as crimes. Least of all when perpetrated on a lowly slave.”

Carina clenched her teeth and nodded. Perhaps her search into Hana’s past had been but a fool’s errand after all. Hana had disclosed this dark secret to Maura during a time Eleanora had distanced herself from her lover because of toxic rumors spread by Lady Rosamund. It was a secret Hana never revealed to Eleanora, the identity of the man who raped her and left her for dead in a stable when she was fourteen-years-old.

The Winter Rose hummed with cold magic beneath her fingers, and Carina looked down, unaware that she had drawn it free from beneath her dress.

“That’s pretty,” Stitcher observed, breaking the tense silence.

“It was a gift,” Carina murmured as she tucked the diamond beneath the fabric of her bodice.

“Speaking of gifts, my Master sends his regards and asks if you have been to Master Iker’s Blacksmith shop for a scabbard yet.”

Carina rolled her eyes and sighed. “I hope to handle that today. Did your Master say when he’ll be returning?”

“He had only just arrived at Ventrayna according to his letter, so I expect he’ll need time to figure out the current situation there.”

Carina shook her head and let the matter go. According to Maura’s past, Ghost would return to Lafeara when Eleanora needed him most. The trouble was, Carina could not reconcile all of Maura’s memories with the tragic death of the queen and all her attendants.

‘I’m still missing pieces of the puzzle, but what piece or who—and does Maura even hold the answer—remains a mystery.’

But Carina was certain of one thing, Ambassador Haemish’s arrival to Lafeara spelled trouble for Eleanora and Nicholas, and most of all Hana.

[B2] Chapter 7: The Weight of Guilt

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Chapter 7: The Weight of Guilt

“There seems to be an increasing number of knights on the streets lately,” Stitcher observed as a group of three mounted Lafearain knights passed outside their carriage window.

“The Ambassador’s arrival is fast approaching,” Carina replied with a tight smile. “And the public opinion of your country is far from positive. The Crown Prince wants to maintain tight control over the capital for public safety reasons and also to ensure a peaceful visit. Ventrayna and Lafeara may be at peace, but the taxes we pay have been a grievous burden on the merchant class and commoners for years. The people here have no love for the Emperor.”

Stitcher snorted and recrossed his legs leisurely. “Then they should be more grateful to her Highness, Eleanora; her marriage will ease the tax burden considerably.”

“Mmm,” Carina murmured as she pulled the curtain over the carriage window. ‘Except Nicholas and the House of Lords plan to take credit for that tax relief as part of their successful negotiations with the Ambassador.’

“Am I allowed to ask who we are meeting this time?”

“Someone you’ve met before: my lawyer, Sir Bryson. Though I will be meeting with him alone,” Carina added quickly as she narrowed her gaze on Stitcher. “I don’t think Sir Bryson will be comfortable meeting any members from the Fox Den.”

“Ahh—understandable,” Stitcher murmured sympathetically, though his expression darkened. “Speaking of which, it would appear the Fox Master is dead.”

“What!?” Carina felt her stomach clench as she studied him intently. “How?”

“You heard about the fire at the capital church?” Stitcher replied as he lifted the curtain to peek out into the street.

“You mean the fire that killed my parents?” Carina asked with a hint of sarcasm. “Wait—were the Foxes involved?”

“Not just the Foxes: a witch hunter, priest, and even—a pure-blood fire witch.”

Carina’s mouth clamped shut. She blinked rapidly as she tried to make sense of this—almost impossible to believe—piece of news. She could feel Stitcher observing her reaction but ignored him as conversations from the funeral echoed through her ears.

“I heard the mother died in a fire.”

“Is that why they sealed the casket.”

“Poor thing.”

Carina sucked in a breath as she pressed a cold hand over her lips. “Why am I only just hearing about this?”

“I’ve been busy, and you’ve been locked away inside the palace where rumors are tightly controlled,” Stitcher murmured sympathetically.

Carina rubbed her fingers in a slow circle between her brows and nodded. She suspected he was holding something back, as always. After all, Ventrayna was considered the birthplace of fire witches. “You’re saying a witch started the fire—at my half-brother’s funeral—that resulted in my parent’s death?”

“Yes, and a few other fires that the knights have kept hidden from the public. But the Sisters Chapel was too close to the capital and visible for miles. There were too many witnesses for even the knights to keep silent. I expect it won’t be long before the whole capital is made aware of the matter—and when that happens.”

‘There will be a witch hunt—or worse—an inquisition.’ Carina gritted her teeth and pressed her knuckles between her brow as she exhaled against her wrist. ‘No, a witch hunter is already involved—so an inquisition is even more likely now.’

“Do we know who the pure-blood is?” Carina asked bitterly as she dropped her hand and focused on the assassin across from her.

“That—is unclear at present,” Stitcher answered as he fiddled with the blade at his belt.

‘So he does know—but he won’t tell me.’

“What about the witch hunter?”

“The witch hunter and his priest appeared to be after you—but now the priest is dead—”

‘Shit! The priest is dead!?’

“—though witnesses claim it was the witch hunter who killed him.”

Carina didn’t know whether to laugh or cheer at that piece of information. Her fingers twisted around the chain of the Winter Rose necklace as she absently chewed her lip.

‘Why did witch hunter and priest go to Lincoln’s funeral? Does this mean they know my identity? Or perhaps, the pure-blood witch was their target?’

The Winter Rose flared beneath her cold fingers. Carina barely noticed that she held the diamond in her grip once more. ‘I can’t ignore this. They came here to find me—if this becomes an inquisition.’ Carina rubbed the silver chain between her thumb and forefinger and laughed. She knew better than to believe this was just some unlucky coincidence.

“Which is why my Master asks that you maintain a low profile for the time being. With the death of a priest—it's very likely the Pope will send an inquisition to Lafeara.”

Carina dropped the necklace and bowed her head into her hands. ‘Damn it. Have all my efforts only traded a beheading for a public burning as a witch?’

“Lady Maura?”

Carina ignored the concern in his voice as she tried to calm the rising tide of panic in her chest. She only knew of a handful of witch burnings over the last decade of Lafeara’s history. The most notable being the public executions of two years ago when several nobles had dared to insinuate the royal family was behind the death of Crown Prince Tristan. They and their families had all been arrested as witches and burned at the stake before the fortress gate over the course of three days.

It was said that when the last witch burned, King Henri, who watched the executions from the fortress walls, suddenly fell to his death. There were no witnesses to explain how he fell, but many claimed it was the work of an assassin, or a witch—or perhaps even his own guilty conscious.

As to whether Nicholas would continue this barbaric tradition?

Carina shivered as the image of Beaumont holding an ax, his arms, chest, and face splattered in the blood of the attendants he had executed, came unbidden to her mind. She shook the memory away—but Beaumont only returned, this time with the death notice in hand, as his deep voice calmly explained her parents had died in a fire.

‘Liar!’

There was no way the future king’s personal bodyguard didn’t know that a witch had been involved in the chapels burning. Beaumont had chosen to keep that information from her. Anger quelled the fear clouding her mind, and Carina focused on the edge it provided as she lowered her hands, folded them against her lap, and straightened her back against the carriage seat.

‘What did I expect? I knew his loyalties were with Nicholas after all.’

She turned her narrowed gaze on the assassin, who shifted uncomfortably. “Is there anything else I should be made aware of in regards to the inquisition and my identity as a witch?”

“I’ve learned that Knight Commander Quentin has been assigned to investigate the chapel burning and your parent’s death. It would be wise to prepare yourself in case he should wish to interview you. He has a reputation for uncovering the truth.”

Carina nodded as she pushed the curtain aside and focused on the capital buildings outside the carriage window. ‘Why is it, the closer I get to freeing myself from Maura’s fate, the more dangers I find myself entangled by.’

‘If Lincoln had not followed me that day. If I had not killed him.’

She rejected the thought quickly. Lincoln had sealed his fate the moment he had tried to rape her.

‘But why—he never tried to attack Maura in that way? Was that just because of Maura’s scars?’

Carina closed her eyes and drew in a slow breath as she kneaded the headache forming along the back of her neck. Knight Commander Quentin had a reputation for being thorough, fair in judgment, and loyal to the crown. If he decided to interview the surviving members of the Turnbell family, there was one more person he would likely speak with, Sophya.

‘Judging by our last encounter, Sophya’s feelings towards me have not changed at all. But at least she has no reason to think I am a witch.’

Carina had avoided using magic for the most part while living at Turnbell Manor. She certainly never exposed her powers in front of anyone other than Ivy—up until Lincoln’s death. The last thing she needed was to give Maura’s oldest nemesis an excuse to see her burned at the stake.

Carina had also been careful to keep her ice magic hidden from the Countess, though, after learning Percy’s secret, it seemed a shame to have wasted such a pivotal opportunity to learn more about magic and the other witches of this world.

‘If Percy keeps his promise—it is likely I will have that opportunity soon enough.’

“Lady Maura, we are here?” Stitcher’s voice held a hint of doubt as he looked out the carriage window at the large iron-barred door guarded by two mercenary-like men.

Carina nodded in reply, and Stitcher opened the carriage door before he stepped down onto the sidewalk. The guards fixed their wary eyes upon the assassin and reached reflexively for their blades—but relaxed as Carina stepped down beside him.

“This looks like a bank,” Stitcher muttered under his breath.

“It was a bank,” Carina replied with a shallow smile. “Sir Bryson wanted a more secure location for the office after his unfortunate altercation with the Fox Den.”

Carina had happily provided Bryson with the funds needed to buy, remodel, and move. She had also doubled his fees and so that he could hire additional security—though it seemed an inadequate compensation for the pain her shortsightedness had brought him.

“Lady Maura, here to see Sir Bryson,” Carina announced as she approached the armed guard.

“He is expecting you, Lady Maura,” the guard on the right replied as he turned and banged his fist on the iron bars.

Carina grimaced faintly at the sound of iron bolts unlocking on the other side. Another part of her renegotiated partnership with Bryson required Carina to use Maura’s name. Bryson had made it clear he wanted nothing further to do with Cyberus nor any of Aconitum’s or Frost’s clandestine work. He would only meet with Carina about matters related to her legal name.

“Now that you are an orphan in every sense of the word, your property and fortune can be used freely. For legal purposes, I can act as your guardian in the same way I have acted as your attorney. But there is no reason to hide behind either of your other aliases,” Bryson had insisted.

Carina had reluctantly agreed to reveal her identity as the designer, Lady Aconitum, before the end of the month, but only as a trial run.

“I simply wish to keep Frost’s wealth a secret until I have found a suitable marriage partner,” Carina had reasoned. “I have no wish to be hunted for my wealth just when I have obtained my freedom.”

Bryson had not been happy, but he reluctantly accepted her decision. Carina had quickly implored him to continue handling Frost’s business for at least one more year.

“You’ll be seventeen by the end of the month, Lady Maura. You could easily be engaged or married before you turn eighteen. I believe that you’re more than capable of choosing a husband who can stand beside you while Frost grows his business.”

Carina had agreed, but not without a sense of guilt. A year was more than enough time. Maura had never reached the age of eighteen, after all, let alone been engaged. ‘Bryson would probably turn tail and run if he knew why I still needed Frost's identity in the future.’

Still, the matter of exposing her identity as Lady Aconitum would likely elicit a reaction from her allies and enemies within the palace—not to mention the secret members of Frost’s organization.

“Should I wait for you outside?” Stitcher asked as he closed the carriage door behind them.

“If you have other matters to attend to, I should be safe enough,” Carina replied as she pulled up her hood.

“Hmm, somehow I’m not so sure,” Stitcher muttered as he toyed with his dagger. “Since I agreed to be your escort, I think it best that I escort you until you return to the palace.” He offered her a grin, then a flourished bow, and straightened. “Besides, you may need my company when you meet with Master Iker.”

“The Blacksmith?” Carina raised a brow curiously but turned towards the bank as the door opened, and the guard motioned for her to enter.

As she stepped inside the dark gray walls of Bryson’s new office, an uneasy chill of gloom rippled down her spine. Perhaps it was because the stone walls, barred windows, and iron doors held an unsettling resemblance to the prison cells below the Knight’s Compound.

Beyond the barred wall that separated the bank's reception area from its private vaults sat Sir Bryson. The lawyer raised his gaze, weighed heavily by the dense shadows of poor lighting and sleep, from the stack of paperwork before him and the quill that trembled in his bandaged fingers.

[B2] Chapter 8: The Shadow of Valor

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Chapter 8: The Shadow of Valor

Sir Bryson stared at the stream of financial figures before him with mixed emotions. While his painful efforts to notate the fluctuations of Frost’s wealth were physically frustrating, what concerned him most was the numbers themselves, which seemed to be dipping into Frost’s reserves.

‘What could she possibly hope to gain by building a hospital in the slums after all?’

Bryson could only assume Cerberus was involved somehow, but his knowledge of the secret group Maura claimed to be a part of was limited to a few names and the figures and numbers that came from Frost’s accounts. ‘Always deductions. Never profits. It’s not a business then.’ He knew better than to dig any further.

Bryson sighed and watched his left hand betray him yet again as his fingers twitched of their own accord and streaked a line across the incomplete total deductions at the bottom of the page.

“Damn!” He hissed softly. The tremors in his hand started anew, and he hastily returned the quill to its ink jar. These spasms were caused by mental anxiety and fatigue more than any muscle damage, or so the physician who had prescribed him sleeping pills and opium claimed.

Bryson curled the stiff bandaged fingers of his left hand, not quite able to make a fist, and then opened the bottom drawer to his right. One large and one small bottle clinked together softly before Bryson pulled them free and set them on his desk beside a drinking glass.

A few moments later, three splashes of alcohol and a dash of laudanum, laced with opium, swirled in the glass before him. Bryson downed it in two gulps and closed his eyes as the mixture of alcohol and medicine burned down his throat.

Naturally, the physician had been quite curious about how Bryson’s left hand came to be separated from all but two of his fingernails. Bryson vaguely remembered spinning some story about a late payment on a gambling debt, which seemed to satisfy the elderly doctor.

The truth, after all, was not something he dared repeat, not after waking up in his apartment, semi-conscious and delirious with fever. The memory of the masked man bandaging his fingers while another thug tossed the portrait of Bryson’s sister's family on the pillow beside them.

“Keep your mouth shut, and we won’t touch them.”

Simple instructions that were easy enough to follow and easier still to remember every time Bryson looked at his damn hand. Fever or not, he moved out of the apartment that same afternoon.

Bryson returned the bottles to their drawer, determined to pace himself by the physician's instructions, especially on a day like today when his young but clever client would be visiting.

The guard seated beneath the barred window beside the bank’s front door dropped his tilted chair's front legs against the floor and stood abruptly. Bryson cautiously raised his hand to the handle of the top drawer where a newly acquired pistol lay. It had cost him a small fortune to obtain through less than legal means, but he felt more secure with the knowledge that it could put a hole through a Fox’s mask—as long as Bryson managed to hit his target.

“It’s Lady Maura,” the guard announced as he moved to unfasten the bolts, which barred the door from the inside.

“Right.” Bryson unclenched his stiff fingers from the drawer handle. He hastily organized the mess in front of him then popped a candy mint into his mouth to mask the scent of alcohol. “Let her in.”

His hands fiddled nervously with the documents laid out for Lady Maura’s visit. His erratic heartbeat pulsed behind his eyes and ears. The smear of ink on the financial sheet caught his eye, and he hastily tucked it further inside the stack of paperwork. The last thing Bryson wished to show his bright, ambitious, and potentially dangerous client, the wretched mess he had become.

“It’s just fingernails. They grow back. You should be grateful.”

The callous words of the thug who had threatened his family filled Bryson with a flicker of rage quickly smothered by a deluge of shame.

The guard pulled the bank door open, and a tunnel of blinding sunlight washed across the hardwood floors. The young woman that entered was somehow less a child than the last time she had visited his office. Her black gown and ash-brown hair glittered in the golden rays while her ice-blue eyes moved swiftly in Bryson’s direction as she followed the guard.

‘A bewitching young beauty with enough secrets to get a man killed,’ Bryson reminded himself as the guard opened the barred door that separated his office from the front of the old bank.

“Lady Maura.” Bryson rose from his seat as she stepped through the bars. He detected a glimmer of discomfort in her expression as she surveyed the space. “Ah—I hope to put up some actual walls later—” though he liked the idea of leaving the bars there as an added visible layer of security and deterrence “—I know its not the most welcoming space right now.”

“As long as you are comfortable and our conversation remains private,” Maura replied with a side glance at the guard who escorted her.

“Ah—yes, Peter, would you mind waiting outside until we’ve finished.”

“As you wish,” Peter replied with a casual shrug.

Bryson pulled out one of the two chairs that faced his desk, and Maura took the offered seat as the front door closed behind Peter.

“Thank you,” Maura murmured as she folded her hands across the purse in her lap. She sat poised and composed, the picture of nobility. ‘So why is she tangled up with thugs and assassins?’

“You are looking well,” Bryson observed as he returned to his desk. “Today was your mother’s funeral, was it not?”

“Yes, I just left Gilwren,” Maura replied with a polite smile.

Not a flicker of grief was visible on her face, but Bryson could not bring himself to fault her for that. “And what of Lord Josiah?”

The faintest twinge of laughter graced her mouth as Maura tilted her head and offered a shrug. “For all I know, Josiah received a paupers grave—I did not take part in those arrangements.”

Bryson nodded. Though it was a disgrace for a noble not to receive a burial within the church's boundaries—it came as no surprise to learn Lord Josiah had failed to pay for a plot in advance, and his family could ill afford one due to his lingering debts.

“How is—the pain?” Maura asked softly.

Her gaze flickered to his bandaged hands and away. Bryson smiled at the frown that formed along her brows and mouth as she fidgeted with her purse.

“Uncomfortable, but I’m managing,” Bryson responded reassuringly. He pushed the bowl of candy towards her with a smile. “I managed to catch up on the last two weeks of finances. Would you like to go over those in detail?”

“No, I trust you to tell me if there’s anything I need to be made aware of,” Maura replied as she raised her gaze from the candy bowl. “I would like to discuss our recruitment of the Cupto brothers. Have they signed their contracts?”

“Ah! Lord Devin has, but his older brother Lord Lazar is hesitant about running a hospital located in the slums. Lazar’s mentor is also concerned that working there will tarnish the older brother’s chances of becoming a royal physician in the future. Lazar is set to take the royal exam this month, and they have high hopes for his scores.”

“He is ambitious. I can’t fault him for that.” Maura twisted the purse strings around her fingers thoughtfully. “See if he will agree to lead one of the hospitals located in the capital than—let him name it too if he likes. Lord Devin will be a better fit for the slum hospital with his past experience.”

“Should I allow Lord Devin to name that one as well?” Bryson asked as he carefully wrote out a note. The laudanum had not taken effect. He gripped the quill tightly to hide the tremors and did his best to ignore the dull, stinging pain that spread from each damaged finger to his wrist as he wrote out each letter.

“As long as the name is suitable, I have no objections,” Maura answered with a sigh. “But Lord Devin will need another physician to assist. Unfortunately, I can’t count on the Lord Principal to provide other physicians should we need them.”

‘But why do you need these hospitals and physician’s in the first place?’ Bryson frowned, finished his note, and then pointed his quill to a pile of letters laid neatly beside him. “Lord Devin did send a letter of recommendation for a Mr. Eckard. He’s not a licensed physician but appears to be highly trained and has excellent references.”

“Highly trained but not a physician?” Maura tilted her head with a knowing smile. “A commoner then?”

“Precisely,” Bryson confirmed. He knew better than to mistake Maura’s reaction for rejection. Bryson had been a commoner before Frost used his connections with the Royal Merchant’s guild to purchase a letter of nobility.

“If Lord Devin recommends him, then let’s offer Mr. Eckard the same contract we gave the Cupto brothers.” Maura tapped the armrest thoughtfully for a moment. “Let's add on a title while you’re at it.”

“A title?” Bryson raised a brow, already visualizing a new deduction from Frost’s reserves. “That’s rather more than we offered the Cupto brothers.”

“They are already the sons of a noble,” Maura replied with a dismissive wave. “Whoever runs the slum hospital with Lord Devin needs to have equal standing, or the rest of the staff will favor one over the other—or even outright ignore Eckard’s orders.”

“Then—should I put in a request to Lord Seymour?”

“We’ll include a letter of recommendation from Mr. Frost. I’ll see if I can’t get Lord Walter’s seal of approval as well. Eckard will still have to take and pass the physician’s exam before receiving his title, but if the Royal Physician’s Office recognizes him as a physician, that will be enough for now.”

“And if Mr. Eckard declines the offer?” The very idea sounded ridiculous the moment it left Bryson’s lips, but Maura considered it seriously for a moment before she answered.

“Make sure you present our reasons for making this request. Eckard can either run the slum hospital with Lord Devin as equals or take a lower position with equal pay. If Eckard doesn’t accept the title, he is free to change his mind later. In the meantime, we can continue to scout for other candidates.”

“The more physicians, the better, I suppose,” Bryson agreed with a curious glance at his client. Maura raised her gaze to his as if asking if he wanted to know more. Bryson looked away first. “Then, onto the matter of soap trade.”

[B2] Chapter 9: The Ties of Blood

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Chapter 9: The Ties of Blood

“Lord Austin dropped by earlier this week with an officially sealed letter of approval for trade negotiations with Strugna,” Bryson informed her as he pulled the file from the stack and untied the ribbon that bound it together. “The terms as far as Strugna’s tax were favorable at 8%, though we still have to pay another 14% in taxes to the Royal Merchants Guild.”

Maura scoffed. ‘Even when Frost sold his products in another country, Lafeara’s crown still got a cut of his profits.’ She motioned for him to continue.

“If you wanted to get around the double taxes, Strugna’s Merchant Guild is willing to offer Frost citizenship provided you signed a contract of genius electum partia.”

Maura frowned. “What sort of contract?”

“It grants you citizenship of Strugna, at the exclusion of all other nations, for the remainder of your life. It comes with a noble title, land, and a minor position at court—but nothing short of death would free you from the contract.”

“So basically, Frost would belong to Strugna’s royal family?” Maura smirked and shook her head.

“Strugna does keep itself isolated from the politics and power struggles of other nations,” Bryson said thoughtfully. “The monarchy is still recovering from the plague that wiped out the last royal family. The newly chosen king is very paranoid, but fortunately, your reputation—or Frost’s reputation—has allowed you to get a foot in the door.”

“Accept the 8% and offer a contract with the guild for one year—no citizenship or exclusivity attached. Inform the guild that Frost will reconsider their generous offer after the first year, but he is in no position to relocate his businesses at present.”

Bryson nodded. “I would have recommended the same course of action.” He scribbled down another barely legible note. “Now, I should inform you that your merchants secured the full amount of dryad root, marsh-nest berries, speckled toadstools, and the other five herbs you asked for.”

He didn’t add that most of these herbs, although exclusive to Strugna, were relatively commonplace and possessed little market value. If Frost wanted them, the reason would inevitably reveal itself in the future.

“Excellent,” Maura replied with a flicker of excitement. “Please see to it they are safely delivered to our alchemist store. I’ll have my associate double check that they are properly dried and preserved.”

“Very well,” Bryson added another note and saved his questions for more important matters.

“How is progress with the remodeling of the hospital in the slums?” Maura asked.

“Another week or two is the contractor’s guess. A week until the building is operational enough to start seeing patients, two before it's possible to provide overnight and prolonged care, and three to four weeks before the work is completely done. The underground storage unit is finished, but there are some concerns about the storage of medicine for longevity—”

“I have a solution for that,” Maura interjected with a secretive smile.

“Right, then the only other issue which has caused a few delays would be the locals. There have been several attempts to grab pretty much anything that isn’t nailed down.”

Maura sighed and rubbed her temple. “I suppose that makes sense. The slums have probably become more lawless since the Fox Den lost its leader.”

Bryson’s mouth went dry as his stomach flipped unpleasantly. Maura’s gaze snapped up to his face with an expression of startled regret.

“My apologies, Sir Bryson, I—meant to avoid that topic.”

“You—mean to say—the bastard that did this—” Bryson held up one of his bandaged hands “—is dead?”

“Yes,” she murmured hesitantly. “At least, that’s what I’ve been told—by a trusted associate.”

‘Does that mean—my family and I are safe now?’ Bryson flipped over the file’s binder and attempted to calm his nerves and trembling fingers. “Then—ah—” He fumbled with the next file as his mind went blank. “We should—” He grimaced as the papers in his hand slid free and sprawled across the desk and into his lap.

‘Damn it, get it together!’ He sucked in a sharp breath. ‘There was something else—something important I meant to discuss today while she was here.’

Bryson scrambled to organize the mess in an attempt to jog his memory, but the information swam and blurred beneath his throbbing fingers as the spasms in his hands became more noticeable. “What should we—ah—talk about next?”

“Well,” Maura spoke up quickly. “I recently learned that Sophya sold Turnbell Manor.”

‘That was it!’ Bryson exhaled with relief and straightened in his chair. “Yes-yes. Technically, as Josiah’s only legal living heir, the house and all property not repossessed by his creditors went to Lady Sophya.” He clasped his hands together as he leaned across the desk towards her. “Which brings me to another matter of some urgency. Are you aware that Lord Josiah signed a bill of debt the same day he died?”

Maura shook her head, though judging from the wry twist of her lips, she was not at all surprised by this.

“The creditors obtained a blood promise from him in return for the loan,” Bryson explained carefully.

“A blood promise?” Maura’s gaze narrowed as she crossed her arms.

“It’s not something a respectable noble would ever consider,” Bryson said solemnly. “Legally, it binds the borrower’s blood relatives to his debt—with the possibility of enslavement if the debt is not paid in full.”

Her ice-blue eyes flashed dangerously as they fixed upon him. “Enslavement?”

“That’s why it’s almost unheard of for nobles to involve themselves with these sort of unscrupulous vultures. Unfortunately, you and Sophya were listed as collateral for the debt.”

“I—am collateral—for Josiah’s debt?!” The chill that fell over the room only sharpened the anger in Maura’s voice.

A familiar shiver slithered down Bryson’s spine, but he ignored it as he rose from his seat and leaned against the desk beside her. “There is absolutely no need for you to worry, Lady Maura. A blood promise only legally binds the borrower's blood relatives. The agreement has no legal hold over you or your fortune, and Helena’s divorce freed you from any possibility of familial debt or responsibility.

“As soon as I informed the creditors of this, I submitted the necessary paperwork to the local courts to bar them from taking any further action against you. If they should attempt to approach or harass you in any way, then do let me know immediately. I can have a judge throw those jackals in prison.”

Maura nodded slowly as her gaze turned towards the nearest bared window. “How will they enforce this—blood promise?”

“In the case of Lady Sophya?”

Maura nodded.

“The first step would be to take the loan documents to a local magistrate, who will verify their authenticity. The judge would then summon Sophya before the court, where she must either pay the debt in full or within a specified time period, usually determined by the loan agreement.

“Due to extenuating circumstances such as a death in the family, a judge can lean on the creditor to give the lady more time to collect the loan. Given Lady Sophya’s status as a noble and her connection to the Winslet family, this is likely to happen. However, ultimately if the debt is not paid, Lady Sophya would legally become the creditor’s property—and branded as a slave.”

“Sophya could become a slave?” Maura echoed softly as she covered her lips with a gloved hand.

Bryson observed her carefully neutral expression with a sigh. “This is why it is all but unheard of for nobles to attach themselves to such a debt. A slave can’t become a noble or regain their family name.” He finished reorganizing the paper on his desk while Maura sat in silent contemplation. “It is possible, since Lady Sophya is all but officially engaged, that the Winslet's will help her cover the debts.”

“Would they?” Maura lifted a brow inquisitively. “What is the amount of the debt?”

“20,000 crescents,” Bryson replied. “That’s if the debt is paid in full today. Josiah had up to a year to pay off the loan, at which point the interest rate would have raised the entire amount to somewhere around 45,000 crescents.”

Maura’s jaw dropped for a moment, then snapped closed as she leaned back against the chair and tapped her forefinger against its wooden arm with apparent irritation. “What possible reason did Josiah have to withdraw such a sum?”

“According to the creditor, it was to buy back his company from the Earl of Hawthorne and other finances related to getting the business back on its feet and turning a profit.”

Maura scoffed and shook her head.

“If you like, I could recommend an experienced investigator to look into the matter on behalf of Lady Sophya. It is not uncommon for these matters to be linked to con-artists and swindlers.”

“You mean—it could be a scam?” Maura’s interest sharpened.

“That—” Bryson hesitated, unsure as to the meaning of the word, not an uncommon occurrence when conversing with his client. “It’s a possibility worth looking into.”

“And you’re sure there is no way they can push this debt onto me?”

“No possibility,” Bryson answered confidently. “The law is quite clear when it comes to this sort of collection method. Lord Josiah never legally adopted you or registered you as a family member with the church. As you are not his child by birth—as far as financial responsibility, you are in the clear.”

He was tempted to add that for once, Maura’s half-blood status worked in her favor. Judging by the ironic smile that slide across his client’s face, Bryson assumed she had already thought of this.

“I see,” Maura tapped her chin thoughtfully and leaned forward. “Hire the investigator, but on my behalf. Tell him to be discrete, find out if the loan is valid, and if Sophya has been approached yet for repayment.”

“You don’t wish to warn Lady Sophya?”

Maura shrugged. “If these creditors managed to find you to approach me, then I’m sure they’ll approach her soon enough.” She rose and smoothed out her dress and cloak. “In either case, they likely know she doesn’t have a penny to her name—so unless they hope to recoup their losses by making her a slave—I suspect their true objective is to lure the Winslet’s into paying the debt.”

“But—surely, the young Baron will cover his fiancé’s debts?” Bryson suggested hesitantly as he rose to follow her through the open barred doorway.

“I very much doubt the Winslet’s will take on a debt of this size without a fight,” Maura replied as she made her way to the door. “Baron Winslet’s finances have been on the decline thanks to several unwise investments and loans that have not all been recouped or collected. While the Baron isn’t destitute, a loan of this size may be beyond him.”

“Then—Lady Sophya could be in serious trouble.”

“It’s possible, which is why I will look into the matter,” Maura answered as she turned to face him. “One more thing, do we know who it was that bought Turnbell Manor from Sophya?”

“I believe the buyer was anonymous,” Bryson answered as he studied her expression curiously. “To be honest, Lady Maura, I thought you might have bought it yourself. Whoever the seller was, they barely paid what the property is worth.”

“I see,” Maura murmured with a frown.

“Should I look into it further?”

“No. I have someone else better suited to the task,” she replied and curtsied. “Thank you for your time, Sir Bryson.”

[B2] Chapter 10: The Mark of a Master

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Chapter 10: The Mark of a Master

The capital bell tower rang out midday as the carriage pulled away from Sir Bryson’s new office building. Stitcher, who had barely moved from his relaxed pose stretched across the seat, tipped his hat up to study Carina. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Yes,” she answered without comment, still mulling over the weight of information that had landed upon her since the funeral. Carina had no wish to swoop in and rescue Maura’s half-sister from her plight. There was a touch of karma to the idea of Sophya becoming a slave, given how she and Lincoln had treated Ivy and the other servants, not that it was likely to happen.

Nobles instituted the common law under the king and used it to govern the populace. They were not above the law themselves, though they fought with every advantage at their disposal to avoid its worst ramifications.

‘Better for Sophya to enjoy a quiet, blissful married life than to lose it all and take her misguided desperation and hatred out on me.’

The question now was how much help to give? 20,000 crescents was by no means a small amount of money. If Maura was to raise such an amount to pay off Josiah's debts, more problems and questions were likely to arise.

‘An anonymous donation might work—but I’m rather curious as to where the original loan went. As far as I know, Josiah did not have time to buy back his business, so most of those funds should be stored in a bank.’

“I have something I need you to look into,” she mumbled thoughtfully. “A local matter that concerns my family.”

Stitcher’s ears perked up as he leaned across his legs. “I’m all ears.”

Carina relayed the conversation she had just had with Bryson and her suspicions concerning the misplacement of the debt Josiah had taken.

Stitcher nodded as a slow grin crossed his face. “If we find those funds, you should keep them.”

Carina laughed and shook her head. “No, far better for me to return them to Sophya and put this matter behind us.”

Stitcher shrugged and unhooked his legs. “Tracking down a few small-time crooks should be no problem. Do you want me to find out who their backer is?”

Carina raised a brow inquisitively.

“Even crooks know better than to force a noble into a corner. They can get away with loans like this when they only target commoners. For them to even let a noble like Josiah sign that note—they would need permission from their financial backer. Chances are their money purse is a noble himself—someone willing to risk public exposure to trap Josiah in debt.”

“It’s possible,” Carina conceded.

‘Josiah had done a lot of damage to more than a few marriages over the years. If he hadn’t been so good with pistols, one of those husbands would have put him in the ground years ago.’

“Find out who it is and what they intended to do now that Josiah is dead and Sophya is left holding the debt.”

“Will do,” Stitcher replied cheerily. “Where are we headed to now?”

“To see the Master Blacksmith about a scabbard.” Carina opened her purse and pulled out a sketch of Ghost’s dagger.

Bringing the assassin’s blade along with her to the funeral, had presented far too many complications. The dagger cut through just about anything, let alone the fabric of a silk purse. And the mark of a Ventrayna Master Blacksmith, imprinted just below the hilt, would likely be easily recognized by another skilled craftsman.

Ghost’s connection to Ventrayna was still somewhat of a mystery to Carina. Until she knew what sort of story lay behind the beautiful but deadly blade, she wasn’t keen to show it to anyone she didn’t trust.

And so, with a roll of parchment and a charcoal pencil, Carina had made an outline of the weapon instead.

‘I just hope it’s enough for them to fashion an adequate scabbard to match.’ She sighed and rubbed her fingers between her furrowed brows. ‘Really, this dagger is more trouble than its worth.’

During the late hours after Eleanora dismissed her ladies, Carina had practiced throwing the knife against a pillow on a chair. Her aim wasn’t half bad, though the trick to getting the dagger to impale the pillow with the sharp end still eluded her.

Her attempts to become a skilled assassin were soon cut short after she nicked her fingers and the palm of her right against the blade one too many times. Now Carina had to wear sheer gloves during the day to cover her mishap, along with the excuse that she had cut herself in the kitchen.

“About time,” Stitcher grumbled with a curious smile. “Master Iker is an old friend of the First Prince. He made Tristan his commander’s sword.”

“What an honor,” Carina replied as she studied him. As always, it felt as if the assassin was withholding some piece of information from her. ‘We all have our secrets.’

The flash of dark wings across the capital's rooftops pulled Carina’s attention out the window. A black crow landed on a street lamppost and cawed at her carriage as it rolled past.

Carina grimaced as she pulled the curtain over the window.

“Something wrong?” Stitcher asked observantly.

“No, nothing,” Carina said dismissively. ‘Would he believe me if I said we were being watched by birds that might be under the control of a witch?’

‘Probably not.’ Carina wasn’t exactly sure the birds were being controlled by magic and even less confident as to who they belonged to.

Her first suspect was Percy Hawthorne. The Earl always seemed surrounded by crows and had raised a few of them since childhood.

The second was the mysterious woman who had snuck up on Carina during her bath in the Hawthorne bathhouse. There was something sinister in that woman’s aura that still clung to Carina’s mind, and the mysterious lady also appeared to command some sort of power over the crows.

Carina still remembered the message that woman had left behind on the bell. Fatum. Eleanora had also mentioned that word right before she asked Carina to drug Nicholas so Eleanora could conceive a royal heir.

‘One problem at a time.’ Carina sighed and leaned her head back against the carriage seat. ‘And to think, I’ve met one, possibly two witches while Maura never had the chance to meet any. Why?’ The steady bump of the road beneath the carriage wheels soon eased the tension in Carina’s shoulders as she relaxed against the leather seat.

At least, for now, Percy seemed to be on her side. However, his behavior and over-familiarity with Maura was no small cause for concern. ‘Maura’s background is poor enough, to begin with. If her reputation is ruined as well, Eleanora and the Countess will withdraw their support and leave me to the vultures.’

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Beaumont kept his knight’s hood pulled low as he rode through the capital streets. He made sure to keep the palace's fortress walls to his left as he circled aimlessly in no particular direction.

Even with his silver-blonde hair hidden, people noticed his size and violet eyes if they got too close. Beaumont ignored their stares and whispers as he contemplated how to spend his day off.

“It’s your birthday,” Nicholas had reminded him somewhat reproachfully when Beaumont dared to show his face at the Rose Palace first thing in the morning as always. “You are not allowed back inside the palace until sunset, so go do something fun.”

Beaumont growled as he sucked in a deep breath, frightening the nearby pedestrians who carefully circled away from his giant, grey speckled gelding.

If it weren’t for the fact Nicholas did this every year and already had a replacement knight on standby, Beaumont might have been more than just irritated.

‘What the hell am I supposed to do now?’

Usually, Beaumont would have gone to the Knight’s Compound for sword practice, but this year Knight Commander Quentin had forbidden him access, “On account of all the swords you break in the arena, you damn giant.”

‘Is it my fault Lafearian steel cannot withstand the strength of my dragon blade?’ Beaumont pulled gently at the gelding’s reins as a sudden thought occurred to him.

During Nicholas’s weeklong meetings with the House of Lords, there had been some discussion on upgrading the palace knights' armory and weapons for the Ambassador’s visit. Nicholas had complained that the order was running behind schedule, though that was not uncommon given Master Iker’s reputation.

“I deal with quality, not punctuality. The blade is ready when it's ready,” was the Master Blacksmith motto.

The ghost of a smile appeared on Beaumont’s face as he turned the gelding away from the fortress walls. ‘It’s been a while since I visited Master’s shop. Might as well drop in and check on the order—see if he’s invented a blade that can withstand my dragon steel?’

It would, at the very least, kill an hour or two of the very long day ahead of him.

The faint echoes of blacksmiths beating sweat into their craft soon flowed into the street as Beaumont approached the three-story shop. The department store took up the front half of the first floor, while storage and the blacksmith’s working area took up the shop's back section. The second floor housed the blacksmiths and apprentices that worked under Iker, while the top floor served as Master Iker’s residence.

Beaumont circled the carriage parked at the corner and found a post to tie the gelding to. He flipped a crescent to one of the usual lads that hung around Iker’s store. The gaping boy quickly jumped up with a sharp salute and assumed his duty of guarding the knight’s horse. Beaumont smothered a smile at the child’s serious expression before he headed through the front door, stooping a little out of habit.

A mountain of crates branded with the Master Blacksmith’s mark, a phoenix with raised wings that embraced a burning sword, filled most of the open floor space at the front of the shop. The stamp of three devouring wolves, the royal family’s crest, signified these crates were an order meant for the palace.

‘Looks like Nicholas will be getting that new armor before the Ambassador gets here after all.’

“Captain?” A burly, bald man with a ginger beard looked over an inventory roster towards Beaumont. “Been a while since you last visited.”

“Robert.” Beaumont nodded as he made his way over to the retired ex-soldier. “Just dropping in to check on the crown’s order.”

Robert snorted as he flipped the stack of inventory sheets closed. “Sure you are.” The ginger man crossed his arms and turned, his wooden prosthetic leg dragging just a little as he stepped over to give Beaumont a firm shoulder slap. “Let me guess—it’s your birthday already.”

Beaumont sighed. “It—might be,” he grumbled as he scanned the store.

“Then let’s have a drink to celebrate. I’ve got time to kill until those rosey knights from the palace show up to collect the crown’s order,” Robert said enthusiastically as he draped an arm around Beaumont’s shoulder.

Robert was perhaps the only person tall enough to accomplish such a feat and not look like he was hanging on for dear life.

Beaumont turned reluctantly in the direction the shop manager had suggested but froze as his gaze settled on two figures standing in the corner of the shop by the knife display.

He knew it was her even before Lady Maura turned to speak to the man who stood beside her. The black dress she wore made her seem paler, and though he couldn’t be sure from this distance, her expression and posture seemed haggard and weary.

‘What is she doing outside the palace?’ He took half a step towards her and halted.

“Are you coming or—” Robert followed his gaze and turned an inquiring brow in Beaumont’s direction. “Someone you know, Captain?”

“Ah—yes.” Beaumont glanced over at Robert then away, torn between finding out why Maura was outside the palace and the insecurity he felt at the very thought of approaching her.

“Why don’t I go see if they need some help?” Robert suggested with a sly grin.

Beaumont spun, but the ex-soldier danced away from his grip with deceptive agility, given his wooden limb, and headed towards Lady Maura.

“Wait!” Beaumont hissed futilely, only to be ignored. With a resentful glare at the manager’s back, he reluctantly followed behind.

“Saints blessing to you, lord and lady!” Robert greeted as he nodded to the assistant behind the display. “What might we help you with today?”

“I’m trying to obtain a scabbard for a blade recently gifted to me,” Maura explained, with only the faintest glance at Robert's left leg.

“However, the young lady failed to bring the weapon with her,” the assistant explained in a patronizing tone.

“It’s not something I can carry about without a scabbard,” Maura replied tersely as she tugged off a pair of flimsy gloves. “The blade is very sharp.”

Robert grimaced as he took in the numerous small cuts along her fingers and one deep but healing wound against her right palm. “It might be too much of a blade for you then, gentle lady.”

‘Why does Maura have such a dangerous weapon to begin with?’ Beaumont fretted silently as he attempted to appear intrigued by a display of short swords nearby.

Maura sighed in exasperation as she turned and dragged a scroll across the counter towards Robert. “Since I couldn’t bring the blade, I traced the outline, thinking you could get a measurement off that.”

“While I appreciate your creativity,” Robert said with a faint chuckle. “An outline will only give us the length of the blade, but the width—” The ex-soldier trailed off as he focused on her drawing and smoothed out the edge of the parchment that outline the dagger's hilt, which resembled a flame. “Shepherd, get the lady and her companion a drink,” Robert ordered with a sharp glare at the assistant.

Beaumont narrowed his gaze as he edged closer and glanced from the ex-soldier to the drawing beneath Robert’s hands.

“My Lady,” Robert straightened as he turned and offered Maura a courteous head bow. “Would you mind if I showed this drawing to Master Iker? I believe he would be able to provide something suitable.”

“It—hardly seems like an issue to bother a Master Blacksmith with,” Maura replied hesitantly.

“I believe he would be most interested in the design of this blade,” Robert pressed with a magnetic smile. “If you could spare me a few minutes to speak with him.”

Maura frowned but nodded her assent. “I can spare a few minutes, please.” She gestured to the drawing, which the ex-soldier eagerly snatched up and then turned on his heel.

“Robert?” Beaumont whispered as the manager swept past him.

“We’ll have that drink in a moment, friend,” Robert called over his shoulder, engrossed in his task.

Beaumont exhaled, baffled, then froze as he turned and met a pair of ice-blue eyes that pierced through him with evident displeasure.

“Captain?” Maura said stiffly. The man beside her turned, and Beaumont recognized him in an instant.

“Physician Samael?”

The recently appointed physician’s hazel-brown eyes widened in surprise. Samael hastily straightened and tapped a closed fist to his chest as a sign of respect. “Captain Beaumont.”

‘What is he doing with her? When did they get so close? Isn’t he older than me? Did he give Maura that dagger? Why—’ The cycle of questions that spun through Beaumont’s head splintered into a dazed confusion as he faced Maura’s cold gaze again ‘—why is she angry with me?’

[B2] Chapter 11: A Blade of Secrets

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Chapter 11: A Blade of Secrets

Carina stared up into the knight captain’s violet eyes and stony expression, and held back a laugh. ‘Of all the people to run into today.’

“Physician Samael,” Beaumont said as his gaze slid back to Stitcher. “Are you her escort?”

“Yes,” Stitcher answered casually as he leaned back against the display beside Carina. “Is that a problem?”

The knight captain eyed Stitcher from head to foot and scoffed. “Somehow, I doubt you were approved as her escort.”

Stitcher straightened, his expression a mixture of annoyance and curiosity. “I wonder why the Captain would say that?”

“Have you taken the knight’s sword mastery qualification test?” Beaumont replied in a deadpan tone.

Stitcher straightened again and crossed his arms. “Not yet.”

“Not yet,” Beaumont echoed sarcastically. “Then can you explain why Lady Maura is outside the palace without an approved escort?”

The maliciousness of his tone and glare sent a shiver down Carina’s spine, and even Stitcher looked sufficiently cowed as he shot her a confused glance.

“It was—my mother’s funeral today,” Carina interjected quickly. “We did have an approved knight, Sir Clemont, but he returned with Lady Hana as I had some errands to run.”

“If you knew you were going to get separated, then you should have requested two knights.” Beaumont’s scowl only deepened as his violet eyes pinned her in place.

Somehow feeling like a student being reprimanded by a teacher, Carina clenched her jaw, smiled sweetly, and replied, “Thank you for telling me, Captain. I’ll be sure to do that next time.”

Beaumont blinked, temporarily caught off guard by her change in expression. Carina circled past him without another word and decided now would be an excellent time to explore the blacksmith shop.

Stitcher jogged up beside her with a worried smile. “Maybe it would be best if I left,” he suggested hesitantly.

“What? Why? I thought you were determined to be my escort until I returned to the palace,” Carina retorted sharply.

“Ah—that is—the Captain just explained—you need an actual knight to get back into the palace. If the Dowager finds out you’ve been wandering around without one—you could get in trouble.”

‘You have got to be kidding me.’ Carina exhaled and glanced over to where Beaumont was shadowing them at a discrete distance. “Let me guess. The Captain offered to escort me back.”

“As soon as you’re finished here, yes,” Stitcher answered with a sheepish grin.

“And why do you have to leave?” Carina all but growled in irritation.

Stitcher’s eyebrows danced almost comically as he fought to control his expression. “I’d rather not have the captain, ah—paying more attention to me than he already is.”

Carina sucked in a breath, exhaled, and gave a single, rigid nod. “Fine.”

Stitcher bowed politely with a sly wink, then turned and retreated past Beaumont towards the front door.

Resisting the urge to follow his retreat, Carina resumed her exploration of the store and continued to ignore her unwanted shadow.

“Ah, Lady Maura.” The shop manager, who had taken her sketch, reappeared, followed by a tall, muscular, dark-skinned man with braided onyx hair and golden eyes. “Lady Maura, this is Sir Iker, our Master Blacksmith.”

Iker’s amber eyes, a darker shade than Eleanora’s, flicked over Carina and tightened with apparent curiosity.

“Master Iker,” Carina bowed her head politely.

“Robert tells me you require a scabbard for a dagger you were recently gifted?” Iker’s deep tone shifted at the last word as if he were seeking clarification on how she obtained the dagger.

“Yes,” Carina confirmed. “The original owner referred me to your shop to obtain an appropriate scabbard.”

Iker and the man named Robert exchanged a glance. The look of surprise that passed between them only made Carina more curious. ‘What was the reason Ghost referred me to this particular store?’

Iker was not the only Master Blacksmith in Lafeara. However, he was the only one recognized by the royal crown, which meant he had the distinct privilege of crafting a unique armor and sword for the king and each prince. Iker also presented each Lafearian knight officer with a sword after their knighting ceremony and was obliged to fulfill any other request made by the crown.

“I believe our mutual friend referred you to me because I have the scabbard for that blade in my possession already,” Iker explained with a quizzical smile. “If you had brought the dagger with you, I could confirm this—” his amber eyes slid over to Beaumont, who stood two steps behind Carina “—but perhaps this is something we should discuss privately in my office.”

“Oh?” Carina was even more convinced there was more to Ghost’s referral than picking up a scabbard. ‘If only Stitcher hadn’t run away so quickly, I could get confirmation from him.’ She smiled and curtsied. “If it’s not too much trouble, Master Iker.”

Iker stepped forward and offered his arm with a polite nod to the knight captain. “You don’t mind if I steal the lady away for a moment, do you, Captain Beaumont.”

A troubled scowl formed around Beaumont’s violet eyes, but he sighed as his gaze refocused on Carina. “I will wait for you here, Lady Maura.”

‘Don’t bother,’ Carina almost said aloud. Instead, she battled down the frustration and lingering unresolved anger towards the knight captain and accepted Iker’s offered arm. The Master Blacksmith led her past Robert towards the back of the store.

A pair of black double doors led down a long hallway lined with rosters of marked inventory sheets. At the end of the hall, another set of double doors opened, and two men appeared, each dressed in a worker’s smock, carrying small crates of metal bars or coal. They jostled against each other with playful banter then snapped to attention when they caught sight of Iker.

“Commander!” they greeted tensely.

“Don’t pay them any mind,” Iker said as he waved the workmen onwards. “They might be lazy and prone to misbehaving like children—” he inflected his voice once more, and the men scampered towards the back yard with renewed haste “—but they’re good men.”

The workmen dashed through the double doors at the end of the hall, and a muffled crash followed by several harsh curses floated back into the hallway. The doors opened again to reveal two other men headed towards Carina and her escort.

A slouched, pale-skinned fellow with pale-blue eyes and silver-gray hair and beard leaned on his crutch as he struggled with the door. The man’s left arm was missing, while his right hand tightly gripped a crafted crutch of leather and metal.

His companion, a tall, tanned fellow with half his head wrapped behind a black cloth that concealed his left eye, held the door open for his hampered comrade and nodded his head towards Iker. “Master Blacksmith.”

“Tully,” Iker nodded back and slowed as his gaze settled on the disabled, elderly man. “Dolan, how are we faring today?”

“I ready to return to work, Master Iker,” Dolan replied stiffly.

“Don’t overdo it,” Iker reproached gruffly. “If you fall ill again, we’ll only fall further behind. Rest if you need to.”

“Rest won’t finish my work nor see our goal achieved,” Dolan muttered but nodded his head. “I appreciate your concern, Master Iker, but if I can stand, I’ll work.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Tully said as his right olive-green eye slid over to Carina. “We shouldn’t hold up Master Iker’s guest.”

Iker smiled tightly and guided Carina through the double doors that opened to a small back foyer and a stairwell that led up to the second floor. “My office is just upstairs.”

Carina nodded but turned as the door closed behind them to find Dolan still staring after them.

Iker turned, followed her gaze, and tugged her arm gently. “I suppose you want to ask why I employ such men?”

“I assumed they were ex-soldiers,” Carina replied. “It’s generous of you to give them work.”

“They’re a bit more than that,” Iker replied as they continued up the stairs. “All the men here are survivors of the Red Wolf Army.”

Carina recognized the name, but then so would anyone else in the capital. The demise of the Red Wolf Army was forever publicly linked with the death of Prince Tristan. “I wasn’t aware that any members of the Red Wolf Army survived,” she admitted.

“None of General Liam’s regiment did. These men served under Colonel Durante. They returned from the mountains sometime after the entire army was declared dead. It’s not surprising for you or anyone to be unaware of this, considering the palace doesn’t approve of any public discussion that concerns the First Prince,” Iker replied.

‘The First Prince?’ Carina glanced at the man beside her curiously. Although Iker dressed like a Lafearian noble, his hairstyle, accent, and appearance were distinctly Ventrayna.

“When these men crawled back from the mountains two years ago, I gave them shelter and care here. Colonel Durante was a close friend of mine. Looking after his men—it was the least I could do to honor his memory. Though even I didn’t expect that the palace would fail to compensate these soldiers for their injuries—not to mention the families of the fallen men who never received the death benefits they were owed.” His amber eyes turned towards her. Carina averted her gaze to focus on the steps that led to the second floor.

“That’s quite a responsibility you took upon yourself,” Carina observed as they reached a small balcony that overlooked the foyer below. Another set of double doors led to what resembled a mess hall.

“That’s where the men eat during breaks. Their dorm rooms are just beyond. Once I realized the palace wasn’t going to make good on their promises, I reached out to the nobles of Lafeara and began taking on special commissions. The nobles were happy enough to exchange their gold for one of my masterpieces.

“The Earl of Hawthorne, in particular, donated quite generously. The palace wasn’t happy, of course, but when I threatened to take my work to Strugna, they let the matter drop. The funds I obtained paid for the remodeling of the shop and a few of the neighboring buildings where the men better able to move about reside.” Iker paused as they reached the landing and the next flight of steps that continued on to the third floor. “Nearly there, my Lady.”

Carina nodded, distracted by the wall lined with swords and shields that glittered in the sunlight. “Are these your work?”

“No, these were done by the men to remember their fallen friends and family. It began as a means of training them to be blacksmiths and metalworkers, but they put their heart and soul into the work, so I let them continue.

“The shields with house sigils belong to fallen nobles, bastards mostly. The swords belong to commoners. If we can, we track down the family and gift these commemorations to them and any other help that we can provide. The ones still hanging on the wall either had no family or were never claimed.”

It was a sobering thought to see all these shields and swords crafted by the Red Wolf Army survivors but otherwise forgotten by the rest of Lafeara. A weight of regret seemed to settle upon Carina as they finally reached the third floor.

Iker glanced down at her solemn expression and chuckled as he flicked one of the golden tassels on her cloak. “So how is life as a lady-in-waiting to the Scorpion Princess?”

Carina stared at him in surprise. “You know who I am?”

“Our mutual friend said you might be dropping by,” Iker replied as he released her arm and approached another set of double doors. A padlock secured access, but Iker pulled out a key worn about his neck and unlocked it. “Here we are.”

He held the door open and gestured to Carina, who felt oddly relieved that Beaumont waited for her below as she entered.

A cluttered office awaited her, filled with crates of scrolls and scraps, bookshelves lined with odd metallic objects and rocks, a half-assembled suit of armor with varying detailed embellishment, and a desk covered in books and parchment.

To the room’s left, a thin curtained wall did nothing to obscure the view of an unmade bed, a tray of half-finished food, several empty wine bottles, and a woman’s red stocking.

Carina refocused on the office as Iker shut the door behind her.

“Give me a minute to find it,” Iker said confidently as he walked past her and opened one of four chests crammed between the bookshelves. “I have that box tucked away somewhere.”

“Take your time,” Carina replied as she approached the desk. Several sketches of armor, sword hilts, and even saddle stirrups filled the pages before her, along with other designs of pistols, cannons, and, oddly enough, a map that appeared to detail some sort of underground tunnel system.

“Would you like a seat?” Iker asked as he walked past her and set an ordinary, medium-sized box down on top of the map. “Just a moment,” the Master Blacksmith flashed her a disarming smile as he headed to the curtained side of the room and returned with a simple wood chair. “There we are.”

“Thank you,” Carina murmured, and since she did not wish to be impolite, took the offered seat. “You mentioned earlier that a mutual friend said I would be paying your store a visit.”

“I did—” Iker replied as he leaned against the desk beside the curious box “—though I didn’t expect you to arrive with the Crown Prince’s trusted bodyguard.”

Carina laughed. “An unhappy coincidence.”

Iker narrowed his eyes and shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t want to hold you up unnecessarily—if you can identify our mutual friend, then I’ll be happy to provide what you came for.”

Carina narrowed her eyes. She realized Iker was testing her, but, somehow, it did not sit right to reveal Ghost’s identity so quickly to a stranger. “I’ve only met him under his assumed name,” she explained as she folded her hands against her lap. “That name being Ghost.”

Iker crossed his arms and offered her a wry smile. “You know a bit more than that, Lady Maura, or he wouldn’t have trusted you with that dagger.”

It was becoming more apparent Ghost had set up this meeting, though for what purpose Carina could not grasp. The sense that she had been led unknowingly into something not entirely safe only made her more cautious. “I apologize, Master Iker, but I’m not comfortable discussing such information with a man I’ve only just met.”

“Even though he referred you to me?”

“It would appear he referred me to you as well,” Carina pointed out patiently.

Iker chuckled. “Very well, I said I’d give you the scabbard, and I consider myself a man who keeps his promises.” He pulled a small key from his trouser pocket, unlocked the box, and lifted the lid. “Here it is.”

Carina rose slowly as the glittering scabbard with a black diamond scorpion adorned by a golden crown came into view. Her heart plunged from her chest down into her gut as one of the biggest mysteries about Tristan’s past came fully into view.

‘Damn it—I should have known.’

Carina had always known through Maura that Ghost was Tristan, the First Prince of Lafeara, and the half-blood son of Queen Catalina. But now she knew something Maura didn’t know—that Tristan was also the bastard son of Arius, Emperor of Ventrayna.

Carina continued to blink rapidly as her mind quickly raced over every implication this new identity revealed. ‘Did the Emperor know Tristan was still alive when he switched Eleanora’s engagement to Nicholas? If so, then why?’ She raised her gaze from the dangerous ornament that linked the deceased First Prince of Lafeara to the Emperor of Ventrayna and stared at the man who had exposed a witless stranger to this truth.

As much as she wanted to ask Iker why he was showing her this—acknowledging that she understood the scabbard’s meaning would only pull her deeper into the dagger’s secret.

“It’s a beautiful piece of craftsmanship,” Carina said carefully. “But I believe you are mistaken; this is not what I came here for.”

Carina curtsied and circled the chair to leave. As soon as she got back to the palace, she would find a box to throw that bloody dagger into and return it to Ghost through Stitcher.

“Come back and take a seat, Lady Witch.”

Carina froze. Her cold hands tightened into fists as she turned slowly to face the smirking Master Blacksmith. ‘Damn it, Tristan, what have you dragged me into?’

[B2] Chapter 12: A Trade of Secrets

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Chapter 12: A Trade of Secrets

Iker smiled as he tapped the back of the chair Carina had vacated. “Please,” he added in a smoother tone. “Rest assured. I bear you no ill will, Lady Maura.”

“I would prefer to stand,” Carina replied tensely. “What do you want from me?”

“Merely to become friends,” Iker replied with a shrug.

“Friends?” Carina scowled. “With someone you just met. Why?”

Iker scoffed and scratched his neck. “I can see that I’ve unsettled you, then let’s even the playing field, shall we? You know Ghost is Tristan, the First Prince of Lafeara and the Emperor’s bastard son. I know you’re a witch as well as the Crown Princess’s lady-in-waiting.” He stood fully and offered her a bow. “I am Iker, the Master Blacksmith, previously a slave from Ventrayna, and currently the leader of the Burning Blade.”

“The Burning Blade?” Carina echoed as her cold fingers moved restlessly beneath her cloak. A rapid search of Maura’s memories possessed no knowledge of this name. “Is that name supposed to mean something to me?”

“Only if you are one of its members,” Iker replied with a sly smile. “The Burning Blade is a secret organization loyal to the First Prince. More than this, you need not know unless you agree to join us.”

Carina clenched her jaw and folded her arms. “It seems rather presumptions of you to tell me even this much.”

“Perhaps,” Iker agreed with another disarming smile. “But now we both possess a secret that can get the other person killed.”

Carina exhaled slowly and gritted her teeth. She wasn’t interested in leveling the risk between them. She just wanted to wring Tristan’s neck for revealing her secret to some apparent rebel leader.

‘Damn it.’ Her gaze focused back on the black diamond scorpion scabbard, then she closed her eyes and groaned inwardly. ‘I’m beginning to think hiring Ghost may have been a mistake.’

“Take a seat and take a breath,” Iker suggested with a nod to her chair.

“Thank you, but no,” Carina growled. “I’d like to leave now,” she added determinedly as she raised her gaze to his. “If you had some reason or purpose for showing me that scabbard, then tell me now before I go.”

“The political stability of Lafeara is crumbling,” Iker stated bluntly as he crossed his arms and leaned against his desk. “The corrupt nobles that once fearfully served under King Henri and the Dowager have grown bolder since the death of the King and the First Prince. There are factions among the nobles and common folk who do not believe Prince Nicholas can bring this corruption to heel. And if the prince should die without an heir—Lafeara will be torn apart by the nobles greed for power—or even more likely conquered and plundered by either the Emperor in Ventrayna or the old Witch Queen in Tharyn.”

“I came here for a scabbard—not a lesson in Lafeara’s politics,” Carina interjected uneasily.

“If you were not interested in Lafeara’s politics—why would you hire the First Prince to assassinate his brother?” Iker countered as he straightened with a knowing smile. “Why go through the trouble of becoming the Crown Princess’s lady-in-waiting?” He stepped closer, arms still crossed, a confident glint in his burning amber eyes. “Why ingratiate yourself with the Hawthorne family?”

It was an old lesson Carina had learned a long time ago in her other life. ‘The more people you trust, the more you become exposed.’ Yet who could have imagined the fallen first prince would have established an organization of loyal followers in the heart of Lafeara’s capital. ‘Well, the same could be said for a teenage half-blood.’

‘But why had Tristan returned after escaping death? To reclaim the throne or to seek revenge?’ Maura had only glimpsed Ghost after the plot to depose Queen Eleanora had come to fruition. ‘I’ve no doubt he entered the palace to save Eleanora when he realized her life was in danger—but what is his true goal?’

“I had hoped to reunite the scabbard with its blade,” Iker commented as he returned to the desk and shut the box. “Regrettably, it would be unwise for you to carry that dagger about in public, even with another scabbard. Your very life would be at risk if the Dowager or her circle of nobles were to discover it.”

“Then—I’ll give it to you,” Carina replied promptly. “It’s too much of a burden for me to keep and not at all useful.”

“I would have to agree,” Iker smirked and tapped the lid thoughtfully. “But a lady in your position will need something to defend herself. That palace, as I’m sure already you know, can be particularly dangerous to those who know too much.” He rapped his knuckles on the box and turned to her. “I’ll have a delivery sent to Rose Palace tomorrow morning. A set of daggers, much more suited to your size and skill. The box will have a lock and a false bottom. My deliveryman will provide you with the key. Return the box and key to him with the prince’s dagger inside. Will that suffice?”

“You can get it out of the palace that easily?” Carina questioned uncertainly.

“The privileges of having the crown as a patron,” Iker replied with another sly smile and a shrug. “I make special deliveries such as this all the time.”

‘Really?’ Carina decided not to pry. “Very well, I’ll be expecting your delivery tomorrow. May I go now?”

Iker scoffed. “In case it wasn’t clear earlier, I was extending you an invitation to join the Burning Blade.”

“One that I must politely decline,” Carina replied quickly. ‘One secret organization is more than enough for me to keep up with.’

“I would encourage you to think it over,” Iker answered unperturbed. “The world is a precarious place for a half-blood noble, let alone a witch. One day you or the Crown Princess may need the protection the Burning Blade can provide.”

‘If that were true, the Burning Blade would have aided Ghost in rescuing Eleanora before—’ Carina exhaled sharply. ‘What if they had?’

“I’ll think about your offer,” she answered stiffly.

“Good,” Iker nodded with a pleased smile. “You can send your answer tomorrow if you like. In any case, Tristan’s intent was for us to meet so you would know who to rely on while he’s—preoccupied in Ventrayna.”

“He won’t be returning for a while then?” Carina hid her disappointment as best she could. She would dearly like to smack that smug ghoul grin from Ghost’s face right about now. He deserved no less for revealing her secret. Not to mention the dozens of questions Carina wanted to ask about his relationship with the Emperor and the Burning Blade.

“Tristan has his own battles to fight for the time being,” Iker replied as he picked up the scabbard’s box and returned it to the open chest. “As do we all.” He turned to face her and smiled. “I shall escort you back downstairs if you are ready.”

“I can find the way myself,” Carina replied.

“Better for me to escort you,” Iker returned as he joined her and offered his arm. “By the way, just out of curiosity, just what type of witch are you, Lady Maura?”

“The kind you don’t mess with,” Carina snarked with irritation and reluctantly accepted his arm.

❆❆❆❆❆

Beaumont rose from his seat on the crate as Iker and Maura came into view. Even across the store, he could tell she was far from happy. Maura curtsied to Iker before she moved, with surprising willingness, to Beaumont’s side.

“Captain Beaumont be sure she gets back to the palace safely,” Iker called out with a casual wave before he returned to the back of the store.

Beaumont glanced at Maura, who stared after Iker with an expression of unease. “Are you—ready to leave?” he asked.

She took in a slow, measured breath, then nodded as she answered, “Yes, please, can we go.” Without waiting for a response, she headed towards the shop door.

“As you wish,” Beaumont replied and followed behind her with a silent frown. ‘Just what had Iker done to make her this rattled?’

He resolved to get that answer from the Master Blacksmith on another visit as he caught the closing door Maura had already dashed through. He caught up to her impatient strides easily, then nearly crashed into her as Maura stopped abruptly.

“My—carriage is gone,” She whispered with barely restrained frustration.

“Did you leave anything inside?” Beaumont asked quickly.

“No—just some flowers.” Maura turned quickly to scan the street.

“That’s alright then. The palace gate isn’t far from here.” Beaumont took her elbow gently and steered Maura in the direction of the eagerly pacing gelding.

“What are you—”

“It's nearly impossible to catch a carriage in this part of the capital,” Beaumont explained as he paid the small boy another crescent and watched the elated lad run off to show his friends.

“Are we riding—together?”

Beaumont made the mistake of looking at her then, and the discomfort etched across Maura’s troubled face made his own chest twist uncomfortably. “I’ll walk,” he answered and dropped his gaze. “As I said, it’s not far.” He interlocked his fingers together and knelt. “Up you go,” he urged.

He saw her shift from the corner of his eye and thought for a moment Maura might reject his offer and storm off, but then she placed a hand on his shoulder and lifted her small pointed shoe into his waiting grasp. With a silent sigh of relief, he hoisted her up carefully.

Maura gripped the saddle tightly as she struggled to position her legs comfortably. Her ice-blue eyes widened as she took in the world below her.

“I—how—” she looked around helplessly.

“Cross your legs, sit as close to the pommel as you can,” Beaumont urged as he took the reins.

“Okay, umm—do I just hold onto the saddle?”

“I think Titan would prefer that to you pulling on his hair,” Beaumont joked lightly.

Maura gave a weak laugh and squirmed cautiously against the saddle until her right knee was hooked over the pommel and her fingers securely locked around the horn beneath her skirts.

Beaumont glanced at the scars visible against the white knuckles of her small hands and reached into his pocket. “Here, wear these.” He held up a pair of small, dove-grey gloves.

“What?” Maura looked from the gloves to him in confusion. “Why are you—”

“I didn’t know what color you liked,” Beaumont interrupted as he stepped closer and held the gloves higher. “But they should protect your hands while wielding a knife—or riding a horse.”

Maura’s dark but delicate brows tightened together above her prism-blue eyes. With a hesitant smile, she sighed and took the gloves from his hand. “You’re a very peculiar person, Captain. Thank you.”

Beaumont turned away to hide his own smile and watched her reflection in the glass windows of the blacksmith department store until Maura had secured her grip on the saddle once more. His gaze turned sharply to the corner of the store where one of Iker’s men, a fellow with half his face covered in black cloth that obscured his left eye, watched them with a little too much interest.

The man’s olive-green eye flickered over Beaumont once before he turned and disappeared behind the store.

“Ready to go?” Beaumont asked casually as he reached behind his neck to loosen the strap at the hilt of his sword.

“As good as,” Maura murmured uncertainly as she looked down at him. “Are you sure you don’t mind walking?”

“I don’t mind at all,” Beaumont answered honestly. ‘Besides, walking will take longer.’ “Lady Maura, you don’t have to keep a death grip on the saddle, just enough to keep your balance.”

“Maybe I should just get down and walk,” Maura muttered with an unhappy glance at the ground below.

“Come on, Titan,” Beaumont called to the gelding encouragingly and clicked his tongue as he stepped forward. The speckled warhorse followed obediently with tempered, cautious steps as if it understood it was carrying precious cargo.

[B2] Chapter 13: The Color of Fear

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Chapter 13: The Color of Fear

A cacophony of pedestrians, salesmen, carriages, and the sweat of honest, hard-earned labor washed over Carina as the crowds thickened, and the fortress walls of the palace grew closer with every passing street. Beneath the surreal blanket of normality, she found herself enjoying the steady pace at which Beaumont and his beautiful gelding navigated their way through the chaos. It was oddly satisfying to move so slowly in a sea of tumult and excitement.

The warm sun sparkled off the gelding’s soft grey mane that almost perfectly matched the grey leather gloves Beaumont had gifted her. Carina adjusted her grip on the saddle’s pommel and relaxed her fingers as the sun cast a pale glow about Beaumont’s silver blond hair, a color as odd and as rare as his violet eyes.

Beaumont slightly turned, as if sensing her gaze, and Carina resumed surveying the buildings around them. Only licensed shops and specialty stores were permitted this close to the palace, and only a noble could purchase such a license. The Royal Merchant’s Guild heavily regulated the ownership of all buildings in this precinct, but the market streets were open to all who wished to trade. Modest apartments, built onto the back of the exclusive shops, provided living quarters for shop managers chosen by the nobles who owned or co-owned the business.

Aside from the Holy Maiden Boutique, Carina owned another shop in this district. An apothecary run by a Mr. Lambert but owned on paper by Mr. Frost. That shop, however, was on Radieux street. Currently, they appeared to be wandering down Peindra Street, where department stores of furnishings, tableware, lamps, and linen shops could be found in abundance.

Going off the map in her memory, Carina determined that they would reach the capital Justice Square very soon before taking Kings Street, the most direct route back to the palace.

“Is your ankle better?” Beaumont asked as they circled two boisterous women, who ogled the knight captain and whispered conspicuously.

“Yes,” Carina replied and glanced down at her right foot. The hem of her dress had shifted in the breeze, and the brace Stitcher’s craftsman had fashioned at her request was slightly visible. Carina pulled the black ruffles back over it quickly. “It’s manageable,” she amended. The bruising was still fading, but she could move about without hindrance while the brace supported any weakness in the joint.

“That’s good.” The gelding nudged the knight captain’s arm. Beaumont scratched the stallion’s neck as they paused to let a cart cross. “How was—the funeral?”

“It was fine,” Carina replied as her grip on the pommel tightened. However well-meaning his question, it also reminded her of the information Beaumont had intentionally withheld about Helena’s death. “It was a closed casket because of the fire.”

Beaumont glanced back at her uncertainly, then offered a nod before he led them through the open street.

‘Oh, so now you don’t want to talk.’

“I heard some interesting rumors while I was there,” Carina continued determinedly.

“What sort of rumors?” was Beaumont's cautious reply.

“Oh, nothing out of the ordinary, just that a witch caused the fire that killed my parents.”

Beaumont exhaled sharply as he dropped back so that he stood level with her waist. “You should probably not mention that so openly,” he advised in a low tone. “People react strongly to those associated with witches, even if they are only victims.”

Beaumont’s violet eyes looked up at her, his concern visible, and yet it only confirmed her suspicions.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Carina scowled as the knight captain dropped his gaze and glanced around them. “Clearly, you knew when you delivered the death notice.”

“I—” Beaumont drew in a deep breath “—we didn’t feel it was necessary to burden you with that information until the fire had been fully investigated. In fact, it would be better that no one knew—given your proximity to the royal family.”

“We?” Carina echoed back with a hint of bitterness. “The Crown Prince?”

Beaumont brushed a hand along the back of his head, his long fingers disturbing the usual tidiness of his hair. “Yes.”

Carina scoffed.

“Is that why—you’re angry at me?” Beaumont asked softly. Those violet eyes fixed upon her now with a hint of confusion.

Carina narrowed her gaze at him. “Are you saying I shouldn’t be angry?”

“No.” Beaumont refocused on the street ahead of them and moved up closer to the gelding’s head. The stallion nudged his shoulder as if offering sympathy.

The earlier euphoria of witnessing life so freely beneath the summer sun wore off as the awkwardness between them lengthened. Carina sighed and tried to refocus her mind on other matters as the narrow line of buildings opened up to reveal a massive market square ahead.

The sea of pedestrians hardly moved as people gathered on benches, picnic blankets, and an assortment of chairs to gossip or sell their wares to those who rested leisurely in the capital's busiest corner.

And there, at Justice Square’s bustling center—surrounded by flowers, dancers, entertainers, and even a liquor salesman, who appeared to be making good coin from a rowdy band of knights—the execution scaffold loomed in all its oppressive glory.

Carina had known to expect it, but the cold fear that came from Maura’s nightmare induced memories compressed around her. A passing cloud darkened the cries of merriment as another crowd roared in her ears. A multitude of bloodthirsty voices that would cheer her death, even if they never knew her name.

“Shoeshine! New shine!” A middle-aged man with a box tied around his neck broke off from the crowd of knights, scanned the multitude of potential customers, and settled his hungry gaze upon them. “Walking around in all this dirt will muck up those lovely booties, Sir. Just six crescents, Sir, and they’ll shine as brightly as your lady’s lovely smile.”

“No, thank you,” Beaumont waved the man away.

“Four crescents then! Give a hard-working man some work, Sir. I’ve got kids to feed back at the house—not that it has a roof, Sir. Cute as pups they are, but always hungry.”

“Another time perhaps,” Beaumont replied firmly.

“Leave them be, Wart!” cackled an old woman nestled comfortably in the shadow of her flower cart. “Can’t you see you’re ruining their date? Madeline!”

A young girl of about ten years appeared from behind the cart with a bushel of daisies. “Yes, Madam?”

“There’s a lost man in need of your guiding touch. What flowers would you say match his pretty lady?”

“Oye, so you’re stealing my customers now, are you, Rose?” the shoe shiner hollered as the little blonde girl swapped her daisies for a bushel of purple bellflowers.

Carina loosened the strings of the coin purse at her waist as the girl rushed over, shying away hesitantly as she looked up into Beaumont’s stony face.

“Don’t forget to ask for coin!” Rose snapped before her attention shifted to the musicians who had picked up a lively tune.

“F-flowers—for—the lady?” Madeline whispered.

Beaumont sighed and reached for his pocket.

“Madeline is a pretty name,” Carina called out as she leaned down and held out five crescents between her fingers.

“Your flowers, Miss!” the child beamed as she eagerly swapped her flowers for coin. “You are pretty too!”

“You’ll make an excellent saleswoman,” Carina murmured as she studied the flowers she now held.

‘Why purple?’

Madeline appeared to have read her thoughts. “I picked them because they match his eyes,” she explained with a timid smile and glance in Beaumont’s direction. Then she scampered off as Rose called her name once more. The shoeshiner also moved on to try his luck on a group of merchants.

“Captain Beaumont!”

Carina’s attention shifted from the curious color that grazed Beaumont’s cheeks to the three knights that now jogged in their direction.

“It must be the Captain's birthday!” the first of the knights called out as they circled Beaumont.

“No, wait, I believe he could be on a date?”

“Not a chance.”

Carina ignored the men’s inquisitive stares as she tucked the bellflowers into her purse.

“I am simply the lady’s escort,” Beaumont corrected them sharply. “And you should know better than to besmirch a noblewoman’s reputation with such idle words.”

“Steady on, Captain, we meant no harm.”

“Since when did his Highness loan you out to escort anyone other than himself?”

“I’m telling you it's the Captain’s birthday. That’s the only day he ever wanders off the Crown Prince’s leash.”

“If you have nothing of importance to say, we’ll be moving on,” Beaumont growled. “Enjoy your time off.”

The knights moved back with cowed grins, their fun prematurely cut short, but Carina felt their stares linger until the gelding passed beyond the buildings that lined King’s street.

“Sorry if they made you uncomfortable,” Beaumont said with an awkward, backward glance.

Carina held back a smirk. “They were no bother.” She glanced back just once at the disappearing platform as the sun returned to brighten its stained surface. ‘What will be will be.’

“I’ll give them a proper grilling tomorrow,” Beaumont muttered under his breath.

The cold left her limbs as Carina bit back a laugh. “Is today your birthday?”

“Ah—yes, it happens to be.”

“Happy Birthday then, Captain.”

“Thank you.” His words seemed hesitant as his gaze remained focused on the road ahead.

“Are you going to celebrate?”

Beaumont turned towards her with a wry smile. “No one celebrates the birthday of bastards.”

Carina smiled back. “Or half-bloods.”

He nodded and rubbed the back of his head. “Ah—when is your birthday, Lady Maura?”

Carina blinked and exhaled slowly. “In a few weeks.”

“Really?” Beaumont glanced back at her with interest.

“Yes.”

Of all the birthdays that had gone by without remark since her arrival in Lafeara, Carina had no intention of celebrating Maura’s seventeenth birthday. It was a date that marked the downfall of Maura’s previously dismal life. And if the future did not change, this would be Carina’s last birthday as Maura, the half-blood ice witch.

“Before or after Holy Saints day?” Beaumont pressed inquisitively.

“A few days after,” Carina replied with a half-smile. ‘Only a week until the real count down begins, but first, I have to ensure Hana and Eleanora make it through the Ambassador’s visit.’

The buildings dispersed as the open field of cherry trees, which separated the palace-fortress from the capital, emerged. The wind picked up and tousled Carina’s dark ash-brown hair into her face. She attempted to tame the mess while still maintaining a secure grip on the saddle.

The sound of horses and a carriage glided up behind them like a tide. Beaumont carefully guided the gelding to the side of the road to allow the transport room to pass. Carina glanced up just as the carriage’s first escort galloped by; his scarlet cloak and armor glistened in the sunlight as the man tipped his head politely to Beaumont.

A carriage of glistening white, trimmed with gold, embedded with red gems, and marked with the Pope’s emblem of a Saint slaying a dragon, filled Carina’s vision. The Winter Rose flickered as cold rushed from her chest, and her limbs trembled in terror.

‘The Church is here.’

Behind the carriage, three more riders in scarlet armor and robes jostled by without a glance in their direction. Carina turned her head and coughed beneath the dust left in their wake.

“The Pope’s Emissary,” Beaumont confirmed with equal distaste. “He’s early—though expected.” He pulled the gelding back onto the road and looked up at Carina. “They’ll be held up at the gate for a while. I need to get back quickly to deliver word to his Majesty.”

“Of course—I can make it from the gate on my own,” Carina replied nervously.

‘Four witch hunters. Four!’ She reached towards the Winter Rose. ‘I guess I’ll find out if this works.’

“Pull up your hood,” Beaumont said as he placed his hand against the gelding’s shoulder beside her leg. “Scoot forward a bit.”

“What?”

Beaumont lifted his foot into the stirrup, and Carina wiggled forward in the saddle as he lifted himself effortlessly behind her. “Bear with me until we’re past the gate.”

“Alright.” Carina pulled the hood of the cloak over her face. ‘If it means getting past those witch hunters, then this much is—’ Her breath caught in her throat as Beaumont’s long arms reached around her to adjust the reins. The warmth of his chest pressed against her back, accompanied by the scent of earth, pinecones, and mint mixed with a smell that could only be his.

“Hold on tight.” Beaumont’s deep voice grazed her ears, but the tension in it refocused Carina on the danger and the carriage ahead, that as predicted, slowed to a halt outside the fortress’s tunnel gate.

Beaumont urged the gelding forward with a soft whistle. Carina’s back found Beaumont’s solid chest once more as the stallion lunged forward with a mischievous snort. The carriage and its four scarlet nemeses drew closer, and fear pricked against Carina’s cold chest as a knight stepped around the Emissary’s carriage with an upheld hand to restrain them.

“Let me through!” Beaumont shouted as he held up the crown prince’s royal pass.

“Let Captain Beaumont through!” the knight shouted as he scampered out of the way.

The gelding flicked its ears and tossed its head as it danced nimbly across the cobblestone, around the witch hunters, through the wall of knights, and down the dark gullet of the Wolves Den.

[B2] Chapter 14: Prince of the Desert

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Chapter 14: Prince of the Desert

The sandstone pillars and walls of Skreigh, the capital city of Ventrayna, gradually came into focus behind the perpetual sandstorms that had plagued the travelers since they crossed the desert’s border. All but blindfolded beneath his desert headscarf, Tristan could see nothing but endless sand in every other direction. Five long days of riding beneath the sweltering sun and shivering through the frigid nights by the fire had worn him to the bone. His skin was covered in uncomfortable grime while his cheeks felt as if they had been scrubbed clean by sand that slipped past his protective cover. As reluctant as he was to return to the domain of the Witch Emperor, Tristan was more preoccupied with thoughts of a good bath, a hearty “sand-free” meal, and the comfort of a warm, clean bed.

Of course, Tristan also hoped that the bed came without the poisonous scorpions or serpents the Empress had slipped into his chambers last time. Tristan still remembered the unfortunate slave that had discovered the deadly creatures while preparing his master’s inner tunic. The man’s purple bloating skin, foaming mouth, and rolled back eyes was not a sight soon forgotten. Brayen had been his name—not that Ventrayna slaves were ever addressed by their given name.

The shadow guard maintained their protective circle around the prince, even in the desert whipped and howled around them like a sea of wretched, mourning specters. After a small ceremony honoring the man Tristan and Aurelia had burned to death, the shadow guard elected a new leader. Both new and old commanders went by the chosen name of Umbra, or Shadow, and Tristan reluctantly transferred that name to this new faceless bodyguard.

“Is the Emperor already aware of our arrival, Umbra?” Tristan shouted past the cloth wrapped around most of his face. His words were muffled behind the rough linen and the howling wind, and yet the shadow leader heard him all the same.

“We have long sent word of our arrival, your Highness. I am sure the Emperor knows.”

Tristan nodded. The winds volume diminished as the massive walls, carved from ancient volcanic rock, offered the group some shelter from the storm. He could finally make out Aurelia and Isleen up ahead beneath the flickering beacons that guided them along the curved walls towards the bridge that stretched out across a pit filled with spears, half-buried in the sand. At the end of the bridge, an iron-barred gate sealed the capital's entrance.

Aurelia urged her blood bay mare onto the volcanic stone bridge and flicked her wrist lazily towards two torches that had been blown out by the storm. The sparks that floated from her fingers swirled towards the smothered stubs, that quickly flared and roared alive once more. Beneath the torches, the ancient carved language of witches, illuminated by fire and shadow, read, Ignis ambulant. They who walk through fire.

The groan of chains rattled along the pullies behind the iron gate and echoed through the moaning winds behind them. The barrier rose steadily to reveal a narrow, short tunnel that led inside Skreigh. Desert men in leather armor, their faces hidden beneath a black scarf, formed uniform lines along the street and knelt before Aurelia, who took the lead as they entered the heart of the desert.

“Welcome back, Altus Ignis,” greeted a soldier as he offered Aurelia a chalice of water with his head respectfully bowed.

“Captain,” Aurelia returned in a flat tone as she pulled down her scarf. She took the chalice, quenched her thirst, and passed the remaining water to Isleen, who accepted it gratefully. “Send word to the palace of our return.”

“It has already been done, Altus Ignis.”

“Good,” Isleen muttered, some weariness slipping past her imperious tone. She tossed the empty chalice back to the captain and rubbed her shoulders. “The sooner I get home, the sooner my slaves can give me a proper bath and a much-needed massage.”

“Agreed. No point in wasting time here.” Aurelia turned her copper eyes towards Tristan, surrounded by shadow guard, and sighed. “Come on then, bastard. I need to figure out which warden you’ve been assigned to so I can be rid of your stench.”

“Warden?” Tristan echoed as he urged his tired steed after her.

“Father wants someone keeping tabs of you at all times, both for your protection and to ensure you don’t run off—again.”

Tristan scoffed and gestured to the shadow guard. “I thought that’s what they were here for.”

Aurelia scowled at his escort and muttered under her breath as she continued forward. Tristan barely caught the words, “useless…priest…dead…bastard,” as another wave of wind and sand billowed over the fortress walls and rained down upon them. He pulled up his scarf and resumed a safe distance of six feet behind Aurelia and Isleen.

Sand carved houses framed by beams of wood, volcanic rock, and desert stone rose in stature as they progressed through the quiet city. The few natives who wandered from shelter did so buried beneath their protective cloaks and head scarfs. Sandstorms like this were hardly an uncommon occurrence during the summer, but once the storms passed, Skreigh transformed into its only bustling metropolis.

Regardless of the weather, Skreigh's citizens were careful to avoid the streets on which the returning royals traveled. In Ventrayna, slaves and lower mortals were forbidden from gazing upon the royal family, who were revered as immortals, though, from Tristan’s experience, they still bleed and died the same as any man. Occasionally through the storm, he would spot a native merchant traveling with their slaves, always on the end of a chain. Each time the merchant stopped to bow while the frightened slaves buried their faces in the sand, least they face punishment for disrespecting royal blood.

Tristan took notice of one impatient master, who half-choked his slave-boy as they continued on their way, bore the crest of a burning horse on his cloak. The copper emblem of a burning horse marked the coven witch as one of Lord Haemish’s men.

Three leading fire covens made up Ventrayna’s vast population. Each coven was ruled by one of the leading witch families, almost always a pure-blood, and each coven had sworn fealty to the Witch Emperor long before Ventrayna’s palaces were built.

Lord Haemish was an exception to this rule, though his coven was small and had very few pure-bloods to speak of. The Ambassador was a mere coven witch himself, while his wife, Lady Lavinia, was a pure-blood witch. The covens little cared to discriminate between a male and female witch, and Haemish was a political animal with dangerous ambitions for himself and his offspring. Lady Lavinia supported her husband’s political endeavors, if only for her children's future and her own security.

Hierarchy within each coven was governed by the old belief that power was ordained through bloodlines. As such, coven witches and pure-bloods were granted freedom and privileges that half-witches and mortals would never dare to obtain. The purer a witch’s blood, the higher their family rose within the covens, and the more glory they were granted by the Emperor in status.

At the top of that hierarchy of bloodlines and power stood the indomitable Emperor, his vicious Empress, and the, until recently, unopposed royal heir, Princess Aurelia.

The black stone, volcanic structure of the royal palace pierced the chaotic sky above. The skyscrapers jagged tips that once formed the now dormant volcano's peak remained obscured behind the desert storm. More Ventrayna soldiers, decked in black-iron armor, bowed their heads before the returning members of Ventrayna’s royal family.

“Honor and Glory, Altus Ignis.”

The echoed greeting repeated as Tristan passed through the palace gate. He glanced up and caught Aurelia’s infuriated glare as she turned to Isleen, who shook her head and shrugged. It seemed a lot had changed since his last visit if the palace guards were now permitted to acknowledge him as the Emperor’s son publicly.

“Honor and Glory, Altus Ignis!” A general dressed in black armor trimmed with gold waited before them on the palace road atop a black warhorse. “I have been sent to escort Prince Tristan to the Emperor.”

“General Zere,” Aurelia growled with evident displeasure.

“Princess Aurelia,” Zere bowed his head politely. The torchlight glinted off the dark gold-threaded braids of his hair that ran down the general’s back as he turned his attention to Tristan. “Altus Ignis, if you would follow me?”

“I am tired,” Tristan replied with little interest. “I have been traveling for five days, General.”

“The Emperor is most impatient to speak with you, Prince Tristan.”

“Then he can wait until I have bathed.”

A whisper passed through the soldiers around them, but one look from General Zere scattered the men’s attention.

“I understand you must be weary from the journey, your Highness,” Zere said firmly. “I am sure the Emperor would appreciate your patience.”

“Do you know why he has summoned me back?”

Zere’s mouth twitched before it hardened into its usual flat line. “I would not presume to speak the Emperor’s mind.”

“Does the Emperor not wish to see me?” Aurelia snapped as she shook the scarf from her braids. “Or does he have so little concern for his first-born daughter now that the bastard son has returned?” Her words and eyes brimmed with seething irritation that directed its wrath at Tristan.

“I believe the Empress was looking for you, princess,” Zere replied calmly.

Aurelia's anger withered as she shifted uncomfortably in her saddle. “You should have said so sooner. I will leave the bastard with you then.”

“Wait!” Zere raised his hand as Aurelia moved to bypass him. “You should know the Emperor has forbidden any form of disrespect to your royal brother—in particular any implication that Tristan is a bastard.”

“What?” Aurelia scoffed.

“Since Princess was absent and unaware of this recent royal decree, I have informed her accordingly,” Zere continued with another head bow.

“Even a soldier dares to lecture me now?” Aurelia scoffed.

Zere expression remained emotionless as he replied, “The penalty for disobeying the Emperor’s royal decree is death, as I’m sure the Princess is aware.”

Fire flickered in the air around Aurelia’s copper eyes. Isleen moved quickly between the Princess and General. “Thank you for your guidance, General. We will go on ahead to greet the Empress.”

“Lady Isleen is to accompany myself and the Prince to visit the Emperor,” Zere corrected as he pulled a small scroll from his belt and extended it to the surprised witch. “At your father’s request.”

Isleen frowned as she unfolded the scroll and read it.

“Ah, it seems a lot has changed in the weeks we’ve been away,” Aurelia muttered as she glanced at the contents of the message. “You better go with them, Isleen. Just be careful they don’t tie you to a post for this bastard to breed.”

“Princess,” Zere growled.

Tristan yanked the scarf from his head with a frustrated sigh. “Since we all have someplace to be, let us move on. I little care who chooses to call me a bastard—” he fixed his gaze upon Aurelia “—titles are temporary after all.”

His half-sister’s copper eyes burned with rage before she whipped her blood bay mare and galloped away in the direction of the Empress’s residence. Unlike Lafeara, the palaces of Ventrayna were co-joined into one massive structure, but the volcanic fortress did have separate entrances for the Emperor and Empress’s quarters.

Zere gazed impassively after the disappearing princess and adjusted his reins. “Then—if you would follow me—Altius Ignis.” The general turned his warhorse and led them along the road towards the first palace gate. Isleen followed close behind, while Tristan and his shadow guard maintained their distance.

Tristan's tiredness quickly faded with the imminent reunion before him as old wounds and confusion fumed and boiled in his gut. If anyone could understand the dangerous relationship Tristan shared with Kritanta, it was Arius, who had been similarly blessed.

“She chose you, as she chose me, to do her bidding and to reforge the world with fire. Just remember that all such power comes at a cost.”

Tristan shook the foreboding warning from his mind. He never once regretted accepting the deal from the goddess of death, but he was cautious about using the power she had bestowed upon him.

Arius had told him nothing else regarding his own arrangement with Kritanta. Not that they had spoken often during Tristan’s brief stay and recovery at the palace. The destruction of Wolfthorn forest had drained Tristan to the point of collapsing. He barely remembered the events that followed before waking up in Ventrayna’s palace with the Emperor at his side. For two moons, his body was trapped in a fever of magic as it adjusted to its newfound strength. During that time, the Emperor and High Priest Haakon were the only two faces he saw.

When Tristan was finally introduced to the royal court as Arius’s son, disbelief and chaos quickly ensued. It was High Priest Haakon’s assurance of the strength and purity of Tristan’s bloodline that silenced the doubt and suspicion of the haughty coven leaders and even the Empress. Unfortunately, even his new identity as Prince of Ventrayna did not spare Tristan from further assassination attempts.

The first time Tristan encountered the shadow guard, who had been charged to protect the prince, had been when a female slave attempted to stab him while bathing. He quickly came to appreciate the skill and prowess of these desert assassins, who served only the Emperor blessed by their goddess. Four months later, after the Empress’s pet scorpions killed his slave, Tristan decided that he had had enough of the Emperor’s inaction—and left Ventrayna three days later.

Perhaps that was why the Emperor reacted so strongly and stripped Aurelia of her title. It little mattered to Tristan now. He wasn’t going to stick around very long this time, either. After all, Tristan was confident that Kritanta’s missing heart was not in Ventrayna.

Outside the main palace entrance, royal attendants and guards were careful to greet Tristan as Altus Ignis, a title only given to recognized members of Ventrayna’s royal family. A title the Empress had been most unwilling to grant the Emperor’s bastard, who now threatened Aurelia’s inheritance.

Tristan glanced over the gold emblems worn on the right shoulder of the officials present. The burning scorpion distinguished those who served the Emperor. Also present were three insignias of the leading witch covens who held power under the Emperor: the burning hawk, the burning viper, and the burning lizard, which often resembled a dragon—though such verbal comparisons were forbidden.

“Honor and Glory, Altus Ignis,” they all greeted with various levels of enthusiasm. Tristan noted that the attendants with the burning lizard, the Empress’s coven, were the least represented among the group.

Tristan ignored the lower-ranked officials with equal disinterest as he continued to follow the General. He had never once felt he belonged in this nest of scorpions, and Tristan had every intention of leaving the moment he obtained the Emperor’s assurance of Lafeara’s safety.

Giant stone pillars carved with gold symbols of flame and black scorpions adorned the hallway, which led towards the Emperor’s throne room. Zere signaled the guards, who bowed respectfully to Tristan before they turned to open the two great doors.

Inside the throne room, towering red glass windows speckled with gold cast a glow of fire throughout the space. Black tapestries embroidered with gold burning scorpions and a lush red carpet that led up to the Emperor’s throne stood out against the white marble floor blemished here and there with scorch marks of those Arius had personally executed. It was a familiar sight to Tristan, who focused upon the dais that held Ventrayna’s throne and Emperor. On either side of the Witch Emperor stood too well-known Coven Lords.

“The rebellious son returns,” commented Duke Zenaku with his usual stone-cold gaze of disapproval. The emblem of a burning viper on his shoulder marked the coven he led, which was notorious for its bloodthirsty battle witches and countless victories

To his right, Duke Tyrrell, who wore the burning hawk emblem, whispered something to the Emperor, who waved his hand permissively.

Duke Tyrrell led the oldest fire witch coven, which afforded him much respect among the other covens, and even the Emperor. It was also the reason Tyrrell’s only son had been married to Princess Aurelia.

General Zere bowed respectfully as Duke Tyrrell approached.

“Pardon, Altius Ignis, I need to speak with my daughter for a moment,” Tyrell stated bluntly as he took Isleen’s arm and pulled her quickly to the far corner of the throne room.

Whatever private matter they were fervently discussing, Tristan couldn’t help but feel uneasy given Zenaku’s displeased scowl. General Zere continued to the end of the carpet and knelt before the Witch Emperor. Tristan followed behind the general and reluctantly raised his gaze to the burning, calculating amber gaze of Emperor Arius—his father.

At nearly half a century in age, Arius remained in the prime of life. The Emperor radiated the power and glory his people greatly admired and respected. As a boy, he had roamed the desert, hunted by the church and his treacherous uncles. As a young man, he had toppled the dynasty of Pope’s and forged old Zarus into Ventrayna. The first witch nation in which all covens were welcomed and protected from the reach of the church—if they willingly bent the knee.

A witch-steel crown with blood-red rubies glimmered against Arius’s dark copper-brown hair, above those ember-like eyes that Tristan had inherited, which now stared back at him with overwhelming power and great impatience.

“You have made me wait,” Arius said, his voice low but dangerous.

[B2] Chapter 15: The Bloodlines of Covens

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Chapter 15: The Bloodlines of Covens

‘I made you wait?’ Tristan clenched his jaw as he glared back into the Emperor’s scowling face. ‘You made me wait nearly two decades before you bothered claiming me as your son and ruined my future.’

Tristan exhaled slowly, then unclenched his hands and jaw. “Why did you summon me back, Emperor?”

“Insolent,” Zenaku hissed. His oiled mustache and beard quivered with unspoken rage as he fixed his glare upon the prince.

Arius raised a single finger and silenced the powerful head of the Burning Viper Coven. Zenaku shifted his glare to the floor, as if it too had offended him, but remained wisely silent.

“Forgive Duke Zenaku his ill-temper. We were discussing another important matter that has resulted in—a less than favorable result for his family,” Arius explained as his gaze slid past Tristan to where Lady Isleen and Duke Tyrrell appeared to have finished their private discussion.

The Emperor’s tone was casual, but Zenaku hastily turned and knelt before him. “If my anger has offended you, my Emperor, then punish me. But it is hard to overlook the favor shown by your request when it shifts the power between our three Coven’s in favor of only one family.”

“We are all equal under the Emperor,” Tyrrell replied grimly as he led Isleen to stand beside Tristan at the end of the carpet. “Had you a daughter of your own, Zenaku, then perhaps things would be different.”

“You say that as if having two daughters is some great favor to be envied,” Zenaku returned with a leer.

“I have one daughter and one son—as you damn well know!” Tyrrell snapped.

“Forgive me, but the behavior of your “son” makes it hard to remember sometimes. But that is perhaps the result of your precious inbreed bloodline.”

“Enough!” Arius commanded with strained patience. “Duke Tyrrell, does your daughter accept our terms?”

Tyrrell replaced his glower with a satisfied smile as he turned and nodded to Isleen.

Lady Isleen curtsied gracefully and remained in the lowered pose as she responded, “I am honored to serve, Imperatoris Ignis.”

Tristan glanced from Lady Isleen to Duke Tyrell, then over to the Emperor, and sighed impatiently. “If you have other important matters to discuss, then may I be excused, Emperor. I want to bath and rest.”

This time even Tyrrell gave him a disapproving glare while Arius considered him silently for a moment.

“We understand you lost control of your magic just before leaving Lafeara—again,” Arius commented dryly.

Tristan clenched his jaw. Though he did not understand the speed with which the Shadow Guard reported his movements back to the Emperor, he was not at all surprised to learn that Arius was so well informed. The Emperor had gathered a few air witches beneath his banner, and Tristan had seen for himself the devilish speed with which they covered a dozen miles in mere minutes.

“I did—” Tristan replied tensely “—lose control for a moment. But the incident need not affect relations between Ventrayna and Lafeara since I am not a citizen of either.”

“You are my son,” Arius pointed out with an impatient sigh. He shook his head and rubbed his trimmed beard distractedly. “The sooner you accept that role and the responsibilities of your awakened powers, the better.”

A nerve twitched in Tristan’s jaw as he clenched his jaw shut once more.

“Now then,” Arius continued with a nod to Isleen, who rose to her feed. “We shall settle the matter between the covens as agreed upon.”

“The Emperor would give the Tyrrell family all power and glory while my coven and family must bow its head and accept this—humiliation,” Zenaku snarled. His tone might have been offensive if it were not clearly evident that he was holding back his rage and magic with great restraint.

“Duke Zenaku, this is not about favor or humiliation, but the preservation of the flame which guides our kingdom,” Arius replied forcefully. “If it is appeasement you seek, you have my word that I shall make it up to Lord Mekhi shortly.”

Zenaku’s eyes narrowed with cynical disbelief. “My Emperor, the Burning Viper Coven does not need wealth nor lands. We had hoped to strengthen our bloodline through matrimony with House Tyrrell, who has been graced with royal favor for the “purity” of its bloodline frequently—despite their offspring’s evident weakness when it comes to the actual combat.”

“And yet House Tyrrell takes first place in each year’s Trial of Flames,” Tyrrell shot back quickly. “Or do your sons only count the slaughter of slaves, women, and children as a glorious achievement?”

“Enough of your bickering,” Arius interjected with more annoyance than anger as he rose from the throne. “My son is weary from his journey across the desert.”

Tristan stood firm as the powerful pure-blood approached him with measured steps. General Zere and Lady Isleen stepped back as the Emperor embraced his son tightly and then kissed Tristan’s cheek.

“It would seem your trip to Lafeara was not a complete waste,” Arius commented as he brushed the sand from his lips. “You have come back stronger—” he patted Tristan’s shoulder lightly “—though not yet strong enough to slay your mother’s killer.”

A broken breath slid past Tristan’s clenched teeth as Arius turned towards Isleen, who bowed at the waist beside her father.

“Rise, Lady Isleen,” Arius replied with warm affection. “I am overjoyed that you have accepted this responsibility. You have my full authority to push the prince through his paces—he lacks training and experience.”

“I am honored by this favor, Imperatoris Ignis,” Isleen replied as she bowed lower still in humility. The jeweled beads in her hair clinked together as the braids fell over her shoulders and curtained her beautiful face.

Arius nodded as his gaze shifted between Isleen and Tristan with evident satisfaction. “A good pairing. Experience and potential. Humbleness and arrogance. Patience and recklessness.”

Tristan scoffed. “Surely, the Emperor is not suggesting—”

“Lady Isleen will be your instructor starting tomorrow,” Arius cut him off quickly. “You will stay at her brother’s palace as Lord Farrell is your new Warden.”

“My—what?” Tristan blinked, caught off guard.

“When I can trust you not to make impulsive decisions, then you may have your own palace. In the meantime, your mishap in Lafeara has proven my point. You sorely lack training, Tristan. Without control, you are little more than an infant witch who may turn on friend and foe at any moment,” the Emperor stated sharply. “Though I suspect you’ve learned that much already.”

Guilt twisted in Tristan’s gut as the image of Alex disintegrating in his arms flickered behind his eyes.

“I shall take your silence as acceptance and understanding,” Arius replied with a faint smirk. “Prince Farrell will also provide you with court instruction and lessons on the coven’s politics. As your Warden, he will be responsible for your safety and wellbeing in-between Isleen’s training sessions.”

“As much as I appreciate the Emperor’s generosity,” Tristan growled restlessly. “I have matters that require my attention and immediate return to Lafeara. I request permission to travel with the Ambassador when he departs—”

“Ambassador Haemish has already left for Lafeara,” Arius cut in with a stiff smile. “And I have provided him with more than enough capable witches to invade Lafeara—”

“What?”

“—and cause significant damage, should you continue to rebel and disobey me.”

“Are you threatening me?” Tristan roared. The familiar scent of brimstone filled the room as the sparks set free the demon that lingered too close to the skin.

Arius chuckled darkly while Zere and Isleen cautiously retreated from the demonic fire that curled around Tristan’s entire body and glinted in his eyes. “If you think my witches are to be feared—imagine the destruction you could wreck on Lafeara and its citizens if you returned. Do you honestly think you can maintain control after the church begins its inquisition?”

Tristan took a sharp breath in and exhaled as he struggled to reign in Kritanta’s power. “Do not—threaten me.”

Arius smiled back, his gaze shadowed with a hint of regret as he shook his head. “Then don’t force me to resort to such threats. Your place is here, Tristan. Focus on your training and prove you can control the gifts you were born and blessed with. Do this, and I shall proudly send you back to Lafeara as a Prince of Ventrayna.”

“I don’t need a title,” Tristan snarled.

“No?” Arius's lips twisted in scorn. “You already let yourself be robbed of one title and Lafeara’s throne.”

“It was not mine to take!” Tristan snapped back. “And it was you who gave away the woman I was promised too, or have you forgotten?”

Arius’s smile faded as he stepped forward and gripped Tristan’s neck. The demonic flames that wrapped around the prince’s body hissed and withered as father and son locked eyes. “The sooner you forget the past, the sooner you can embrace your future,” Arius urged. “You are not some weak mortal prince of Lafeara. You are my Son. The strongest pure-blood witch the priests have seen in centuries. Eleanora—is unworthy of the bloodline you carry.”

“Unworthy?” Tristan laughed. “Was my mother also unworthy? Is that why you married her to Henri with your seed in her belly?”

“I will repeat this as many times as I have to, even if you never believe me,” Arius replied with measured force. “I did not know you were mine until after Catalina was dead.”

“And that makes all the difference, doesn’t it,” Tristan shot back bitterly.

“You—"

The throne room doors opened abruptly, and a young man, dressed in exotic silks and feathers, who somewhat resembled Isleen about the face, entered the room with elegant confidence and proclaimed. “I was summoned, Imperatoris Ignis.”

Arius's dark gaze flickered with anger as it shifted towards the intruder. Then, with a heavy sigh, he relaxed his grip on Tristan’s neck and returned to his throne.

“Farrell,” Tyrrell growled after a worried glance to the Emperor. “You are late.”

“Prince Farrell,” Isleen’s brother corrected flippantly with a sardonic smile before he knelt upon the carpet. “Honor and Glory, Imperatoris Ignis.”

“Take my son back to your palace and see he is attended to properly. Your sister will begin his rigorous training schedule at first light tomorrow.”

Farrell grimaced and rose. “I am honored to serve, Imperatoris Ignis.” He turned his midnight black eyes, flecked with gold, towards Tristan and gave a flourished gesture to the open doors behind him. “Your Highness, shall we depart?”

For a moment, something in Farrell’s features reminded Tristan of Alex, but the cunning glint in the witch’s eyes could only belong to a member of the Tyrrell family.

‘The more time I spend among these witches, the more I understand the mortal's prejudices against them.’ Tristan nodded silently to Farrell and followed his brother-in-law out the throne room doors. ‘And yet—was my Lafearian family any better?’

[B2] Chapter 16: The Shackles of Power

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Chapter 16: The Shackles of Power

“It’s so reassuring to have you back with us once more, Prince Tristan!” Farrell proclaimed as he gracefully swung himself up into the dun horse’s saddle. “I can only hope your Highness’s extended stay will keep your precocious sister from visiting any time soon.”

Tristan scoffed, shook his head, and mounted the fresh cream-coated stallion an attendant held for him. “I am too tired for talk.”

“Of course you are! You’re wearing half the desert from the looks of it.” Farrell grimaced. “I can only imagine how chaffed your nether regions must be,” he added with a shudder. “Only an insane person would travel the desert in the middle of drought season.”

“Are we in a drought?” Tristan didn’t recall water being an issue on the journey. But then, the shadow guard that traveled with them had always had a fresh waterskin on hand whenever his emptied.

Farrell eyed him strangely for a moment, then sighed. “I forget you have the knowledge of a foreigner. Ventrayna goes through a heavy drought every year. Usually, it only affects the slaves and lower citizens. They have to survive on two glasses of water a day—if they’re lucky—and forget about bathing.” Another grimace followed this comment.

“Oh.” Tristan shifted uncomfortably in his saddle and wondered if his hopes for a bath were little more than another desert illusion.

Ferrell nearly doubled over in his saddle as he burst out laughing. “Would you look at your face? Of course the rationing doesn’t apply to royalty! Even the nobles are permitted to bathe regularly—encouraged too, in fact. Come on then, let’s wash the desert stench off you and get some proper food.” The prince consort guided his horse on ahead and left Tristan to follow, with the ever-persistent shadow guard circling in behind.

Unlike Lafeara, the private palaces of outer royals (a title that applied to every royal minus the Emperor, Empress, and crown prince/princess) and nobles in Ventrayna were spread along the outskirts of the capital city. Each palace had its own standing militia that was expected to protect that section of the capital and its wall in the event of an invasion.

Farrell’s residence, while smaller than the Emperor’s Palace, was still far grander than any of Lafeara’s palaces. It was also the largest palace along the north wall—a suitable size and location for the previously titled Crown Princess’s Consort.

Ten slaves groveled with their faces to the dirt, their arms and hands outstretched in greeting, before the palace gate and scampered forward to kiss Farrell’s boots the moment he dismounted. “Welcome back, most magnanimous Prince,” they murmured in broken unison.

“I’ve brought an honored guest who will be staying with us,” Farrell announced as he walked through their pandering hands and wiped his boot on the backside of a cowering woman slave. “This is Prince Tristan. The Emperor’s recently recovered son. I trust you will each afford him with the same level of service and respect you give your Master.”

“We are unworthy to serve you, Altus Ignis.”

Tristan flinched as men and women groveled towards his dirty boots. “That will not be necessary.”

“You hear that? The prince doesn’t want you smelly dogs licking at him,” Farrell growled playfully as he kicked over one of the larger slaves—with surprisingly little effort. “No worries, Prince Tristan, there are plenty of cleaner servants inside that will attend to you. Only the best for the Emperor’s son. This way.” Farrell gestured with a flash of his vibrant robes and headed through the opening palace gate.

The familiar taste of disgust filled the back of Tristan’s throat as he avoided looking at the frail, half-starved humans that cowed like battered sheep on the ground before him. Their lack of bathing becoming more apparent by the minute.

Tristan shifted his attention to Umbra and the shadow guard, half of whom dismounted and followed behind him. “You should all get some rest too—and a bath. Consider that last part an order.”

Umbra bowed his head. “We shall rest when our replacements have arrived, Draco Dominus.”

Tristan flinched, all too aware of the many eyes and ears within his vicinity. “I told you not to call me that,” Tristan growled as he scanned the slaves, none of which dared drag their faces from the ground. “Have your replacements keep a discreet distance then.” Tristan pushed the matter from his mind as he dragged a hand down his raw, grimy face and headed towards the open gate.

Beneath the torn tunic of an elderly, balding male slave, Tristan noted the brand of a burning hawk, which marked the slave as Duke Tyrrell’s property. But beneath the brand and scared marks of a slave master’s whip, the faded tattoo of a dragon, a symbol of old Zarus, still shimmered like the last embers of a fading dynasty.

Long before the first Pope claimed Zarus as the church’s Holy City, it belonged to the living, breathing goddess of destruction, Kritanta. Even after a century of living beneath the church’s oppression, the number of slaves within Ventrayna who continued to worship her legends surprised Tristan. After renaming old Zarus as Ventrayna, Emperor Arius had rebuilt many of Kritanta’s fallen temples. But even a shared faith in the same goddess couldn’t protect the mortals of Zara from the witch’s hatred and bias.

❆❆❆❆❆

The palace's interior grounds contained an abundance of luxuries despite its location in the desert: a pool for swimming, an indoor bathhouse, private barracks and separate bathhouse for soldiers, and the smaller side houses where the slaves and servants resided.

To Tristan’s great relief, Farrell spared little time directing him to the bathhouse. As promised, the servants were markedly cleaner, though doused in perfumed oil to cover their lack of frequent bathing. Male servants helped the sand-covered prince strip, poured scented oil down his skin, and wiped off most of the grime with a damp cloth. Once Tristan was sufficiently cleaned, they guided him towards a doorway that billowed with steam.

Beyond the beaded curtain, three scantily clad female servants greeted Tristan and guided him to the first of two large pools, surrounded by thin cloud-like curtains. Over the patterned drain of a burning sun, the women doused Tristan with buckets of cold water and, at his request, retreated to allow him privacy to removed the loincloth and wash himself clean.

Unlike the slaves outside, these palace servants were better dressed, fed, and groomed. Their hair and bodies were kept fresh with fragrant oil that followed their every gesture and made their skin gleam.

The slaves of Ventrayna were divided between three ranks: the native-born half-witches, who were addressed as servants or attendants; the mortal slaves of old Zarus, who were treated little better than beasts; and convict slaves, who generally came from the nobility of old Zarus and were believed to carry the hated bloodline of Saints.

Mortal slaves were not permitted inside the palace but worked outside in the gardens, stables, or wherever their Master saw fit to use them for labor. Convict slaves were used for sport and entertainment that ranged from fighting against wild animals in pit matches to being hung upside down and consumed by a nest of fire ants.

Tristan had seen this form of entertainment only once at a banquet held by the Empress. She had forced a child convict slave to open his mouth and poured a beaker of spider-like scorpions down his throat. The child died instantly. His sobbing mother lived longer—though she suffered even more.

“I hope you don’t mind if I join you,” Farrell called as he appeared through the curtains in a bathrobe. “You should let the servants do that. It’s what they’re here for.” The prince consort snapped his fingers, and the slave women returned to retrieve their sponges from the side of the pool.

“I can manage,” Tristan muttered but obediently stood still as the women worked their way across his neck, arms, chest, and back. He stopped them before they went below his torso. “That’s more than enough help.”

“Still so shy?” Farrell chuckled. “Come on then. You’re clean enough for the salt baths.”

Tristan left the drain and accepted a towel from the servant as he followed Farrell towards the heated salt pool.

“I still don’t understand why people who live in the desert prefer such hot baths,” Tristan muttered as he slowly descended the steps into the pale green water that prickled against his freshly scrubbed skin and burned against his ears and neck by the time his feet touched the bottom. The heat and herbs made him sweat, even as the aromatic steam opened his eyes and airways.

“It’s easy enough to tune down the heat if you use your magic,” Farrell replied with a smirk as he tossed his damp towel to the side of the pool. “The benefits are, without a doubt, worth the effort. As much as the average person sweats during the day, I’ve never had to worry about dry or oily skin or imperfections thanks to these medicinal salt baths.” Farrell ducked below the murky water, then emerged and shook out his shoulder-length jet-black hair. “In any case, there’s nothing better after a long journey across the desert. You’ll sleep like an infant after this, trust me.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

Ferrell smiled knowingly. “Ah, yes, the Empress did give you a rather gruesome gift last time.”

“Gift?” Tristan raised a brow as he waded over to one of the wooden seats built along the pool's interior edge. He settled down stiffly against its leather cushioned surface with a small sigh. The water rose just above his biceps as he leaned back and allowed his tired muscles to relax beneath the tantalizing warmth.

“Well, compared to the sons of Arius’s other consorts, I’d say you got off quite easily,” Farrell replied with a note of grim levity as he took a seat beside Tristan. “Servant, some wine! And perhaps a bit of light food for his Highness. Some honeydews. Make sure they’re sweet, not sour!”

“What do you mean?” Tristan asked as he rolled his neck towards Farrell, who was examining his cuticles critically.

The prince consort scoffed and shook his head with a mocking smile. “There’s a reason Arius has five concubines, and yet, among their many pregnancies, only you and Aurelia ever lived to reach adulthood.”

Tristan nodded. He had suspected as much after the Empress attempted to kill him. ‘But why would the Emperor turn a blind eye to the Empress murdering his other children.’

A servant placed a tray of wine beside Farrell, who waved her away before he poured the dark liquid into the two-silver trimmed chalice. Observing Tristan’s curious gaze on the cups, Farrell explained, “My mother specially made them as a wedding present.”

“You’re expecting the Empress to poison you?”

Farrell shrugged and offered a benign smile. “I’m more concerned about your sister presently, but I would never rule out either of them.”

Tristan shook his head and accepted the glass. He tipped it back and downed the fiery alcohol without a second thought.

Farrell chuckled and sipped from his own glass gradually. “I would have expected you to hesitate, Prince Tristan.”

The buzz of the wine dimmed all too quickly as the fire in his veins purified the effects. ‘One of Kritanta’s many blessings and curses. I can’t be poisoned, but I also can’t get drunk either.’

His chest clenched painfully as the memory of the last time Tristan had gotten uncharacteristically drunk returned to him with the visage of Eleanora’s flushed, smiling face pressed against her crossed arms that rested upon his chest.

Tristan set his empty glass aside as he leaned back and stared into the swirling steam. As always, his mind circled back to Nero and the Witch Star. He remembered nothing of the fight once the dragon took over, only that the beast’s control had been shaken by a sudden burst of cold magic that seemed to have come from the Witch Star.

‘Is it possible that my mother’s North Star is the frozen heart Kritanta has been searching for all this time?’

His hands clenched into fists beside his tired legs as Tristan contemplated how to pick up Nero’s scent once more. The Emperor would no doubt be a valuable asset, but Tristan suspected that Arius would withhold that information until his training was complete.

‘Still, how long could it take to master magic granted by a goddess anyway?’

“So—what are your thoughts on my sister?” Farrell asked playfully as he collected both chalices and refilled them.

Tristan lifted his neck off the ledge of the pool and regarded Farrell curiously. “What about her?”

“Rumor has it you two will be engaged soon enough.”

‘So, I wasn’t wrong.’ Tristan sighed and splashed water across the raw skin of his cheeks before responding. “As far as I know, Lady Isleen meant to be my instructor.”

“Of course, a good opportunity for you to get to know each other,” Farrell smirked as he offered a full chalice of wine to the scowling prince. “As her brother, I can vouch for her if you like. Isleen is certainly nowhere near Aurelia’s level of crazy.”

Tristan accepted the chalice and took a quick drink. “Speaking of Aurelia, shouldn’t you be against my political marriage with your sister?”

“Oh? Why is that?” Ferrall sounded amused as he relaxed into his chair.

“Because I’m a bastard? Because the Emperor marrying me to House Tyrrell, means you likely won’t become the next Emperor?”

Farrell snorted loudly and choked as wine spilled down his chest into the pool. “Me—Emperor? Aurelia would kill me before she allowed me or any other man a title that placed them above herself—that includes you too, mind.”

“Still,” Tristan said hesitantly.

Farrell waved away his unspoken question. “I would be much more content with you as Arius’s heir rather than my bloodthirsty wife. I’m more likely to survive under your reign in any case.”

“Things are that bad between you?”

“They were never good to begin with, Tristan. Not after the Empress killed Aurelia’s lover to ensure our offspring’s purity remained unquestioned.”

“Aurelia’s lover?”

“Ah, yes, you never had a chance to meet him since he was already dead by the time you blew in from the desert. One of Aurelia’s bodyguards. A low born coven witch who should have known better. They tried to keep it a secret, of course, but after the Emperor approved our engagement, my ambitious father revealed their relationship to the Empress. Fraternization is forbidden between pure-bloods and lower coven witches, let alone when royalty is involved. That guard was put to death in the most horrific way to set an example for all over coven witches.”

“How—” Tristan cut himself off. “Never mind.”

“Probably best if you didn’t mention—what was his name? Emery? In any case, it’s a touchy subject around your half-sister.”

“That’s—understandable, but why does Aurelia blame you? She and Isleen still appear to be close friends.”

“It was my father who revealed the whole thing, so of course, I had something to do with it.” Farrell shrugged as if this was old history he had long come to terms with. “Aurelia always favored Isleen, but if you ask me—never mind.”

Farrell finished his glass and swapped the chalice for the bottle. “Aurelia got her revenge two months after you left. I was careless and exposed one of my old lovers—poor thing was made a eunuch before she strung him up in the street and burnt him to a crisp. Aurelia and I hate each other mutually at this point—which makes for a strong marriage—or so I hear. At least now we have something in common other than our overbearing parents.”

“I’m sorry,” Tristan murmured.

Farrell offered a half-smile and held up the wine bottle. “More?”

Tristan held out his chalice and waited for the prince consort to fill it.

“So then, I have a favor to ask of you,” Farrell said with a calculating smile as he set the bottle aside and focused on Tristan. “Since we are about to be as close as two brothers from different parents can be.”

Tristan frowned at the inference. “Yes?”

“Don’t marry Isleen unless you intend to make her your Empress.”

Tristan’s jaw twitched, and he took a long drink. He welcomed the temporary buzz as he thought over the few, brief interactions he had had with Isleen on their journey to Ventrayna. “I have no intentions of getting married to your sister.”

“Never say never, my friend,” Farrell replied with a weary smile. “Isleen inherited my share of Father’s ambition. That’s why she agreed to cancel her engagement with Lord Mekhi so quickly.”

Tristan choked on a mouthful of wine. “She—What?”

“The moment she agreed to become your teacher, it was a bygone conclusion. Poor Mekhi.” Farrell smiled savagely in a way that implied no remorse for the jilted fiancé.

“Then, I will advise her to correct that mistake tomorrow.”

Farrell laughed and lifted the bottle in a mocking salute. “You can certainly try.”

[B2] Chapter 17: The Ripper’s Smile

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Chapter 17: The Ripper’s Smile

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised the Pope wasted no time sending his Emissary to us,” Nicholas grumbled tensely as he walked along the side hallway towards the throne room. His attendant, Charles, hurried along beside him as the young man hastily polished and adjusted the heavy golden chain of office worn above the white-wolf fur of the crown prince’s purple royal robe.

“The Emissary arriving within a day of the Pope’s letter,” Prime Minister Attwood muttered as he smoothed the white silk neck scarf above his dark-purple jacket. “I suspect they intentionally delayed the letter in order to catch us unprepared.”

Nicholas scoffed and waved his attendant aside. “How unfortunate that we shall have to disappoint them.” He glanced over his shoulder where Beaumont had taken up his usual position. “Though I am curious as to how you happened to arrive at the palace gate at the exact same time the emissary showed up.”

Beaumont’s violet eyes shifted away ever so slightly as he bowed his head. “I was escorting a court lady back to the palace as her previously arranged knight had been called away unexpectedly.”

“Oh? I hope you got his name,” Nicholas remarked sharply. “A fine example he set abandoning her outside the palace without an escort.” The crown prince exhaled, momentarily distracted as he examined the giant that followed him. “Well, the Lady of Fate has placed you by my side at this critical hour. Let’s see how these witch hunters compare to our Ravager of War.”

A muffled flurry of footsteps and indignant protests turned their attention to where Acheron was fighting his way through the trailing members of the House of Lords, his robes and ceremonial hat askew. “Sorry—I was out—of the palace,” Acheron panted as he drew up alongside Beaumont.

“You have been oddly absent of late, Lord Acheron,” Nicholas muttered with a glance at the young noble's disheveled countenance. The Prime Minister exhaled with heavy disappointment then hastily applied himself to tidying up his son’s appearance.

“Your Majesty,” a knight approached and bowed. “The Pope’s Emissary and entourage are waiting outside the throne room at your command.”

“Good.” Nicholas dismissed the knight and turned back to examine his childhood friend critically. Acheron avoided the crown prince’s gaze as Attwood straightened his son’s garments and smoothed out the young man’s hair. The rogue’s face was paler than usual, and the dark circles under his eyes alluded to more than a few nights of restless sleep.

‘Acheron must have gotten himself into some trouble again,’ Nicholas mused. He turned and caught Beaumont playing with a small purple flower. The knight captain hastily tucked it inside his ceremonial glove when he caught the crown prince watching. ‘Both of them are behaving rather—odd. I’ll have to get to the bottom of it later.’

Nicholas brushed back his light auburn hair and sighed. The only thing his ceremonial dress was missing—was his father’s crown. If there was one thing the church’s presence had reminded the crown prince of, it was that tradition required Nicholas to receive the blessing of the Pope as part of his coronation to become Lafeara’s next king.

An old tradition from before the Emperor’s victory, but one neither he nor Attwood were eager to break from—especially given the divides that remained among the noble factions after Tristan’s sudden death two years ago.

‘But even Tristan wouldn’t scrape and bow to the church's every demand—so neither will I.’

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It had been a long time since Ripper last graced the halls of Lafeara’s fortress palaces. He had forgotten how musky and damp the country was. Little had changed, though the puppet that sat on the throne was younger than the frail, paranoid king he remembered. He noticed with some interest that the Dowager was not present for these proceedings. Despite his mild curiosity, Ripper was not surprised to find that the Emperor’s adopted half-witch princess was absent as well.

The members of Lafeara’s House of Lords were of little consequence to him. After the Earl of Hawthorne’s death, they had become disastrously divided by greed and political differences. That suited his Pope just fine. A young, inexperienced ruler with a divided government was weakened and easier to control.

The only figure in the entire room that pulled the witch hunter’s attention away from the young monarch was the pale-blonde, violet-eyed giant that stood to the left of the crown prince. It wasn’t just the size of this reputed warrior, but the strange sense of foreign power that filled the air around the knight captain that made Ripper cautiously intrigued.

“Greetings, Crown Prince Nicholas,” Cardinal Murdock said with a single nod of respect. “I am Cardinal Murdock, sent on behalf of his Holiness, Pope Jericho, to investigate the death of our priest, Father Alden.”

The ginger prince nodded as his gaze trailed over the witch hunters behind the cardinal, Ripper among them. “You seem amply prepared,” Nicholas observed with casual neutrality.

The corner of Ripper’s mouth twitched at the crown prince’s obvious attempt to appear indifferent to their presence.

“We cannot help but take the matter seriously. It would not do for our noble ally to become infested with treacherous witches while the church is distracted by the Emperor’s war.”

“And how goes the fight with my wife’s adoptive father?” Nicholas returned the ghost of a smile.

Ripper repressed a laugh. No doubt the pup had been coached to remain neutral given the alliances it still held with both waring countries. Ripper glanced towards the man at the crown prince’s right, the Prime Minister that had taken over after the sudden death of Earl Ethan Hawthrone. ‘Well played, but the Pope won’t allow your little king to remain neutral forever.’

“My brethren continue to fight in the hope of reclaiming our ancestral home and the many good people who now suffer under the tyrant Witch Emperor,” Murdock replied somberly. “As to the matter of the witches in Lafeara—we hope King Henri’s son and heir will continue to respect the agreement between the crown and our blessed Pope.”

“Our two countries have shared a long history together in both the founding of this country and our reverence of the saints,” Nicholas responded with a political smile. “I see no reason for the crown to intercede in the church’s business—”

“Thank you, your Highness!” Murdock bowed his head, having achieved his goal.

A notable tick in the wolf pup’s left eye caught Ripper's attention. “I was not finished, Cardinal,” Nicholas continued with a slight edge to his tone. “Interrupt me again, and you shall have a very short visit in my kingdom.”

There was a bit of movement from the nobles who lined the room around them. More than a few appeared shocked to witness a cardinal being lectured so publicly.

“Apologies, your Highness,” Murdock murmured with another bow. “Forgive my haste—we are eager to begin before the trail runs cold.”

“As I was saying—” Nicholas maintained his imperious glare upon the cardinal, his disapproval more evident “—the crown will not intercede so long as the church does not overstep its authority. To clarify, members of the church and its properties continue to fall under the Pope’s jurisdiction, but the inquisition will not touch the nobles and citizens of Lafeara.”

Murdock waited until the pause lengthened before he replied, “Of course, your Highness. Though I fear that will severely limit the scope of our investigation—”

The crown prince sighed with exasperated displeasure. “It seems the Pope’s Emissary will need help determining where his scope of authority ends. To ensure there are no unfortunate mistakes or tragic accidents, I shall send two members from the House of Lords to investigate the matter with you. Lord Tomberlin—” Nicholas gestured to the stout noble with graying pepper hair, “—and Lord Acheron.” The young noble who stood behind the Prime Minister grimaced but followed behind Tomberlin to approach and bow before the crown prince.

“Your Highness, that is not necessary, I assure you,” Murdock interjected quickly.

“You forget that these witches have murdered three members of Lafeara’s nobility,” Nicholas interrupted sharply. “I will ensure justice is brought to the families of these victims. My terms are non-negotiable. Refuse, Cardinal, and I will have to rethink our current alliance with his Holiness.”

Murdock, who appeared at a loss for words, glanced over to the towering witch hunter beside him. Ripper stepped forward, and at the same time, the giant stepped up beside the crown prince. The pressure in the room changed as the giant’s warning violet gaze met the witch hunter’s albino red eyes.

Ripper glanced at the massive bastard sword strapped to the warrior’s back and envisioned the satisfying battle such a specimen might offer. It had been too long since the head of the witch hunters had faced a worthy opponent.

“Is there something you wish to say, witch hunter?” the crown prince asked tensely.

Ripper smiled. His fang-like teeth drew a noticeable gasp from the nobles while Nicholas’s expression registered momentary shock. “Only my curiosity that your Highness appears willing to shelter witches should they reside among your nobles,” Ripper stated bluntly.

Nicholas’s gaze darkened even as he smiled back and spread his hands with an expression of feigned surprise. “I have granted you access to my kingdom, witch hunter. Should you find evidence that one of my nobles is a witch, you may present that information to Lord Tomberlin and Lord Acheron. They, in turn, will present the case to me. If I find there is sufficient proof, then I will have the noble arrested and investigated. I will not allow your inquisition to burn my people without restraint.”

“Evidence?” Ripper’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “Perhaps your Highness is unfamiliar with the powers of a half-witch. We do not make mistakes when identifying witches.”

“Really?” Nicholas leaned forward on his throne. “And yet I hear it was your witch hunter, Nero, that killed the priest with ice magic.”

Ripper’s jaw clamped shut. ‘It was not Nero that killed the priest!’ The Pope had confirmed that matter after resurrecting Alden’s spirit and interrogating the unfortunate priest. Still, Ripper could not deny that the death memories of Father Alden had painted Nero in a rather suspicious light.

“My crude understanding of witches is that the ability to use magic is what separates a half-witch from a real witch,” Nicholas continued. “Unless that rule has suddenly changed—? I don’t see how there can be any other explanation for your priest’s death. Witnesses who survived the attack and bravely came forward to testify are respected members of the church as well.

“Still, I have graciously agreed to play along with your investigation out of respect for his Holiness, of course. It is the hope of the crown and my people that our alliance shall remain intact.” Nicholas rose from his throne and slowly descended the platform with the giant one step behind. “So yes, witch hunter, I will be watching this investigation and the actions of the church with great interest.” Seemingly satisfied that he had made his point, Nicholas turned back to the cardinal. “I trust you have no further objections to my stipulations, Cardinal Murdock?”

“Of course not, your Highness,” Murdock answered stiffly.

“As long as your lords understand they have no authority or say over this inquisition as it relates to the church and its property,” Ripper muttered with a relaxed shrug. ‘Go ahead and put on a show, pup. We both know you need the support of the Pope and his church behind you.’

“Lord Acheron,” Nicholas turned towards the younger of the two lords he had assigned to them.

The haggard-looking nobleman rubbed his palms against his official robes as he approached, his steel-blue eyes hesitant to meet the crown prince’s gaze as he offered Nicholas a formal bow. “Your Majesty.”

‘Majesty?’ Ripper slid a glance to Murdock, who also noted the premature title that Nicholas had taken. ‘Well, given his bastard brother is no longer in the running for Lafeara’s throne—that does make him the only surviving heir.’

“Escort the Emissary and his companions to the cathedral. There should be rooms prepared there for you,” Nicholas said with a gesture to Murdock.

“Ah, forgive me, your—Majesty,” Murdock interjected with a weak smile. “It appears I was not clear in my introductions. I am here only as cardinal to fill the capacity as head of the church for this investigation. The one endowed with the Pope’s power and authority as far as the inquisition is the Commander of the Witch Hunter Order, Ripper.”

Murdock nodded to Ripper, who enjoyed watching the confusion play out on Nicholas’s face.

“I can assure you, your Majesty, that when it comes to hunting and slaying witches, Ripper is the most formidable witch hunter the church has seen in many centuries.”

“Then he should have no problem handling this fire witch and your rogue witch hunter,” Nicholas replied with a tight smile.

“And the ice witch,” Ripper added as he studied the wolf pup’s expression.

“Ah, yes, that one as well.” Nicholas waved his hand dismissively. “Acheron, please see that they are settled in for the day. After such a rushed journey across the border, I’m sure they must be tired.”

“Not at all,” Ripper interjected as Acheron turned towards the door. “In fact, I would like to begin my investigation this afternoon by interviewing one of your knights, a Lieutenant Declan.”

“Lord Tomberlin?” Nicholas turned towards the summoned noble.

“I will speak to Knight Commander Quentin and see that the Lieutenant is sent over as soon as can be arranged,” Tomberlin replied somberly.

“Excellent!” Ripper flashed another smile that succeeded in making the noble’s flinch once more. Surprisingly, Nicholas seemed unaffected, but given the giant shadow that followed him, Ripper suspected he knew why.

“Thank you for your hospitality, your Majesty,” Murdock said with another sweeping bow. “Saints blessing upon you.”

“And your future queen,” Ripper added. Nicholas's jaw clenched, and a scowl darkened his gaze before he nodded and turned back towards his throne.

‘It would appear the rumors about an unhappy marriage are true as well.’ With a confident smirk, Ripper turned and led his men out the back door. Murdock followed after him, and they both waited at the bottom of the Peony Palace steps for Lord Acheron, their apparent guide, to join them.

“Arrogant little prick,” Murdock muttered as he wiped the sweat from his neck. “It would seem our alliance with Lafeara is shaky at best.”

“Nevertheless, the Pope wishes for us to strengthen this alliance. Let us hope our investigation unfolds in such a way that it does not tread on the little prince’s toes,” Ripper replied as he smoothed down his shoulder-length white hair. “Did you see the giant beside him?”

“You noticed as well—or did you smell—”

“I didn’t smell a thing—and that’s the problem,” Ripper muttered darkly.

“Not a witch then?” Murdock sounded dubious even as he suggested the idea.

“Do you know of a single witch that could meet my gaze without fear?” Ripper asked scornfully.

“Well—no,” Murdock admitted.

“Neither do I.” Ripper nodded to where Lord Acheron had finally appeared through the palace door. “Let's make good use of our time here to see how stable this young prince’s reign really is.”

[B2] Chapter 18: Shadow of the Witch Hunters

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Chapter 18: Shadow of the Witch Hunters

Acheron scowled up at the mosaic doors of Lafeara’s great cathedral as he slowly ascended the sun-glared steps. It had been over a week since he had woken up in Rosamund’s bed. In the last several harrowing, soul searching days, Acheron hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol, hadn’t fucked a single woman, and had barely slept or eaten since fornicating with the crown prince’s mistress.

His mother, Lady Lucy, had fussed over his waning health, while his father, Prime Minister Attwood, coarsely suggested Acheron lay off drinking. Acheron could only imagine how horrified and disappointed his parents would be if he revealed the truth behind his changed demeanor.

His mind kept envisioning the moment Nicholas uncovered his betrayal. Because Acheron knew—Nicholas would find out. There was no way the crown prince, the Dowager, or even one of the other high ranking nobles didn’t have someone watching Rosamund’s house.

‘Mercy’s Tit. I wouldn’t put it past Marques Borghese or even my father to be keeping tabs on Lady Rosamund, but for now—somehow—nothing has happened.’

Acheron almost collided into a witch hunter’s back as the group from Zarus stopped abruptly in front of the cathedral door.

“No welcoming reception?” Acheron heard the cardinal murmur with evident disapproval.

‘Fuck, please tell me the nuns have rooms prepared so I can leave and find a dark corner to crawl into.’

“Lord Atteron?” the terrifying Emissary called out gruffly.

“Acheron,” he corrected under his breath, then swore and meetly circled the formidable group of scarlet killers. “Lord Acheron Hargreve.”

The Emissary stared down at him with those inhuman red eyes and an expression that suggested he did not care before his thin brows shifted together, and he replied, “The Prime Minister’s son?”

“Yes,” Acheron confirmed stiffly as he dropped his gaze and moved past the cardinal and the Emissary to bang his fist on the cathedral doors. After about ten minutes, by which time Acheron’s fists were aching and his arm sufficiently tired, the doors finally opened.

Despite the humble, constrictive habit she wore, Acheron immediately recognized the nun who stood before him. “Lady Carmen?”

Shame flushed across the nun’s cheeks, but Carmen nodded to him stiffly. “Lord Acheron.”

“I haven’t seen you since—”

“You are here with the Emissary’s party?” Head Sister Joan's cold matriarchal tone interrupted him as the senior nun nudged Carmen aside and stood in the doorway. “Sister Virtue, you should be heading back to class.”

“Yes, Sister Joan,” Carmen replied in a muted whisper and then dipped a curtsey before she swiftly departed.

‘So, Lord Bennet forced her to become a nun after Carmen failed the first examination during the Selection?’ Acheron quickly shook away his surprise. “Sister Joan, I am here with Cardinal Murdock and the Pope’s Emissary. I trust you have rooms prepared for his Majesty’s guests?” He stepped aside and gestured to the cardinal and witch hunter as he introduced them.

Sister Joan’s face turned a strange off-white color as she took in Ripper, but she averted her gaze and nodded politely to the Cardinal. “I believe we have enough rooms prepared. I trust the Cardinal and Emissary will let me know if there is any way the Sisters of Lafeara can make their stay more welcome.”

“You can tell your Abbess we wish to speak to her immediately,” Cardinal Murdock replied haughtily as he stepped through the door. The Emissary moved to follow with his comrades in tow.

Acheron stepped aside, deciding that now would be an excellent time to shake off this unwelcomed burden. Unfortunately, two of the witch hunters blocked his way through the open cathedral door.

“The Abbess is away and not expected back until tomorrow, but I will pass on your message and request then,” Sister Joan replied with forced civility.

“Request?” Ripper hissed through his filed fangs as he advanced upon the Head Sister. “I am the Pope’s Emissary. There stands a Cardinal. We do not make requests of a mere Abbess. You will send word to wherever Abbess Mercy is hiding and tell her to return immediately. If she is not here by dinner this evening, you will bear full responsibility and punishment.”

Acheron felt a wave of sympathy for the senior nun, who trembled as she cowed beneath Ripper’s threatening tone.

“I will do my best—but the Abbess is not always reachable—nor does she leave word where she will be staying when away from the cathedral. So it may prove—difficult.”

“Your Abbess seems to enjoy a rather mysterious lifestyle for a woman of the cloth,” Cardinal Murdock interjected with a note of suspicion. “Which is why I will be taking over as head of Lafeara’s churches as of this moment.”

“Cardinal—yes, I understand,” Joan murmured and lowered her gaze to the floor.

“You will show us to our rooms, then gather all members of the church within this cathedral to the congregation room within the next hour,” Murdock continued with an air of impatience. “I will address them there about the change in leadership.”

“Yes, your Eminence.”

“In the meantime, I require a private room in which to conduct an interview,” Ripper tagged on as he motioned to the witch hunters who entered the cathedral and crowded beside Acheron. “And my hunters will need to examine every member of the church after Murdock’s announcement. I trust you will provide them with the cleric’s official roster and full account of every nun or priest who is not within cathedral at that time.”

Acheron jumped slightly as a witch hunter closed the door behind them with a bang. ‘What in the—Now how do I get out?'

“I will also need keys to all dormitory rooms for a private inspection of each member's living quarters and possessions,” Ripper continued casually as if he were ordering about a servant.

“I understand—your Grace.” Sister Joan looked just about ready to wilt beneath these demands, but she gestured limply towards the back of the church. “Then, shall I take you to your rooms first?”

“Well!” Acheron cleared his dry throat. “It would appear you have everything well under control, Cardinal. Perhaps I should leave and check back in later?”

“I will be sealing the cathedral until the Abbess’s return tomorrow,” Ripper replied with a nod to one of the witch hunters who pulled a chain and lock from his saddlebag. “If you leave now, Lord Atterun, you will not be permitted back inside until then as we will be quite busy for the duration of the night.”

‘Acheron…’

“But—surely you don’t need me here,” Acheron responded quickly.

“I do not need you at all,” Ripper returned bluntly. “Your crown prince was the one who requested a noble be present during the investigation. You can interpret for yourself if that means you should stay or go.”

“I—” Acheron hesitated as Ripper turned and joined Murdock in following Sister Joan towards the back of the cathedral. “Pope’s balls,” he muttered under his breath.

Behind Acheron, the rattle of chains sliding through the cathedral doors handles sealed his decision.

‘This is going to be a long night.’ He sighed and followed the Emissary. ‘Just how long will it take for them to hunt down these witches?’

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Declan dismounted before the cathedral steps and followed behind Lord Tomberline, the noble who had demanded a leave of absence from Captain Sloan so that Declan could join the Emissary’s investigation.

‘Why do I keep getting dragged into this mess? The church should have plenty of half-witches.’

He still remembered the horrifying scent that had lingered for miles within the capital. He’d spent the last week combing over the sight of the obliterated chapel and cross-examining any witnesses who had been near the holy structure before its unfortunate demise. Declan had recognized that particular scent of brimstone as the same one left by the pure-blood fire witch that had burned down the manor of Lord Lennox and murdered the noble and his eldest son.

Then again, Declan didn’t have much experience with fire witches. ‘Perhaps they all smell that way.’ Either way, he suspected the Emissary’s interest in meeting him related to the chapel burning incident or the ice witch that Father Alden and Nero had been hunting down.

‘What did happen to them?’

Lord Tomberline knocked on the cathedral door and turned to Declan. “Remember, try to get as much information from them as they get from you.”

“Understood, my lord.”

Tomberline nodded distractedly as he glanced at the door and muttered under his breath, “The sooner the church’s dogs finish their business and leave, the better for everyone.”

Declan offered no comment as they waited. The silence stretched on, and Lord Tomberline, with an impatient shake of his head, knocked on the door, louder this time, and then attempted to open it.

“What the—it's locked?”

Declan raised a brow then caught movement in the far window. A flash of red before the curtain dropped in place sent a wave of unease through him.

Behind the cathedral door, the sound of chains sliding away made Tomberline step back. The doors soon opened, and two witch hunters, dressed in their haunting scarlet uniforms, shifted their gaze from Tomberline to Declan.

“Ho?” said the first witch hunter with amber eyes. “So this is the half-witch knight?”

“Lieutenant Declan,” Declan corrected with a curt nod. “I was sent at the Emissary’s request?”

“Well, Lieutenant,” muttered the older witch hunter in a deep accented voice. “You had better come with us.”

Hoping he wouldn’t regret becoming further involved with the church, Declan reluctantly entered.

“Just the half-witch,” the first witch hunter said as he held up a hand to halt Lord Tomberline.

“Excuse me?” Tomberline sputtered. “But—”

“You can relieve Lord Acheron in the morning. His lordship will be needing a break by then,” the witch hunter replied firmly.

“Come along, half-witch,” the older witch hunter urged. Declan trailed behind the man, one hand moving cautiously to the hilt of his knight’s blade. The sound of the cathedral doors closing behind him sent a chill down his spine. The rattle of chains only prickled against his rising nerves as the knight surveyed the large empty congregation room.

‘How long has it been since I last stood in a church?’

It had been two years since Declan had knelt in this very cathedral for his knighting ceremony. And a decade before that, he fled to a church to escape his mother.

“Come to think of it,” the older half-witch muttered. “There was a story about a half-witch kid who turned over his witch mother to the church what—almost eleven years ago.”

“Oh right, I remember,” the amber-eyed witch hunter joined in from behind Declan. “They said she was a cannibal—ate a few other people before she started to eat her own flesh and blood.”

Declan's jaw twinged with pain as he ground his teeth.

“Would that lucky bastard happen to be yourself, Lieutenant?” asked the older witch hunter with an inquiring brow.

“Yes.”

“Veles breath,” murmured the younger hunter softly. “Killing your first witch at ten years old, a rabid cannibal witch, and your mother at that. Pretty cold. Pretty bold, Sir Knight.”

“Survival of the fittest,” responded the older witch hunter with a shrug. “Still, I’m surprised you didn’t join our brotherhood.”

“I took no pleasure in her burning,” Declan replied stiffly.

“He means he’s got no stomach for killing,” snickered the young witch hunter.

“But he might have the skill for it,” replied the older witch hunter solemnly. “This way, half-witch. Ripper is waiting.”

Another shiver of unease rippled through Declan just as he caught the first whiff of witches.

[B2] Chapter 19: A Lady of Mystery

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Chapter 19: A Lady of Mystery

Percy rolled his shoulders and studied the fit of his tailored, dark blue dinner jacket critically. Behind him, Russell brushed off a stray bit of dust from its velvet collar. Before the Earl, the large vanity mirror captured his stoic figure and tastefully expensive garments, as well as the two neck scarfs of pale gray and scarlet red that Percy held up indecisively. “I shall be out past dinner. Let the servants eat whenever the chef has something prepared and retire early tonight.”

“Certainly, my Lord. I’m sure the staff would appreciate an afternoon of rest.”

Percy grunted as he passed the gray neck scarf to Russell and tied the red silk around his neck. He turned to study his profile, then pulled off the red scarf with a dissatisfied sigh before adjusting it around his collar once more.

“Permit me, Master,” Russell murmured as he extended his hand.

Percy’s right cheek twitched with irritation, but he relaxed his scowl as he pulled the troublesome fabric free and relinquished it to the butler’s capable hands. A moment later, Russell had the red scarf layered neatly around the Earl’s neck and tucked inside his shirt collar. “And this would be why father called you his most valued treasure,” Percy commented with a nod of approval.

“The former Earl had a unique sense of humor,” Russell replied with a wistful smile. “And you remind me of him more and more every day.”

“Indeed?” Percy murmured with a thoughtful look at his reflection. “How are Gus and Ivy adjusting to their new roles?” The Earl turned his back to the mirror as Russell retrieved his cane and hat from the chair.

“Ivy has been doing a commendable job with her studies. Lord Barclay believes that she has far more education than she lets on.”

“Oh?” Percy flexed his fingers around the cane with a thoughtful smile. “A lady of mystery just like her mistress. Well, the quicker Miss Ivy progresses through her studies, the better for her future. What of Gus?”

“Gus applies himself as best he can, but his stamina and focus are a bit lacking due to his injuries,” Russell answered hesitantly.

Percy scoffed in disbelief. “He is training to be a footman, not working the field or animals like he was under the Turnbells. What sort of work have you assigned to him?”

“We’ve avoided any heavy lifting or strenuous work,” Russell hastily explained. “For now, I have him following Jack about his tasks so he can become familiar with the housework. Yesterday Gus helped polish the silverware. Jack informs me that the boy is rather slow to pick up even simple instructions. I believe his wounds are preventing Gus from sleeping properly, which in turn is affecting his recovery and attentiveness.”

“I have no intention of further pampering a slave that has spent the last two weeks recovering in bed,” Percy said firmly as he headed towards the open bedroom door.

“Yes, of course, Master.”

Percy paused and glanced back at the butler’s worried expression. “Oh, very well,” he sighed, “Have Physician Hayes examine the boy again. If the good doctor says he is healthy enough to work, Gus had better put more effort into learning and earning a footman's position. I have no use for staff that would let a little thing like pain stand in the way of improving themselves. Nor do I intend to keep a crippled slave who cannot work, no matter what his relationship with Miss Ivy may be.”

“You have been more than generous, Master. I’m sure Gus will try his best to be worthy of your consideration.”

Percy scoffed and left his bedroom with the butler at his heels. “My carriage is ready?”

“Waiting for you outside, my Lord.”

“And the paperwork?” Percy asked as he descended the stairs.

“One moment,” Russell slid past the Earl as they reached the bottom floor and disappeared into a side room where he opened the top cabinet above the butler’s desk. He retrieved a polished leather briefcase and brought it over to Percy, who waited by the front door. “The deed, projected fund estimates, and the other necessary paperwork the lawyers prepared are already inside.”

“Excellent.” Percy pinned his cloak in place and accepted the bag. “Good,” he murmured with a curious smile. ‘Just what sort of expression will you show me this time, Maura?’

The doorbell suddenly rang, the pealing ring echoed through the foyer and silent stairwell. The Earl and butler exchanged a surprised glance before Russell stepped forward and heaved the great door open. The servant’s neutral expression shifted from startled shock to a welcoming smile as he called out, “Lady Serilda! What an unexpected delight!”

The butler stepped back and widened the gap as Percy took in the tall beauty with long auburn chestnut hair and moss green agate eyes. “Cousin?”

“Earl of Hawthorne,” Lady Serilda murmured as the glow of her familiar smile dimmed the haunted shadows which clung to her face. “My apologies for the abrupt visit, but you did say in your letter that Hawthorne Manor was—”

“Of course, you are welcome,” Percy interrupted as he stepped forward and folded his arms around her gently before kissing her cheeks. “I was not expecting you so soon, Seri. I was just on my way to the palace—but I can spare a few minutes to see you properly settled in.”

“Oh, the palace?” Serilda’s smile faltered as her fingers tightened around the fabric of his cloak. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to keep you from our sweet, naive Crown Princess.”

Percy smiled ruefully as he stepped back, then nodded to Russell, who closed the entrance door and slipped past them towards the kitchen. “The business of politics can wait, Marchioness. Come, you must be tired from your journey.”

“Do not treat me like some frail, old invalid, Cousin,” Serilda grumbled though she happily wrapped her hands around his offered arm and leaned against Percy wearily. “I am six years older than you, not twenty. And when did you grow up to be so tall and bloody handsome?”

Percy relaxed beneath her teasing tone as he nodded towards the drawing-room. “You have been away for a long time.”

“Six years,” Serilda replied with a visible shudder. “And all thanks to that treacherous, dear mother of yours.” Her moss green eyes narrowed with a cunning glint as she captured his gaze with one of her enchanting smiles. “Tell me, is the Countess enjoying her early retirement in the countryside. I do so look forward to dropping in on her unexpectedly.”

“Seri,” Percy murmured stiffly with a sharp glance along the hall before he led her inside the drawing-room.

Serilda quickly flashed him an apologetic smile. “Forgive me, sweet Percy. I know I should be grateful that my banishment has finally lifted. It’s just that—for the last six years, I’ve kept my spirits intact dreaming of the day I would push that insidious charlatan off her perch.”

“Do try to keep a low profile for the time being,” Percy advised as he led Serilda to a chair covered in the setting sun’s golden rays. “We don’t want to raise the Dowager’s suspicions before our plans are firmly in place.”

“Another feral hag I would happily—” Serilda cleared her throat as Russell reappeared in the doorway with a tray.

“I seem to recall blackberry tea was your favorite, Lady Serilda,” Russell said as he placed the tray on a table beside her and filled a cup.

“Call me Seri,” Serilda commanded with a pout as she relaxed against the chair’s plush cushions. “I feel as if I am in a dream, so you must indulge me until I wake from it, dear Russell.”

“I shall do my best, Lady Seri.” Russell extended the cup patiently and waited until Serilda had taken her first sip before he straightened, excused himself, and left the room.

“I will steal him away from you one day,” Serilda commented wistfully as she lowered her cup and closed her eyes, savoring the flavor of the cold dark liquid. “Oh, to be back in cultured society once more.”

“If you wish, you are more than welcome to stay here until your estates are in order,” Percy replied as he took the seat opposite her and crossed his legs patiently.

“You will have to wrestle it back from Marquess Borghese first,” Serilda commented acidly as she set down her cup and folded her hands elegantly. “But an empty old house filled with unpleasant memories is not what brought me back.”

Her curious moss green agate eyes brimmed with tempered malice that had waited almost the same lifespan as his own unanswered vengeance.

“No?” Percy replied with a knowing smile as he studied her far too haggard complexion.

Serilda moved with somber grace from her chair to the floor at his feet, and Percy caught her trembling hand as she reached for his face. “Are we really doing this?” she asked breathlessly.

“I would not have taken the Countess down otherwise,” Percy answered as he studied her face. Gone was the vibrant, willful, and carefree girl who had once told a young boy ghost stories in the old treehouse that marked the estate border between Hawthorne and Kensington properties.

“Do you regret it?” Serilda’s dark gaze narrowed as she observed him.

“No,” Percy answered firmly. “I gave Mother every opportunity to change—” his hand moved to her shallow cheek. “But I won’t spoil our reunion with such unpleasant memories. Will you stay at Hawthorne? I’m more than happy to provide you with the comfort you deserve here. You could even have Mother’s old room—if you like.”

“Do you truly wish me to stay?” A teasing smile masked the uncertainty in her voice that Percy quickly dismissed with a chuckle and wry grin.

“I would feel more at ease if I knew you were within the protection of my estate, but I have no wish to imprison you here against your will after—everything you’ve been through.”

Serilda nodded and slid her long slender fingers through his own. “Then I shall stay and go as I please.” She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his thigh with a sigh. “Perhaps I shall marry Russell and settle down here.”

Percy glanced towards the door, where he was confident the butler stood attentively within earshot. “Don’t tease him, Seri. It’s bad for his heart.”

“I shall endeavor to behave myself,” Serilda returned with a coy smile as she opened her eyes and turned her head to study him attentively. “But tell me, cousin, why did you suddenly rush my return? Are there problems within the three covens? Has that ghoul and her Coven of Crows gotten out of hand?”

“Mercy and her coven are not a problem. The Nocturnem Coven has already given me their full support, although one or two houses remain unconvinced of our goal. Unfortunately, your father’s coven still has lingering attachments to the old bloodline and refuses to commit one way or the other to our cause without their coven leader’s verbal agreement.”

“Which is why you need me to overthrow the Countess and reclaim my seat of power,” Serilda replied with an arched brow and a sigh. “With Constance far away from the capital, now would be the perfect time to get the Twilight Coven in line. But it will take more than a few words of support from you or the other covens for them to accept me as their rightful leader.” Her brow furrowed as she leaned against Percy once more, still holding his hand tightly. “I cannot undo the damage your mother has done while hiding in the shadows, Percy. The moment my return to the capital is made public, the lies and rumors the Countess used to lock me away will resurface and discredit my every move.”

Percy leaned towards her troubled brow and pressed his lips to Serilda’s forehead. “You will have my support every step of the way, Seri. I am much stronger than I was before when Mother threw you to the wolves. The Twilight Coven will welcome you with open arms or live long enough to regret becoming our enemy.”

“When you speak like that—you remind me of my father—and Earl Ethan,” Serilda whispered with a contented smile as she traced the signet ring on Percy’s hand.

Percy straightened and clenched his jaw as he glanced out the window towards the retreating sun. “We must let the Twilight Coven flounder about without their leader for a little while longer. Your return to power is close at hand.” Percy ran a hand gently over her chestnut hair. “In the meantime, there is a favor I would like to ask of you.”

“A favor?” Serilda lifted her gaze to his, intrigued. “I’m all ears, dear cousin.”

“There is a young coven witch who lacks training. Her current position at the palace makes her vulnerable and places her beyond my reach for the time being. However, if a Marchioness were to befriend the lady and pull her away from the palace.”

“Oh, I see,” Serilda replied with mocking gravity. “And which pretty little witch has caught the eye of Hawthorne’s powerful Earl?”

“Seri,” Percy growled lightly.

Serilda offered a coy smile as she rose to her knees and lifted his hand and signet ring to her lips. “If you wish me to take her under my wing, I shall do so happily. I owe you—so much more than any of them.”

“You don’t owe me—I couldn’t stop—”

“But you will help me get my revenge,” Serilda interrupted, her voice laced with barely restrained anticipation as her grip on his hand tightened. “I shall do all within my power to help you unify the old covens behind your throne. And when you become King of Lafeara—I will enjoy drowning that poisonous bitch in her own bile.”

Percy traced her haunted, desperate expression with his eyes and smiled, satisfied. “It is good to have you back, Seri.”

“It is good to be back—I think,” Serilda whispered as she slumped against his lap with a weary sigh. “I have not slept—truly slept—in such a long time.”

Despite his eagerness to leave for the castle and Maura, Percy allowed Serilda this moment of respite. Only when the shadows of the candlelight illuminated her slumbering face did he see once more the fair, sweet cousin who had given a nine-year-old boy her lap to cry upon behind the dressing screen. Percy returned that comfort now as best he could, but he would not delude himself more than this.

Serilda had returned to play the game. Once, she had been King Henri’s secret mistress, a role that had stolen her happiness and freedom and left her mind forever scarred by the Countess’s betrayal. This time she would become his weapon against the Countess and Dowager alike. And as much as Percy would like to think Seri served him willingly, he knew it was her obsession for revenge that guided the Marchioness’ every move.

Still, there was no one the Earl trusted more, nor a more capable witch to train Maura and prepare her for the storm he had already set in motion. With the covens finally united behind him, Percy would shatter the current balance of power and return Lafeara to the witch kingdom it had once been.

Serilda waved from the front door of Hawthorne estate as Percy finally departed in his carriage. He waved back, amused by the simplicity of such a gesture, which brought a strange, comforting warmth to his chest. The house had become far too cold and quiet with his mother gone. Percy had distracted himself for a time with Ivy and Gus, both of whom he compelled to his will easily enough—though Mercy seemed to have cast an enamored spell on Ivy when he wasn’t paying attention. The Earl had carefully maintained his distance until the enchantment wore off—which had been easy enough to do with a tutor to occupy Ivy’s free time.

‘I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Being cooped up in those dark tunnels until the Inquisition passes would test any witch’s patience, and Mercy has always enjoyed stirring up a bit of chaos.’

It would be a relief to have another levelheaded witch in the house—and if it all went according to plan, Serilda would lure Maura closer to him and the future he was preparing for his ice queen.

Percy snapped from his musing with a jolt and tapped his signet finger against the cane’s silver head. A black crow fluttered down from the sky to rest on the open carriage window.

“Tell Mercy I shall have to meet her tomorrow. Inform her that my cousin is staying at Hawthorne, and I will not tolerate any rudeness to Marchioness Serilda Kensington in my absence.”

The crow bobbed its head and fluttered off.

Percy checked his pocket watch and leaned back into his seat with the leather bag placed across his lap. The sway of the carriage and the soft rattle of wheels soon lulled him to sleep. Behind his tired eyes, Percy watched Maura dance upon a frozen lake filled with moonlight—and smiled.

[B2] Chapter 20: The Divide of Power

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Chapter 20: The Divide of Power

A shrill whistle jolted Carina from her thoughts, and she focused on the steady pillar of steam that rose from the kettle before her on the kitchen stove. The palace servants did not comment as they worked around her, preparing for dinner. They had grown accustomed to Carina's daily visits when preparing medicinal food and tea for her still-recovering patient. A corner stove and table for preparation were kept relatively clear and clean for her use.

Carina lifted the kettle from the stove, barely feeling the heat through the towel wrapped around the handle and poured the boiling water over the prepared sieve of dried herbs, which rested on top of the open porcelain teapot. The aroma of sweet vanilla and medicinal herbs soon mingled in with the succulent fragrance of dinner being prepared by the Chef and his staff.

It was well known among the palace servants that Lady Hana’s health had dramatically improved under Carina’s care. And they all knew better than to offend someone who had earned Eleanora’s favor and gratitude—for the most part.

“There you are,” Mrs. Poppy said as she appeared through the kitchen doorway. “Her Highness is asking for you.”

“I’ll be just a moment,” Carina replied as she checked her watch pendant. “The tea needs another two minutes to brew.”

“Lady Hana’s tea can wait,” Poppy replied impatiently. “The Earl of Hawthorne is in the study with her Highness. There is some important matter the Earl wishes to discuss with you before dinner—” Poppy paused to check her own watch pendant “—which is only twenty minutes away. Let the servants finishing making the tea and take up Lady Hana’s tray when it's ready.”

‘Right, Lord Percy did say he would be dropping by earlier.’ Carina grimaced as she watched the second hand on her watch creep closer to the finish line.

“Lady Maura? I said—"

“To get the full effects of these herbs, the tea needs to be brewed for exactly eight to ten minutes. Too little and the medicinal benefits will be diminished, too much, and the tea will become too bitter and unpleasant to drink.”

Poppy inhaled a slow restraining breath and sighed. “I’m sure the kitchen staff can handle making a single cup of tea, Lady Maura.”

Carina smiled as the second hand finished its course and tucked the pendant into her waist pocket. “That won’t be necessary. The tea is finished now.” She removed the sieve from the porcelain pot and set it aside on an empty plate as one of the palace maids, a quiet but eager girl named Tilly, brought over a prepared tray with a light sandwich and two pieces of sweet candy. Carina covered the rising steam with the pot’s lid and placed it on the tray beside the matching set of teacups.

“Shall I take it up, my Lady?” Tilly asked with a hesitant look a Mrs. Poppy.

“Hmm, I—”

“Yes,” Poppy interrupted sharply. “The Crown Princess and Earl are waiting, Lady Maura.”

“Very well,” Carina replied with a quick smile to Tilly. “Tell Lady Hana I shall check in on her later.”

“Yes, Lady Maura.” The maid bobbed, lifted the tray carefully, and slipped past the head housekeeper out into the hallway.

Carina removed her apron and hung it by the door before she too walked past the impatient Mrs. Poppy and headed towards the front of the palace.

“The servant’s passage would be quicker,” Poppy muttered as she followed behind with sharp footsteps.

“You seem to forget that I am not a servant, Mrs. Poppy.” Carina turned and leveled the woman with a cold stare. “I am a noble.”

“Don’t forget who made you one,” Poppy retorted with a snort. “You wouldn’t be here at all if her Highness hadn’t made you a Baroness.”

“Is that what bothers you?” Carina asked with a slight smile. “That your Mistress made me a Baroness while you remain her servant?” The housekeeper's face contorted with visible anger as Carina turned and continued through the foyer, around the twin staircase that led to the upstairs rooms, and down the second hall towards the library and co-joined study.

“What is given can be taken away,” Poppy muttered as she halted beside the stairwell. “I have dinner to attend to.”

Carina ignored the housekeeper’s comment as she adjusted the sheer white shawl around her shoulders and then opened the library door.

The sofa by the library window was empty, but a familiar low masculine voice drew her attention towards Eleanora’s study.

“I just worry about the timing of their arrival so close to the Ambassador’s visit,” Percy continued gravely as Carina caught sight of him seated in one of the chairs before Eleanora’s desk.

“But you know there is nothing I can do about an inquisition. Not with my current lack of power,” Eleanora replied in a weary tone. “Whether Nicholas allows the witch hunters to burn Lafeara to the ground or not will depend on his mood, I suppose.”

Carina’s grip tightened on her shawl as she approached the open study door. Even now, she could recall in vivid detail the Emissary’s carriage with its ominous scarlet robed escorts. ‘Somehow, it feels as though I brought them here.’

She shook the foreboding thought from her head and tapped on the doorframe. “Your Highness, you asked for me?”

Eleanora glanced up from Lord Percy, who straightened in his seat. “Lady Maura, it seems you forgot to inform me that the Earl would be joining us for dinner?”

“Oh, yes, I—” Carina curtsied as Percy rose from the chair to face her “—forgive me, Lord Percy. I must have forgotten in the—excitement earlier.”

“Yes, I understand you encountered those barbaric witch hunters on your return trip to the palace, Lady Maura,” Percy replied with a note of concern as he stepped around the chair towards her.

“Only briefly,” Carina replied softly and frowned as he extended his hand to her. “I believe the Earl had some business to discuss before dinner?”

“Rise, Lady Maura,” Eleanora urged with a faint smile. “Cousin, if you would share this proposal of yours now that my attendant has joined us.”

Carina thought she heard a soft chuckle as she moved past Percy’s extended hand towards the crown princess.

“Ah—Yes. As you mentioned earlier, Cousin, your power as Crown Princess of Lafeara is all but nonexistent.”

“Thank you for reminding me, Cousin,” Eleanora replied with a sarcastic smile.

“If you want to make Lafeara your home and become its true Queen, winning the heart and support of its powerful noble families is necessary,” Percy continued with a patient smile as he relaxed into his chair.

“I am aware!” Eleanora retorted with a hint of impatience. “But I suspect that you have prepared a rather explicit idea as to how I could accomplish this?”

“I do. Though it is but the first step and not a miracle by any means.” Percy lifted the leather satchel by his chair and held it out to Carina, who obediently stepped forward to accept it. “The last great queen’s each championed works of charity for the betterment of Lafeara’s people. Queen Catalina established an education system for the women of nobility. Queen Rosalind championed trade jobs for the commoners; housing and food for the poor and homeless.”

Carina pulled a thick, bound document from the leather bag and stared at the deed that rested beneath the scarlet red ribbon. A flourish of masterful penmanship red, Certification of Land Ownership for Turnbell Manor.

Carina looked up from the document over to Percy, who offered her a mischievous smile. ‘So—you were the anonymous buyer.’

“I believe that is for me, Lady Maura,” Eleanora interjected as she held out her hand impatiently. Carina offered an apologetic smile as she presented the documents, then waited patiently nearby as the crown princess untied the bundle and flipped through the papers. “Cousin, you—wish me to open an orphanage?” Eleanora glanced from Percy to Carina, “And you purchased the deed of Lady Maura’s family home for this purpose?”

“From her sister, Lady Sophya Turnbell,” Percy confirmed with a dismissive shrug. “The late Lord Turnbell left behind a significant amount of debt. Lady Sophya is presently already engaged and moved into her fiancé’s family home, so I thought taking the old estate and most of the family debt of her hands a commendable gesture of goodwill.”

‘Goodwill?’ Carina narrowed her ice-blue eyes at Percy, who seemed content to stare back at her quite blatantly as if he enjoyed watching the emotions she was struggling to hide behind her composed expression.

“So, you asked that Lady Maura be here to—get her consent after the fact?” Eleanora queried with mixed disapproval and confusion.

“I have no wish to offend Lady Maura,” Percy replied somberly as he leaned forward with a hand to his heart. “If she is against the idea, then I will gladly sign the deed over to her right now. There are other houses I can purchase in the country, though Turnbell Manor is by far the largest estate I could obtain for such a—modest price.”

The sincere, steady gaze of his winter-grey eyes made Carina uncomfortable. Beneath her shawl the Winter Rose seemed to echo her unsteady heart as she avoided the Earl’s gaze. Instead, Carina focused on the paperwork in Eleanora’s hands though she did not miss the curious side stare the crown princess was giving her.

“I see,” Eleanora murmured. “So, your plan—is that I open an orphanage for Lafeara’s children, and the nobles will open their hearts to me?” Her incredulity was audible.

“It’s a start,” Percy replied confidently. “And a task I believe Lady Maura is more than capable of handling.”

“Oh, is she?” Eleanora leaned across the desk as her trouble smile turned into a disapproving glare. “I’m surprised that you would recommend her and not your fiancé.”

The hair on the back of Carina’s neck stiffened as the Earl’s sharp gaze turned towards his cousin.

“I am not engaged to Lady Evelynn,” Percy stated bluntly.

“The Countess and Dowager have expressed otherwise,” Eleanora pointed out. “In fact, I dare say there are very few nobles within the capital that are unaware of the engagement between yourself and the young Lady Hendrix, Cousin. And—given the display I witnessed between the two of you just last week and my lady’s sudden drop in spirits—I should wonder at your persisted ignorance of this fact.”

‘What display?’ Carina glanced towards Percy and was momentarily caught off guard by the dark glint of anger in his eyes.

“It seems my words hold little value when compared to a noble lady her Highness has only just met,” Percy observed with a disappointed smile.

“That is not what I meant, Cousin,” Eleanora replied as she folded her arms across the documents. “I trust you, but—these rumors do far too much public weight—and I have no interest in seeing Lady Maura tangled up in such detestable gossip.”

“Your concerns are not necessary, cousin,” Percy replied coldly as he tilted his head with an almost mocking smile. “As it stands, I have no interest in being publicly connected to this charity. The purchase of Turnbell Manor was made anonymously to avoid revealing my involvement. Instead, I have reached out to the investor, Mr. Frost, in hopes that he will also join us on this endeavor.” His winter-grey eyes shifted back to Carina with a playful smile that sent a sudden chill down her spine.

‘Did he—know about Frost too? Or—perhaps he’s merely referring to the connection between Lady Aconitum and Frost.’

“The elusive investor?” Eleanora replied with surprise. “Why would he support an orphanage?”

“He has already made your Highness an Ambassador of his two most popular businesses,” Percy replied with a casual wave of his hand. “His intention to support you has been made quite clear. A collaboration on a public charity event would help solidify that support and gain both of you the goodwill of the people. And you, dear cousin, could take advantage of the many nobles who wish to become acquainted with Mr. Frost. Why—even the Crown Prince is eagerly searching for him.”

Once more, his gaze slid towards Carina with a knowing, playful grin.

‘So the Countess did let you in on my secret,’ Carina realized with an anxious frown. ‘Or perhaps you found out some other way—' She started and flushed, suddenly aware that she had been staring at the Earl, and quickly snapped her attention to Eleanora. ‘What on earth has come over me?’

“True,” Eleanora murmured with sudden interest. “Perhaps with Frost’s support, enough nobles would take notice and attend such a nonprofitable charity.” She turned to Carina. “But, the question remains, Lady Maura, are you comfortable with us using your family home for such a public spectacle?”

“I have no lingering attachment to the estate,” Carina answered confidently. “It would be rather satisfying to see it put to some good use. But one estate cannot house all of Lafeara’s orphanages.” She started to turn towards the Earl as she finished her reply but quickly refocused on the crown princess.

‘Don’t encourage him. Percy is toying with you. He could have bought any house, but he chose to purchase the Turnbell manor for this?’

“No,” Percy replied with an amused tone, “but it will be enough to provide a comfortable home for the children recently recovered from that abominable child sex ring the Knight Commander rounded up.” The chair creaked faintly, and the Earl moved into Carina’s line of view as he pulled out a list of names from the pile of documents. “The names notated with a cross have been confirmed as having no living family, while the other twelve here were sold by relatives to pay off debts.”

Carina stared down at the list of names with a column of numbers to indicate their age, which ranged from six to sixteen. Disgust turned her stomach as she recalled Josiah’s plans to sell her to Lord Lennox as a wife.

“Ah yes, I have heard of the Knight Commander’s recent arrests,” Eleanora commented as she studied the list and turned it over. “A worthy charity. We have the house, the children, and if Mr. Frost joins our cause, the funds and notoriety as well. I fail to see how I can add anything of worth to the matter.”

“You can support it as a noble and member of the royal family while publicly condemning child slavery, as Lafeara’s future Queen,” Carina spoke up passionately.

Eleanora raised a surprised brow at her outburst and tapped a finger upon the documents thoughtfully. “Slavery is as deeply engrained in Lafeara’s history as it is Ventrayna and even old Zarus. To take such a public stand as Lafeara’s future queen—would erode my support from the Emperor.”

“But you would gain Nicholas’s support,” Carina countered quickly.

“The Crown Prince has expressed his wish to see the taxes recovered by your marriage put towards the restoration of the late queen’s charities,” Percy added his agreement. “And he is very much against the abduction and forced slavery of children.”

“We could ask him to attend a public event to raise funds for the charity,” Carina added eagerly. “It would be common ground for you both to work on as future monarchs. Such a public display of unity would also help diminish the rumors about your marriage and having the Crown Prince’s support will go a long way to ensuring the charity is a success.”

“And how am I to convince my husband to show his support publicly?” Eleanora demanded with a hint of aggravation. “Every invitation I’ve sent him these past few days has been ignored or rejected with some excuse about the kingdom's never-ending affairs and responsibilities.”

“His Highness has been busy,” Percy replied reasonably as he returned to his seat. “Even his mistress has been feeling neglected of late.”

Carina winced and glanced at the crown princess, who stiffened as she picked up a list of expenses.

“You seem quite informed of his Highness’s activities,” Eleanora murmured curiously without raising her gaze. “Perhaps my cousin has more political connections than the Countess has led me to believe.”

“Mother sheltered me as a child, but I have taken great pains to reconnect with the leading families of Lafeara since I received my late father’s ring. I am pleased to say that the Hawthorne name still holds weight.”

“Ha!” Eleanora smirked as her amber eyes flicked over him. “If only you had been born a woman, they might have married you to Nicholas instead of some foreign princess.”

Percy’s smile thinned as he unclasped his hands and rose from his seat. “If we have reached an agreement on using this orphanage as your Highness charity, then I would like to recommend another cousin of mine to help your Highness and Lady Maura host it. The Marchioness of Berxely.”

Eleanora dropped the list of expenses and leaned back with a frown. “Marquess Serilda? King Henri’s old mistress?”

“She is twenty-six, hardly much older than you,” Percy corrected with a patronizing smile. “And she has just returned to Lafeara.”

“Didn’t the Dowager banish her—oh no, that was the Countess, wasn’t it?” Eleanora pressed with a malicious smirk as she rose from her chair. “On suspicion of drugging the late King?”

Carina could hardly keep her gaze focused as her head spun between them. ‘King Henri had a mistress who may have poisoned him? But—didn’t he die from a fall?’

Percy gripped the back of his chair tightly. “No one had more to lose from Henri’s death than the Marchioness.” The sharpness of his tone did not escape either Eleanora or Carina.

“While the Countess had much to gain from the Marchioness’s banishment,” Eleanora responded with a cryptic smile.

“Perhaps Mother was merely clearing the way for your engagement to the First Prince,” Percy shot back with a darkening scowl.

“Ahh, I meant no disrespect, Cousin,” Eleanora said apologetically. “These are simply the rumors which spread even to Ventrayna. Marchioness Serilda may very well be innocent of these claims—but to align ourselves with a fallen noblewoman—one who is rumored to be insane—I fail to see how that would be beneficial for my crown or this charity?”

Percy exhaled slowly as he relaxed his grip and straightened. “It seems my advice is no longer valued.” His expression was cold as he faced the crown princess and bowed. “I will excuse myself then, your Highness.”

“Percy!” Eleanora circled the desk quickly. “Please do not leave angry with me.”

“Your Highness should make use of the orphanage and charity event if nothing else,” Percy responded without a glimmer of warmth as he avoided her outstretched hand. At the doorway, he turned to Carina and offered a brief smile and bow. “Good night, Lady Maura.”

“My Lord,” Carina replied as she dipped into a curtsey. When she rose, Eleanora was standing in the study room door, and the Earl was gone.

“Damn it,” Eleanora muttered as she pressed her fingers to her lips. “I forgot how close Percy was to that woman. I’ll have to think of some way to make it up to him later.” She turned, studied Carina, and laughed. “Then again, I also have you to help smooth things over.”

“Excuse me?” Carina replied with a quizzical brow.

“Lady Maura, I’m going to be blunt. I like you, even though you have yet to earn the many graces I have given you. I do, however, trust that you are working on the mission I gave you before and that you will have what I need prepared in time for the Ambassador’s visit.”

‘So she’s still determined to drug the Crown Prince?’

“But I am not blind.” Eleanora sighed impatiently as she gestured towards the shawl left behind on the desk chair.

Carina lifted the pale golden material and carried it over to the crown princess silently.

“It has become quite clear to me that the woman my cousin jilted Lady Evelynn for—is you,” Eleanora continued with a mocking laugh. “Therefore, if you do not wish to mire your Mistress in the scandal and gossip of a sordid affair and damage your own reputation in the process, I would advise you to distance yourself from the Earl—immediately.”

“But—”

“Start by addressing him as Earl instead of Lord Percy. Whatever relationship you had while under the Countess’s care, you are a mere Baroness.” Eleanora patted Carina’s cheek. “A talented one that I have high hopes for—but the position of the Earl’s wife is beyond your reach.”

[B2] Chapter 21: A Bog of Poison

❖❖❖❖❖❖❖❖❖❖

Chapter 21: A Bog of Poison

“Eleanora really said that?” Hana murmured as she lowered the ice pack; a stitched folded handkerchief with a bit of wax melted and brushed over the exterior to make it watertight. Carina had filled it with a bit of ice magic and brought it up after dinner for Hana’s persisting headache.

“Mhmm,” Carina replied as she sank onto the bed beside the pale blonde.

“That surprises me,” Hana said as she draped the ice pack across her forehead so that it covered the furrowed eyebrows above her turquoise-blue eyes. “I am sure she did not mean it in a cruel way. She has become more—pragmatic—since preparing to be Nicholas’s wife.”

“Yes. I’m sure her Highness only meant to advise me out of concern,” Carina answered with a hint of sarcasm.

“Still, I cannot agree,” Hana mumbled as she folded her arms across her nightgown. “It’s the Earl that’s not good enough for you.”

Carina scoffed and smiled down at the resting attendant. “And in what way does Lady Hana find the Earl of Hawthorne lacking?”

“He’s too—cold,” Hana murmured. Carina raised a brow and shook her head silently. “Do you like him then?” Hana asked curiously.

Carina sighed as she reached for the Winter Rose beneath her bodice and reclined against the pillows. “What’s not to like? He’s handsome, wealthy, politically connected, well respected, and not horribly ancient.” She added a dramatic shudder with her last statement as her mind shifted from Lord Lennox to the recently rescued children.

“What about kind, supportive, and loyal?” Hana pressed with a concerned frown. “Surely those are more valuable traits in a husband?”

“A husband?” Carina laughed as she rolled over to study Hana. “You know I’m not interested in marriage. Anyway, what about Eleanora? How would you describe her Highness?”

“Elly?” Hana removed the ice pack with a grimace that soon faded into a smile. “Eleanora is a true princess. Strong-willed, kind, courageous, selfless, inspiring, and beautiful.”

“You forgot demure, humble, and patient,” Carina replied in a mocking tone. “Surely those are the qualities of a good wife.”

Hana snorted and winced. “I know she can be difficult, but you must understand the environment that Elly was raised in.” Her expression darkened as her fingers tightened around the cold wrapper. “The expectations placed on her at a very young age shaped not just how she sees the world, but how she views her place in it.”

“Hmm,” Carina thought back to Maura’s memory of Eleanora pushing the maid out of the secret tunnel. “Perhaps.” She closed her eyes and took in a deep, weary breath.

“It’s late,” Hana said sympathetically. “You should head back to your room before the servants start spreading rumors.”

“Your health is more important than a few gossipy old hens,” Carina replied with a wry smile. “Besides, I want to make sure you fall asleep—” she smothered a quick yawn “—after being dragged outside the palace.”

“I wasn’t dragged anywhere. I chose to go—”

“Then let me stay if I choose to,” Carina replied victoriously as she peeked through one eye.

Hana’s face tightened with worry, but then she sighed, replaced the ice pack on her forehead, and closed her eyes. Carina reached over and tucked the light blanket up around Hana’s shoulders. Once satisfied, she laid back down and studied the elegant carvings of dragonflies on the bedpost beside her.

“Have you ever wondered how different your life would be if you were not Eleanora’s lady-in-waiting?” Carina asked a few moments later.

“No,” Hana replied after a brief moment. She let out a soft yawn before adding, “I’ve always been by Eleanora’s side. First, as her maid, then as her lady-in-waiting.”

“But if you weren’t a servant or a lady-in-waiting?”

“I would still support Eleanora,” Hana answered firmly. “It is impossible for me to even imagine leaving. Eleanora is—my home.”

‘I was afraid you’d say that.’ Carina held back a sigh.

“What about you?” Hana countered with a curious smile. “Would you rather be a Countess or the wife of a knight captain?”

“How your imagination does run wild,” Carina joked sourly.

“Hmm? And yet you blush,” Hana teased.

“I most definitely did not.”

“Then—” Hana rolled towards her with a curious frown “—if not marriage. What do you hope to gain by becoming Eleanora’s lady-in-waiting?”

“The power to change my future,” Carina answered with a weary sigh. ‘And yours.’

❆❆❆❆❆

The Bog of Solverga was a treacherous stretch of wasteland that separated the Kingdom of Strugna from the River of Geotic and, on the river’s other side, the Kingdom of Lafeara.

Nero had fled across Geotic River at early dawn with the aid of a small slip he’d obtained from a recently drowned fisherman. The craft drifted lazily beneath the fog that rolled off the shores of the bog as the witch hunter waited, sweating and shivering as the muscles around the stump of his shoulder cramped and spasmed. And yet, the phantom pains of his lost limb were nothing compared to the agony that burned within his chest and stomach.

It had taken the witch hunter nearly a week to cross Lafeara's outlying terrain and reach the Geotic River. Only after he launched his vessel into the dark waters had the cloud of crows that shadowed his every movement lifted. Even with those malevolent scavengers finally gone, Nero could not shake the sensation of being—observed.

The witch hunter grimaced and spat black acid over the side of the boat. He didn’t have much of an appetite these days, especially when grotesque visions of his meal with the Coven of Crows resurfaced every time he thought of food.

An even more pressing matter was the chaotic and destructive state of his internal magic. Tristan’s fire magic was wreaking havoc on Nero’s natural affinity for ice magic in ways he had not imagined possible. Whereas before the Witch Star aided in subduing whatever magic it obtained for Nero’s use, now it struggled to retain the power it had stolen from the pure-blood devil beneath its muted surface.

The toxic ramifications of this stolen magic were becoming physically visible as well. Nero’s ash-brown hair was now heavily lined with silver. His complexion was an off-colored gray, his skin coarse and dry, almost brittle to the touch, his joints swollen and bruised purple, while the fingertips of his left hand—his only remaining hand—turned black. Nero could no longer deny that the Witch Star’s curse, as Mercy had foreseen, was consuming him at a much faster rate than before.

“Arachne is my only hope.”

The witch hunter pulled himself upright and dropped over the side of the boat to slog his way towards the shoreline. The wasteland’s stench accompanied the ravaged floating corpses of fish, birds, and other unfortunate animals caught in the outskirts of the dense bog grass. The murky vegetation that formed Solverga’s natural barrier entwined itself around Nero’s legs and made every step inland a battle of will, perseverance, and strength.

The glittering, dark serpent-like bodies of the bog's notorious predators soon slithered in his direction, hungry for a bite. Nero focused on the Witch Star and released a small dose of Tristan’s fire magic. A burning flash shot out like an explosive wave and nearly knocked him off his feet as it rippled across the bog. The eels not immediately singed to a pulp quickly turned tail and slithered off to find less troublesome prey.

Nero gripped his chest and steadied his breathing for a moment as the Witch Star vibrated dangerously beneath his hand. Once the gem was calm, he continued forward and determinedly marched his way free of the scorched bog grass.

As the witch hunter progressed, the faint echoing sounds of small bells whispered through the fog, and he imagined at times that he saw dark figures standing beyond the mist only to lose them whenever he focused his attention. His progress remained eel free but agonizingly slow, mentally draining, and physically exhausting.

The sun cast his shadow across the bug-infested eyot as the fog receded and Nero waded through the ankle-high sludge. A cluster of black gnarled trees lined with faded blue ribbons and silver bells came into view across the flat horizon of mist. Nero coughed with painful effort, then took a drink from his muddied water skin before he continued forward cautiously, mindful of each step.

Solverga was the native homeland of Strugna’s oldest witches. The notoriously fatal bog was one of the few places witch hunters refused to enter. Not because of the wasteland’s natural predators and dangers, such as the eels or bubbling quicksand, which effectively dealt with any overly curious mortals. No, the hounds of the church were more concerned about the toxic waste of poisonous vegetation that thrived off the decayed, rotting corpses left by the eels. They were rumored to have mind-altering effects and numbing properties, which made losing a limb unexpectedly to carnivorous eels or the skin-eroding oil which tended to gather around the quicksand pits far more worrisome.

Nero was vigilant to avoid any area where deadly small bubbles gurgled to the surface and popped with a painful, ear-splitting screech. His careful navigation forced him to wander around the grove of trees and their taunting bells for nearly two hours until he stumbled upon a path clear of the skin-melting bog pits.

The mist returned, and beyond it, Nero could feel the weight of a dozen eyes pressing down upon him as he followed the path, which wove through the dense, waist-high bog grass and split halfway through the center grove. Nero stopped at the fork and took in the skeleton entangled by a dead tree with bells tied to his ribs, fingers, and toes.

A faded bronze coin, which bore the emblem of a burning witch, hung from the dead man’s neck—a witch hunter’s medallion. The pointed notice drew a grim smile across Nero’s face, the warning all to clear. To step beyond this point uninvited would only bring him death.

The witch hunter turned to search the heavy mist with bloodshot, ice-blue eyes; but could not locate the witches that surrounded him.

“I have come seeking the oracle,” he shouted across the bog. “I have come with a question for Arachne.”

“But can you pay the price, half-witch?”

Nero started as a laugh seemed to boom from the skeleton’s leering jaw. ‘No, just an illusion.’ It appeared that even the fog in Solverga could mess with the mind.

“I am willing to pay whatever price the oracle demands,” Nero responded boldly.

Bells mixed with laughter that jingled eerily throughout the fog. The sun beamed down overhead as the oppressive smog cleared, but still, the bog witches remained invisible to his searching gaze.

“What is your name, half-witch?”

Nero took in a slow breath and then answered, “I am called Nero. I am a witch hunter.”

The fog trembled, then billowed and crashed against him like a tide. Sharp nails hissed against his neck a moment before his legs were savagely kicked out from beneath him. Another kick emptied his lungs as Nero rolled onto his side. Then strong hands grabbed his left arm and pinned it painfully behind his back as a rope slid around his neck.

“Wait—”

The rope tightened, and Nero’s spine almost snapped as his captor yanked his head back savagely. The fog suddenly cleared, and before his blurring vision, Nero beheld the water witches of Solverga.

The witches each possessed similar physical characteristics: damp, dripping hair, pale skin, and enlarged pupils from the poisons they consumed for pleasure and power. Their eerie beauty and youthful appearance were a testament to their tempestuous lifestyle, which tended to shorten their average life span. As a result, they bred young and repopulated like the eels that guarded their borders.

Solverga’s witches were fiercely territorial and just as vicious and relentless as the Coven of Crows, but they were not cannibals. With their capability to spread death and disease came strange respect for life itself, a distinction that offered no refuge nor comfort to those who angered them.

The water witches of Solverga possessed many poisons designed to extend life with the certainty of a more painful death, and none wielded that power better than the Coven of Wretches.

Even now, the shallow wounds left by their claws burned against the witch hunter’s neck beneath the rope that cut off his air supply. Nero struggled to stay conscious as poisonous foam filled his throat, while his words of protest remained trapped beneath the rope’s chokehold. The young male witch who controlled its pressure leered down at him with glowing green eyes.

“Azriel, do not kill him—yet.”

The distorted but commanding voice of a female witch drew Nero’s gaze over to the woman dressed in a gown woven from bog grass, reeds, and seashells. Her oddly painted face did not hide her otherwise striking dark features nor her cold black eyes.

The rope on Nero’s neck slackened so suddenly that he bit his tongue as his chin slammed against the ground. The knee between his shoulders made his initial gasps for air all the more painful.

“I am Thetis, High Priestess of Arachne.” She knelt and yanked the rope and his gaze towards her. “We do not welcome your kind here, witch hunter. State your business quickly, or I will allow Azriel to finish what he started.”

“O-oracle,” Nero choked out.

Thetis laughed darkly. “Foolish half-witch. I am asking why we should permit you to speak at all!”

Nero spat out blood and black acid. Thetis’s gaze followed the curious bile as her purple lips twitched with cynical curiosity. She released his binds and stood.

“Azriel is not known for patience, witch hunter,” she cautioned impatiently.

“Perhaps if I cut off his left arm, that would motivate him to speak faster, High Priestess,” Azriel suggested maliciously.

“No,” Nero growled. “I come seeking the Oracle—to remove—an ancient curse.”

Thetis scoffed and nudged the black fingers of his left hand with her boot. “I can see clearly that it is no natural disease which consumes you, half-witch. Medicinal herbs will do nothing to save you or spare you from pain. A quick death is the only mercy we can offer.”

“There must be another way—”

“If you wish to risk your immortal soul on such a futile endeavor, so be it—but can you pay the price, witch hunter, half-dead as you are?”

Nero hissed in a breath, then gestured to his neck. “My necklace.”

Azriel moved the rope aside, twisted his hand around the chain, and yanked the necklace free. Nero shuddered as the Witch Star’s magic was ripped from his body the moment Azriel tossed it to Thetis.

“This—” The high priestess murmured darkly as she studied the jewel “—are you aware whose magic you have trapped in here?”

“The magic of a pure-blood,” Nero answered bitterly. “The bastard son of the Emperor.”

Thetis turned the jewel over slowly. The green braids of her hair trembled over enlarged dark eyes as she shook her head. “You fool. That pure-blood was but a vessel. This magic—comes from the goddess of destruction herself, Kritanta. The bastard of which you speak—is her Consort.”

[B2] Chapter 22: The Sounds of Discord

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Chapter 22: The Sounds of Discord

Carina opened her eyes as the first pale rays of morning light crept across the stone and carpeted floor towards the edge of her poster bed. She roused herself from the haze of dreams that included memories of high school and a time when she and Jade had been inseparable—before the pandemic that shut down schools and led to the biggest economic and political divide between Trog and Verdine.

“A lifetime ago,” Carina muttered as she rubbed her eyes and pushed back the tangled curtain of her hair. ‘Still, it's not often I remember my past life these days.’

After a quick stretch and a tired yawn, Carina tossed the bed covers aside. She paused with both legs dangling over the edge of the bed to examine her right ankle. After nearly two weeks, the swelling was gone, and most of the injury's discoloration had faded.

“I’ll need to start some strength exercises and stretches soon if I want to get back in dancing form,” Carina murmured as she flexed the ankle carefully.

Since she did not permit the palace's maids to enter her room, Carina spent these early hours before dawn tidying the bed and any books or papers she had left out. Then she changed into a day gown, washed her face, and brushed and tamed her hair. All the while, she mentally formulated a plan of tasks to be accomplished before sundown.

‘Iker’s man should be arriving this morning, so the first thing on my list will be offloading Ghost’s dagger.’

Knowing that the main gate wouldn’t open for another hour yet, Carina settled down at her desk to write out addresses on four cream envelopes. Then she pulled out a few fresh pages and, ignoring the black ink well, selected a perfume bottle tucked beside two books on A Ladies Etiquette Vol I & II. Carina dabbed a fresh quill inside the aromatic vial and scripted a hidden message onto the first page.

To Stitcher, she scribbled out a request for two unique powders found only on the black market. While Carina was far from delighted with the prospects of drugging the crown prince, Eleanora had made it quite clear she was tired of waiting for results.

‘It wouldn’t hurt to see if a non-detectable drug can be produced that would pass royal inspection.’ She thought of Beaumont’s stern, vigilant gaze and grimaced. ‘With any luck, I won’t have to test that theory, but better to have—I suppose.’

“In any case, I need to prepare that for the Ambassador.” She included a notice for payment request upon receipt for Stitcher to cash in at the Holy Maiden Boutique and hoped that the assassin wouldn’t gossip about her unusual request to Ghost.

‘I wonder, would Tristan be more annoyed with Eleanora or me if he knew what these powders were for?’

In her next letter to Lord Austin, Merchant Captain of the Golden Lion, Carina included another request for four benign herbs from Strugna. She also added a large order for plant bulbs of a rare herb called Spector’s Breath.

The temperamental plant grew along Strugna’s northern coastline and could be detected at first light when it gave off a cloud of blue mist due to its unusually cold properties. If harvested at dawn and kept out of the sun, the plant would retain this chilling effect for months at a time. The bulbs could then be transplanted into any soil kept in a dark room and create a basement “fridge” of sorts.

This unusual but resourceful trait made the plant a costly commodity of luxury for Strugna’s nobles and wealthy merchants. But Carina hoped to use the plant in hospital storage units she was building for the medication that had already arrived and was being prepared by Lambert’s alchemists.

She also planned to use her recently appointed domain of Averly to build a suitable enclosed greenhouse environment to grow the herbs more locally. ‘After all, according to the Herbal Encyclopedia I studied, they once grew in Lafeara in abundance. If I can cultivate enough here, they will prove invaluable not only for storing medicine long term but with the added benefit of cooling down patients with fever.’

With her invisible yet detailed request complete, Carina signed the letter as Lady Aconitum and set it aside to dry with Stitcher’s message. She considered the empty pages still before her and pulled out another envelope, which she addressed to Ruttenberg Inn and her old mentor, Madame Maylea. Then, using a single sheet of paper and black ink, Carina wrote the prearranged message.

‘The songbird has reached her desired perch but lacks the grace to dance before the crown. Would that my old instructor might provide a more suitable candidate to please this foreign prince.

Lady M.’

Satisfied that all messages pertaining to her plans and business were suitably arranged and hidden beneath benign requests or letters of gratitude, Carina closed the perfume bottle and composed her final letter to Ivy.

Dearest Ivy,

Thank you for your last letter. Rest assured that all is well here. I’ve recently learned that Lord Percy purchased Turnbell Manor. He intends to donate it to the Princess to be reopened as an orphanage. I find the idea quite practical and appealing and thought it would be of interest to you. I should like to think you could become a teacher there one day if your studies improve. Though I imagine working in such a place might be uncomfortable given its many unhappy memories.

I hope you are enjoying life at the Hawthrone Estate. Your penmanship has certainly improved remarkably. I promise to visit at the earliest opportunity, although that might have to wait until the Ambassador has returned to Ventrayna…

Carina added a few happier details about her palace life to distract Ivy from any thoughts of worry, then signed the letter as Lady Maura. She stared at the name for a moment as her quill hovered over the page. Her thoughts drifted unsteadily from the identity she had taken in this world to her dreams of Jade and her old life in Trog.

She carefully set the letter aside to dry, then watched as the ink pooled at the edge of her quill. Carina had long given up any hope of returning to her old world. Her old body, or whatever husk remained, was no doubt beyond repair, her organs split up between dozens of strangers who had purchased them off the black market shortly after her death.

‘But—what happened to Jade?’

Her fingers tightened around the quill as the enlarging drop of ink quivered free and splattered on the wooden surface of her desk. Carina set the quill aside with an impatient sigh and wiped the mess clear with an ink smudged rag as she shook the foreboding thought away. Her past had no place in this world.

‘But I can still live by my own principles and try to protect the people that matter to me—if only my new life had not been complicated by a promise to a ghost.’

Carina glanced about the room cautiously but detected no sign of Maura’s lingering specter. It was unsettling enough to wake up in the middle of the night and find the body’s previous owner watching her sleep from the foot of the bed.

She shivered and returned the rag to its drawer with a quick check at the bedroom window. The warm glow of the rising sun soon chased away uneasy thoughts as Carina tucked the dried letters inside their respective envelopes then placed them in a silk purse.

After securing her bedroom door, Carina headed down the steps, nodding to the maids that greeted her as they carried up Eleanora’s morning tray.

‘Looks like Eleanora will be out hunting again today,’ Carina observed as she reached the foyer and turned left towards the kitchen. There she found Mrs. Poppy and the chef discussing breakfast for the other ladies-in-waiting.

“Lady Evelynn will be riding with her Highness this morning, so send up a breakfast tray for her as well,” Mrs. Poppy instructed as the kitchen maids hastily prepared another tray.

“Ah, good morning, Lady Maura,” Chef Robbi greeted with a friendly wave. “You’re up early as usual.”

“Good morning, Chef Robbi. Mrs. Poppy,” Carina returned with a smile. “I just wanted to inform you that I’ll be going out this morning to post some letters. If breakfast isn’t ready, then please don’t trouble yourself.”

“Oh, but it's no trouble,” Robbi replied with a charismatic smile. “I’ll have the maids send up a tray when you’re back. The food will keep well enough as long as it's kept warm. It shouldn’t take too long to walk to the post office and back.”

“Stop indulging her. She has a big enough head already that one,” Poppy muttered sharply in Ventrayna.

“You judge too harshly. The lady is capable and kind, and our Princess favors her. Look at the remarkable job she’s done getting Lady Hana back on her feet,” Robbi countered in a lower voice as he shot Poppy a warning glare.

Carina kept her expression neutral as she turned and headed back down the hall to the front door. She found it odd that Mrs. Poppy, who had insisted on treating all the new ladies-in-waiting equally, now seemed to view her in such an unpleasant light.

‘As near as I can put it, her behavior changed when I took over Hana’s care.’ Carina frowned as she stepped outside the kitchen. ‘Perhaps I’m overthinking it. There are plenty of reasons for Poppy to have her guard up against me.’

Tilly rushed up to her with a look of relief. “What lucky timing, my Lady. There is a man outside who says he has a delivery for you?”

‘Right. Master Iker’s delivery.’

“I’ll go see him at once.”

Carina’s eagerness to swap Iker’s promised delivery of new daggers for Ghost’s politically volatile blade—evaporated the moment she caught a glimpse of the messenger. A single, piercing olive-green eye stared at her beneath the black bandanna that obscured most of the man’s face from view. She instantly recognized him as one of the soldiers from Iker’s workshop. ‘What was the name Iker called him, Timmy?’

“Lady Maura,” the soldier rumbled in a far from friendly tone. “I believe you have something for me?”

The knight’s guarding the palace door focused their distrustful gaze on the burlish looking man.

“Do you know this fellow?” One of the knights asked as he shifted closer to Carina.

“Ah—I don’t know the gentleman’s name, but I was expecting his delivery,” Carina replied with a quick smile.

“Tully, my Lady,” the soldier replied with a stiff nod.

“Ah yes, Mr. Tully.” Carina offered a friendly smile that was not returned. “I—just need to step inside to fetch the payment.”

“Then please,” the soldier muttered as he placed a key on top of the ornate box and held it out. “Master Iker said you could leave your payment in this box if that’s all the same to you.”

“Why can’t she keep the box?” one of the knights asked suspiciously.

“Couldn’t afford the extra coin,” Tully replied with a sly grin.

‘Was that the best excuse he could come up with?’

“Thank you!” Carina cut in as she snatched the rather heavy box from him. “I’ll be just a moment.”

It took but a few minutes to return to her room and open Iker’s promised delivery. Still, Carina was caught off guard by the beautifully crafted twin daggers that rested against the black silk. With an appreciative sigh, she placed them aside and lifted the black cloth clear. Beneath the silk, Carina found a simple notch in the wooden panel below that opened the false bottom. Inside lay a simple note that read, A trusted friend is like a well-placed blade.

Carina scoffed and set the letter beside her new daggers before upending nearly all the books tucked away in her locked chest as she located and retrieved Ghost’s dagger. She let out a sigh of relief when the troublesome weapon fit—just barely—inside the hidden compartment. After replacing the false bottom and black silk covering, Carina added a purse of two-hundred crescents on top and locked the lid once more.

The amount was more than she would earn in a month as Eleanora’s attendant, but Carina was determined not to owe the leader of Burning Blade any favors.

Besides, the daggers really were the perfect size and came with a simple strap to secure them out of sight beneath her skirts.

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The unpleasant Mr. Tully left with a curt nod the moment Carina returned with the box. Judging by the glare he sent one knight in particular, her absence had not gone by without incident.

Carina waited until the man had reached the gate before turning to the knight that had defended her earlier. “Sir Knight, whatever did you say to him?”

“Sir Jordan,” he bowed politely and straightened. “I simply reminded the unpleasant fellow that it is not his place to be disrespectful to the future queen’s attendants.” His unusual heterochromia eyes of brown and blue shifted from the cloak she wore and the silk purse she carried. “Might you be going outside the palace this morning, Lady Maura?”

“Yes, I was on my way to the post office,” Carina replied as she continued down the steps. With Ghost’s dagger removed from her possession, she had one less matter to worry about should someone decide to search her bedroom.

‘Just in time for me to pick up a poison or two.’

Carina let out a weak laugh and then took a steadying breath of fresh air as the gravel path crunched loudly underfoot. Across the horizon of Rose Palace walls, the rooftops of the other two royal palaces, the house of ministry, the great cathedral, and the giant, protective fortress walls, a clear summer’s day was blossoming into view.

The echo of footsteps on the stone path behind her pulled Carina’s attention from the otherwise optimistic view. She frowned as Sir Jordan jogged up beside her.

“Ah, pardon, Lady Maura, but we’ve been instructed to provide you with an escort for any trips away from Rose Palace,” Jordan explained with an apologetic smile.

“By whom?” Carina demanded quickly with a sharp glance towards the palace she had just left. “Your post is here protecting the Crown Princess and Rose Palace, is it not?”

“Not to worry, there are still plenty of knights left to guard the Crown Princess.” He shifted uncomfortably then offered another polite bow. “I apologize if my presence is offensive, but these are the orders I was given, Lady Maura.”

“By whom?” Carina repeated stiffly.

“His Majesty—” the knight trailed off, but there was something in his demeanor and the way his eyes shifted away that suggested there might have been another name attached to this request.

‘But who?’ Carina sighed. ‘Never mind, this probably relates to the witch hunter's presence. And it’s not as if I’m not already used to being watched inside the palace.’

“Very well, Sir Jordan, as I said, I am on my way to the post office, so this will be a short trip,” Carina explained briskly, then turned back towards the gate.

“Ah, that—couldn’t the servants deliver the letter for you, my Lady?” Jordan observed in an almost hopeful tone.

“Is there something wrong with me leaving Rose Palace, Sir Jordan?” Carina returned suspiciously as she studied his evasive gaze once more.

“No, nothing at all, forgive me.”

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The letters were posted without further disruption, and since Carina had no other business to attend to with her new shadow attached, she returned promptly to Rose Palace.

Halfway back to their destination, it occurred to Carina that having a friendly knight on her side inside the palace might be useful, even if only as an escort for her more official visits to the capital.

‘At least it will be a far more comfortable option than having Captain Beaumont escort me again.’

As close as Carina could estimate, Jordan was anywhere from his late twenties to late thirties. His skin remained deceptively youthful while more than a few laugh lines hugged the corners of his mismatched brown and blue eyes, and an odd patch of silver was already apparent in his groomed sideburns and trimmed beard.

“How long have you been a knight, Sir Jordan?”

He scoffed softly. “Not long, my lady. I was promoted just two years back.”

‘That would explain why he hadn’t yet received a promotion.’

“And before?” she asked curiously.

“Just a regular foot soldier, my Lady.”

Carina blinked in surprise and focused on the road. The noble’s bloodline was considered far too valuable to be sacrificed to the affairs of war, which was why any noble interested in military service almost always became knights and never went anywhere near the front lines of battle.

‘Meanwhile, commoners are seldom knighted unless they had achieved some high merit in battle.’

She studied Sir Jordan again, and this time noticed the broach curiously pinned on the inside trim of his knight's cape. The jewelry’s simple bronze surface was faded, and most of the paint had chipped away, but the visage of a wolf was still visible. “Were you—a member of the Red Wolf Army?”

Jordan glanced at her sharply, then looked down at his broach and tucked it out of sight. “Ah—no, my lady. That honor fell to my older brother.”

Seeing his discomfort, Carina left the matter there, and the conversation soon ended. Still, she continued her silent observation as the Rose Palace gates came into view, taking note that Jordan was already capable of bending a few rules.

Since any mention of the First Prince and the Red Wolf Army were all but pubically forbidden—the broach itself could be considered contraband. ‘But to wear it while in uniform? Is that defiance or simply for sentimental reasons?’

The absence of knights at the palace doors distracted Carina from her musing. She halted abruptly and quickly scanned the exterior palace grounds but located none of the palace guards in sight.

“That’s odd,” Jordan muttered as his sword hand shifted warily to the hilt of his knight’s long sword. “The front doors should never be left unguarded. We have more than enough knights to cover it even with my absence.”

“We should head inside,” Carina said determinedly.

“Yes,” Jordan agreed tensely. “But please stay at least three feet behind me, Lady Maura.”

Carina nodded and trailed behind him as the knight approached the door and opened it cautiously. The moment they entered the foyer, the distinct sound of raised, angry voices echoed back down the servant’s hall.

“That’s Chef Robbi. It’s coming from the kitchen!” Carina confirmed hastily. “That way.” She slipped past the knight and moved briskly in the direction of the commotion.

“Lady Maura!” Jordan hissed as he followed at her heels.

Carina ignored him as she focused on the other voices that echoed through the hallway. She recognized Tiffany’s protests, though they were oddly high-pitched and anxious. Robbi’s angry bellows, which consisted mostly of curses in his native tongue, drowned out the other voices mixed into the chaos. Her heart nearly leapt up her throat as Tilly bolted through the kitchen door and crashed into her.

“Oh! Lady Maura!” the frightened maid panted as Carina caught herself against the wall. “Please, you must help them!”

“First, tell me what is going on,” Carina said sternly.

“The Dowager’s people came demanding access to our wine in the cellars. Mrs. Poppy wouldn’t give them the keys, but they took it anyway by force.”

“So they are in the cellar. How many?”

“I—I think six knights and the Dowager’s attendant.”

“Alright, I’ll handle this, Tilly. You go upstairs and keep Hana from leaving her room. Can you do that?”

“Yes, my Lady.” Tilly nodded eagerly.

“Don’t disturb or alert her. Just stand outside her door. If Lady Hana asks what’s going on—lie.”

“Yes, Lady Maura.”

“Good girl. Now go.” Carina pushed the maid past Jordan and focused on the knight. “Where are the rest of the palace guards?”

“I—” Jordan shook his head, baffled.

“Go find them and bring them here!” Carina snapped impatiently.

“You can’t go in there alone!” Jordan protested in a forceful whisper. “You have no idea what you’re walking into.”

‘Actually, I have a pretty good idea.’

“The sooner your round up more help, the sooner we can resolve the issue. I doubt the Dowager’s people are here to start a war. Now go,” Carina ordered before she swept through the kitchen doors. She could already see the cellar door, generally kept under lock and key, wide open through the pantry before her.

The first person to greet her gaze as Carina crossed the threshold was Tiffany, held firmly restrained by Captain Leo in the pantry's left corner. To the right, racks of grain and storage shelves were crushed and broken. Grains and vegetables lay scattered and trampled beneath the two knights, who held their drawn swords warily at Chef Robbi.

The chef sat with his back against the broken storage shelf. The fallen grains clumped against the blood that flowed from a gash in his left arm, while his right arm supported a pale and unconscious Mrs. Poppy.

“What is going on here?” Carina demanded as she turned her ice-blue eyes to Captain Leo.

“Lady Maura!” Tiffany gasped with mixed relief and worry.

“Ah, so you’ve returned,” Leo remarked with a wry grin.

“And so what if she has?” The cold, imperious tone came from a familiar face Carina had not seen since the end of the Selection. Lady Sabella walked calmly through the cellar door to glower at Carina. “It seems we meet again, Half-blood.”

[B2] Chapter 23: A Prick of Cunning

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Chapter 23: A Prick of Cunning

“Lady Sabella,” Carina greeted as she squared off against the Dowager’s senior attendant. “Perhaps you could explain to me what is going on here?”

“How amusing that you believe I need to explain anything to you?” Sabella replied with a sarcastic smirk. “Your empty Baroness rank may have saved your skin, but here in the palace, I outrank you as much as the Dowager outranks the crown princess.”

“Not in this palace.” Carina stepped forward and held out her hand with a nod to the keys tied to Sabella’s belt. “Now I’m going to ask this in this nicest way possible out of respect for the Dowager’s rank. Lady Sabella, please return those keys to me. If there is something that your Mistress requires, you may submit a formal request for my Mistress’s approval. Now I must ask that you and these knights you brought with you, to leave Rose Palace and take nothing with you that belongs to the Crown Princess.”

“Impudent little half-blood,” Sabella hissed as she advanced on Carina. “I am the senior lady-in-waiting to the Dowager! I am here on her orders!” Sabella leaned in closer with a narrowed gaze and whispered. “Or have you chosen the barbarian princess over the Dowager’s offer?”

“Perhaps I'm merely curious what the Dowager hopes to find in the Crown Princess’s cellar that warrants sending such clumsy buffoons?”

Sabella left eye twitched, but then she leaned back and crossed her arms with a sigh. “The Dowager sent me to fetch some of the Caligo wine that the Crown Princess recently obtained. You have a dozen bottles here, far more than is necessary for her Highness to host the banquet. The Dowager merely wished to borrow one or two.”

‘If that was all the Dowager wanted, she could easily make a request without Lady Sabella stepping foot in Rose Palace. Clearly, there is another agenda here,’ Carina thought bitterly.

“When I explained my Mistress’s request to these heathens, they were the ones to put themselves in my way and create a ruckus that resulted in their injuries,” Sabella continued impassively.

‘That is because servants have no right to hand out the Crown Princess’s property!’

“Surely, the Dowager could have made such a request in a more orthodox manner. Such as a formal written request.” Carina pressed as she leaned against the door frame to her right.

“Why on earth would she?” Sabella countered with an arched brow. “If the Dowager wants something, she has the power to take it. You will learn this soon enough, Half-Blood.”

‘Is that all this is? A power play to remind the servants here who holds the most power in Lafeara?’ Carina glanced over to where Leo’s attention was diverted for a moment to the scuffling sounds in the cellar. ‘Then perhaps it is time to show our enemies that we are not so easily intimidated.’

Carina lowered her head with a defeated sigh and gestured Sabella closer with her left hand. Her right hand, tucked behind her back, tightened its grip on one of Iker’s silver daggers.

Leo refocused on Carina suspiciously, then released Tiffany as he cried out, “Lady Sabella, wait—”

Unwilling to let this opportunity slip away so easily, Carina leapt forward and yanked Sabella off balance towards the kitchen door. The senior attendant banged her chest into the doorframe with a surprised squawk, then went stiff as Carina tapped the silver blade against her shoulder.

“What-what are you—” Sabella gasped as Carina shifted the startled attendant between herself and the frantic knight captain that bounded towards them.

“I tried asking nicely,” Carina answered calmly as she shifted the blade closer to Sabella’s neck, stopping Leo in his tracks. “Now I think it’s time you took me seriously. Hand over the keys, Lady Sabella, and have your men put their weapons away at once!”

“Have you lost your mind!” Leo shouted.

Carina exhaled slowly, the Winter Rose trembled as her racing heart seemed to pulse through it, yet her hands remained steady—as if threatening a room full of people with a dagger and hostage was the most natural thing in the world.

“You injured two of the crown princess’s people to force your way into her cellar and rob her of wine?” Carina countered with a cold laugh. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Captain Leo, d-don’t just stand there!” Sabella screeched. “Do—something!”

Leo’s uneasy brown eyes shifted from Sabella to the silver dagger in Carina’s grip. He took a cautious step closer. Carina quickly pressed the blade against the soft flesh of Sabella’s neck above her carotid artery, and both the knight captain and the senior attendant froze.

Leo exhaled sharply and laughed. “Do you expect me to believe you’re willing to kill her, Lady Maura?”

Carina’s smile faltered. An uneasy disquiet filled her as she envisioned severing the heartbeat that rattled against her blade chaotically. A cold dissonance of emotions—a callous indifference that was not her—seemed more than prepared to take that step.

‘It’s almost as if someone else is holding this dagger through me.’

Instinctively she moved the blade away, but a groan from Mrs. Poppy reminded her that weakness had no place in political negotiations.

“You’re right,” Carina replied with a bitter smile. “The Crown Princess would probably prefer that I scar her face as a warning to anyone else who would blatantly move against her.” She raised the dagger to Sabella’s cheek, and the attendant squeaked. “I would certainly never threaten to kill the Dowager’s servant—” Leo took another step closer, “—but if you were to jump at us with my blade in this precarious position, Lady Sabella might lose an eye—or worse, Captain.”

“N-no, don’t!” Sabella gasped and raised a trembling hand to halt Leo. “Don’t you dare cut my face, you little bitch!”

“Tsk. Language, Lady Sabella,” Carina murmured in a reproachful tone as she leaned closer to the older woman’s ear. “As the Dowager’s senior attendant, you should be setting a better example for the rest of us.”

“Lady Maura!” Captain Leo growled as he shifted his right hand to his knight’s sword. “Think very carefully about what you’re doing.”

“Perhaps a little bloodshed is required to make my point,” Carina observed coldly as she turned the tip of the knife against Sabella’s skin. The senior attendant gasped softly in alarm as a small drop of blood appeared beneath the blade. “What do you think, Lady Sabella?”

“Put your weapons—away at once!” Sabella gasped wretchedly. “Captain, do as I say, or you will be made to bear the consequences!”

Leo nodded to the knights, who—with evident reluctance—sheathed their swords.

“The keys, Lady Sabella?” Carina prompted.

“Yes—Here!” Sabella panted as she slowly moved her left hand to her belt, slipped the keys free, and passed them back to Carina.

“Good.” Carina moved the dagger away, and a small trickle of blood poured free. “Now, Captain Leo, have your men remove their swords and leave them on the racks.”

“This—” one of the knights protested.

“They will be returned to you after you exit the Crown Princess’s palace,” Carina interrupted with a patient smile. She slid the dagger across the blood that slowly trailed down Sabella's cheek, then spread the scarlet color across the older woman’s pale skin. “Do I need to give another demonstration?”

“Stop—dawdling and—do what she says!” Sabella snapped urgently.

The knights turned to their captain, who sighed and once more gave his men a nod of approval. Leo himself unbuckled his sword but passed it to Tiffany rather than place it on a shelf. He whispered something to the pale, trembling lady-in-waiting. Tiffany shot him a startled looked before she moved quickly away.

Leo turned back to face Carina. “There,” he said with a dramatic wave of his hand. “Are you satisfied?”

“Not quite,” Carina returned with a knowing smile. “Six knights came with Lady Sabella, but only two and yourself stand before me. Have the others remove their weapons and leave them behind in the cellar before they join us here in the pantry.”

Leo clenched his jaw. His dark gaze narrowed as he lowered his hands, which curled into fists at his side. “You heard Lady Maura. Do as she commands,” he growled in the direction of the cellar door.

Carina listened intently to the movements inside the cellar as the footsteps approached behind her.

“Lady Maura!” Jordan’s voice held a mix of anxiety and worry. “What are you—”

“Captain Leo and his men are removing their weapons,” Carina interrupted sharply. “Did you find our missing knights?” She checked over her shoulder to find two other knights accompanied Sir Jordan. “Is this it?”

“The others were—sent out on an errand,” mumbled the blond knight behind Jordan.

“This ain’t right!” complained an older knight with a full silver beard. “She’s threatening one of the Dowager’s people. Jordan, what have you dragged us into?”

“If you don’t want to be involved, then leave Rose Palace and don’t bother returning,” Carina snapped as she shot the cowardly knight a scathing look. “At once!”

The older man stiffened, then promptly turned on his heels and left.

Carina refocused on Captain Leo, who wore an annoying smirk. The other two knights stood with raised hands and impatient, resigned expressions.

‘They think I’m going to regret this?’ She realized and scoffed.

“Is your friend with us, Jordan?” Carina asked over her shoulder.

After a moment's pause, Jordan moved up alongside her. “Yes. Sir Gawen is with me.”

“Good. Captain Leo, you can call the other knights out of the cellar now. They should open their jackets and keep their hands raised to the ceiling so I can ensure they haven’t stolen anything.”

“Do as she says and come out,” Leo called out wearily.

Three more knights lumbered into the tiny pantry, the white cotton blouse beneath their unbuttoned jackets visible as they stood shoulder to shoulder before her. Carina eyed the gaps between their coat and shirt and thought she detected a small bulge beneath the jacket of a knight who stood a head shorter than the rest.

“What are you carrying there?” She asked sharply as she gestured her dagger towards him.

The knight scowled and glanced towards Leo.

“Just—show her,” the knight captain sighed, though his gaze narrowed.

The knight’s face twisted, then he shrugged and opened his jacket further. A bundled clump of red cloth jammed into an inner pocket came into view.

“Pull them out and open them,” Carina ordered.

The knight complied without protest as he pulled what turned out to be three large handkerchiefs from his pocket. A quick shake revealed nothing visibly hidden inside them.

“Satisfied?” Leo asked with a hint of impatience.

Carina glanced from him to the short knight, unable to pinpoint why the idea of a knight carrying extra handkerchiefs on his person unsettled her.

‘Anyway, should there be three or four Knights? Did the six Tilly counted include Captain Leo?’

Her gaze shifted towards the blonde attendant, frozen in the corner of the pantry. “Lady Tiffany,” Carina called out with a neutral smile. “Would you come this way, please?”

“I—” Tiffany glanced uncertainly towards Leo, then dropped her gaze. “Yes, I’m—coming.” She slid past the captain and the other knights with Leo’s sword hugged to her chest.

Carina moved aside, and Jordan assisted Tiffany through the door before returning.

“What now?” Jordan asked anxiously.

‘Must I do everything myself?’ Carina sighed. “Now, we shall have our uninvited guests leave the palace the same way they came in.”

“And Lady Sabella?” Leo demanded.

“Will be released into your care along with your weapons the moment you exit the palace,” Carina repeated with a grim smile.

Leo shut his eyes and appeared to consider her offer and its alternatives for a moment, then he opened them and nodded. “Fine, we’ll do it your way.”

“An excellent choice!”

“But I’m going to enjoy watching you suffer for this,” Leo added with a twisted smile.

Carina’s smile tightened as she moved the flat of her blade against Sabella’s neck. The senior lady-in-waiting whimpered as her back stiffened. “I’m going to take Lady Sabella outside into the hallway. These knights will escort you and your men to the front door. The less fuss, the better as I would prefer not to be startled and accidentally injure the Dowager’s senior lady-in-waiting further.”

“Harmonia protect me,” Sabella mumbled unsteadily.

Leo turned his gaze from Carina to the knight holding the three red handkerchiefs. The short man sent the knight captain an almost undetectable nod.

‘What does that mean? That can’t be good.’ Carina focused on the cellar door. ‘My count might be off. Tilly said there were six—but there might be one more knight hiding—’

“We’re ready when you are, Lady Maura,” Leo announced.

“Alright.” Carina pulled on Sabella’s arm and tapped the knife lightly against the woman’s jaw. “Step back slowly over the threshold now, Lady Sabella.” Her captive complied, a bit clumsily. Carina shifted the knife to a safer distance from the attendant’s neck as they moved backward. “Okay, now turn around and head to the kitchen door.”

Jordan nodded to Carina and drew his sword as she passed.

“Through the door to the right, Lady Sabella.” Carina kept her voice light and calm. With her visual attention focused on her captive, Carina’s ears remained trained on the sounds of the knights in the pantry. When they were a safe distance down the hall, she called out, “Escort our visitors outside, Sir Jordan!”

A few moments later, the first three knights left the pantry with their hands raised under the watchful eye of Sir Gawen. The last three, which included Leo and the suspicious knight, soon followed, with Jordan taking up the rear.

‘So far, so good.’

“Eight steps forward,” Carina ordered. Sabella, who appeared to have regained her courage with the possibility of release, huffed angrily but complied with the request.

“I knew you wouldn’t last long in the palace—but to think you would dare to cross the Dowager?” Sabella prattled off with mixed relief and outrage. “People tend to disappear after offending the Queen Regent. Especially pretty little things like you who imagine yourselves superior. Whatever did she see in you to allow you to remain in the first place.”

“Oh, dear. The shock appears to have muddled your thoughts, Lady Sabella. Surely you have not forgotten your attempts to throw me out of the Selection at the last minute,” Carina countered sarcastically.

“I—was acting in the palace's best interest. Your unfortunate status demeans the importance such a position holds for the rest of nobility who are honored to serve the royal family as attendants.”

“Mmm, stop here, please.” Carina pulled her captive to a halt beside the kitchen door. “And do be quiet.”

“I will not be told what to do by a—”

Carina ignored the rest of the senior attendant’s ramble as she released Sabella’s arm for a moment and flicked her left wrist and fingers inside the kitchen. A dense cold mist glided from her hand up towards the ceiling, where it pooled and then turned towards the pantry and cellar beyond. As the mist moved beneath her will, it thinned until it was invisible to the human eye, yet Carina could sense everything the cold magic touched.

It registered the presence of Chef Robby, who now knelt over the still unconscious Mrs. Poppy. Once inside the cellar, the mist stretched until it filled every corner of the room. Detecting no lingering heartbeat of a hidden foe, Carina exhaled, took Sabella’s arm, and nudged her towards the palace doors. “Let’s go. You’ll be free soon enough.”

“Oh! Why is your hand so cold! Just you wait—” Sabella stumbled, and Carina jerked the blade away from the senior attendant’s neck with an exasperated sigh.

“Slowly, or do you want a permanent scar as a reminder of today?”

“D-did you forget you already cut me!” Sabella demanded through quivering lips

“A small prick,” Carina responded with strained patience. “Hardly worse than anything suffered while learning needlework.”

“I hardly stab myself in the face with embroidery!”

“If you are going to complain, perhaps I should give you something to complain about.”

“Just see what the Dowager will do to you if you dare!”

[B2] Chapter 24: A Breach of Trust

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Chapter 24: A Breach of Trust

Soon after giving Sabella the final push out of Rose Palace, Carina stepped back so Jordan could slam the front door shut.

“Okay,” Jordan whispered as he leaned his weight against the door. “Now what?”

Carina exhaled as she studied the door, searching for more than a flimsy lock to prevent another forced entry. ‘Then again, that’s what the royal knights are supposed to be for.’

She turned her attention to the room about her and set her dagger down on a small table by the window as she climbed the chair and, after a bit of struggle, pushed the curtain rod off its metal hook.

“Sir Gawen, the door!” Jordan urged, then swapped places with the blonde knight as he hastened to Carina’s side and helped her settle the heavy curtains and rod down onto the floor. Together they heaved the burdensome material and hooks free, then Jordan carried the rod over to Gawen, and the two knights quickly eased it into the loops of the door handle.

“That should hold them off for a bit,” Jordan muttered as he moved to the window that they had just un-curtained.

“They won’t barge in a second time today,” Carina answered confidently as she pulled the heavy fabric into a neat pile beside the chair. “We should return the swords they left quickly so they can leave the premises.”

“Oh, of course, hand over swords to a bunch of angry knights,” Jordan hid a chuckle under a heavy sigh. “How do you propose we do that, Lady Maura? Through the window?”

“After all that effort we put into securing the door,” Gawen muttered. “The window works just fine for me.”

“Have they gone?” Tilly whispered as she crept down the stairs to where they had all gathered by the door.

“Yes, for now. And let’s do as Sir Jordan suggested,” Carina confirmed with a nod to the unveiled window. “Sir Gawen, if you and Tilly wouldn’t mind retrieving the knight’s weapons.”

Gawen nodded, still looking a bit dazed, then headed down the hall with Tilly right behind him.

Lady Tiffany looked dejected as she wavered by the steps, still holding Captain Leo’s sword.

“Lady Tiffany,” Carina called out as she retrieved her dagger. Almost instantly, the blonde attendant’s gaze leapt to the small blade, and she flinched. “Lady Tiffany?” Carina repeated.

“Sorry, yes?” Tiffany squeaked as she raised her gaze to Carina’s face.

“You can give Sir Jordan the captain’s sword,” Carina replied calmly.

Jordan stepped forward and held out his hands. Tiffany glanced up at the knight uncertainly, then nodded as she handed over Leo’s property.

“Now then, Lady Tiffany, if you would help me round up the servants and bring a few helping hands to the pantry for clean up. I need to go attend to Chef Robbi and Mrs. Poppy.”

“Yes—Yes, of course.” Tiffany turned slowly and wandered for a moment in no particular direction before she took the steps upstairs.

‘Hopefully, she’s not running off to hide in her room.’ Carina sighed and shook her head as she turned to Jordan. “Stay by the door. When they’ve gone, lock the outer gate, and either you or Sir Gawen will need to remain outside to let Eleanora back in when she returns.”

“What should we tell her?” Jordan asked uncertainly as Carina turned towards the steps.

“The truth,” Carina replied wearily as she propped her left foot against the steps and returned the dagger to the strap above her knee.

❆❆❆❆❆

Robbi had moved Poppy from the pantry to a kitchen chair. His tense expression shifted from uncertainty to relief as Carina stepped through the door. “They are gone?”

“The knights are outside the palace doors waiting to have their weapons tossed out to them,” Carina answered with a nod to where Gawen and Tilly were pulling swords from the pantry shelves. Moving to the head housekeeper’s side, Carina quickly checked Poppy’s pulse.

“She’s just unconscious, nothing serious—though we’ll have to wait for her to wake up,” Carina murmured to the anxious-looking chef. “Could you double-check and make sure the servant’s back door is locked while I examine her?”

“Oh, yes—” Robbi set down the large kitchen knife and headed towards the pantry.

Carina placed her hand against the swelling at the back of Poppy’s head. A quick dose of cold magic coated the woman’s scalp and seeped into the small open wound as the housekeeper shivered and blinked sluggishly. The wound soon closed beneath a sheet of ice, and Carina wiped the frozen blood from her hand onto a nearby towel.

By the time Robbi returned, Poppy was awake but still groggy. “What am I—” she turned her gaze from attendant to chef “—what happened?” she demanded in her native tongue.

“You fell and hit your head on the pantry shelf,” Robbi replied with a barely suppressed anger.

“I did not fall—I was pushed!” Poppy grimaced as she clasped her neck and straightened gingerly. “That blonde vixen must have sold me out—if she hadn’t summoned me, they wouldn’t have known who had the keys!”

Carina had a good idea which blonde Poppy was referring to. “Mrs. Poppy, you have a slight abrasion on the back of your head. There is a little blood, but thankfully the wound has already closed. With your permission, I should like to examine your mental focus.”

Poppy turned to her, surprised, but nodded slowly. “Yes, alright. What do I need to do?”

“Your speech is improving quickly,” Carina observed with a relieved smile.

“Was there anything wrong with it to begin with?” Poppy muttered with a disdainful sniff.

“Follow my finger with your eyes, please, Mrs. Poppy.” Carina held up her finger and moved it back and forth at a distance of one foot.

Poppy frowned at the request but complied. Her hazel-brown eyes trailed the attendant’s finger with apparent boredom.

“Good, now hold up your arms like so.” Carina demonstrated for the housekeeper by extending both of her arms until they were perpendicular to the floor.

Poppy turned a befuddled glance towards Robbi, who scowled and motioned for her to get on with it, though his lips twitched with signs of laughter as Poppy mimicked Carina’s posture.

“Excellent. Keep your arms there, and don’t let me push them down.” Carina took Poppy’s wrists and applied a measured amount of force to the woman’s arms. Poppy grimaced as she resisted Carina’s weight but kept her arms straight. “No obvious signs of muscle weakness,” Carina said with satisfaction as she released Poppy and stepped back. “But it would be best if you took the rest of the day to rest. Also, avoid falling asleep until after supper.”

“You want me to rest?” Poppy scoffed and dropped her arms. “After such a ruckus?” She gestured to where Gawen and Tilly now edged carefully through the kitchen, their arms filled with swords. “How could I possibly take the day off?”

“If you insist, Mrs. Poppy, but please don’t push yourself. Rest if you feel dizzy at all. If you should fall and hit your head again, the consequences will be more severe,” Carina replied firmly. “I shall prepare an icepack to help with the swelling, but a royal physician should examine and treat the wound properly.”

“Why can’t you treat it?” Poppy demanded with a scowl.

‘Because my supplies are limited, and I don’t want to broadcast my abilities outside Rose Palace.’

“Practicing medicine without an official license inside the palace is expressly forbidden,” Carina reminded her patiently.

“Then what of your treatment for Lady Hana?”

“All I have provided to Lady Hana is herbal tea and a specialized diet,” Carina replied with a wry smile. “I don’t need a medical license to pour tea.”

Poppy scoffed and shook her head. “Oh well, never mind me, Robbi is the one still bleeding.”

“It’s just a scratch,” Robbi countered with a gesture to his arm already neatly tied with a kitchen towel. “And listen to the Lady. She has healing skills.”

“That child just said that she only knows a few herbs and how to pour tea.”

Carina exhaled slowly and turned to the chef. “Would you come with me to examine the cellar?”

“You think they managed to smuggle out some of the Caligo Wine?” Robbi asked already on his way to the cellar door.

Carina followed him and shook her head. “It’s the red handkerchiefs that knight was carrying that have me worried. Perhaps they came not to take something, but to leave something behind.”

“Poison?” Robbi murmured, not sounding at all surprised. “Royals don’t change no matter where you go.”

“For now, let’s check each bottle and barrel to ensure they are still properly sealed. Anything with a broken label or suspicious substance should be set aside and disposed of.”

“There are almost a hundred bottles in her Highness’s cellar,” Robbi lamented with a resigned sigh.

“Then we better get started.”

❆❆❆❆❆

While Carina and Chef Robbi made their way through each bottle and barrel, Mrs. Poppy soon rounded up a few footmen and maids to reorganize the pantry and carry out the broken shelf pieces. Carina shut the door between them to ensure none of the servants disrupted their work and continued along the cellar walls from left to right.

Halfway down the second shelf of carefully organized wine, Carina caught a glimpse of something red beneath the lower shelf. She knelt and pinched the corner of cloth between her fingers, then pulled the heavy damp rag free.

“Chef,” she called out quickly as she turned and held up the wet red fabric. “Does this look familiar to you?”

Robbi frowned and shrugged. “A rag or a lost handkerchief?”

‘No, it's too similar to the handkerchief that suspicious knight had.’

“Please look around and see if you can’t find any other rags like it.”

Robbi nodded and resumed his search. A short while later, he pulled a similar damp cloth from behind a wine bottle. “I found another,” he announced with a troubled frown.

Carina quickly joined him and took the wine bottle the chef held in his hand. She eyed the cork and damp bottleneck, then compared the stopper with the wine bottles nearby. Except for two other bottles, most of the corks were several shades lighter and dry to the touch.

“They’ve been soaked in something—probably whatever these handkerchiefs are filled with—” Carina snapped her attention from the bottles to the rag Robbi held. The chef quickly dropped the fabric as if it had transformed into a snake.

“Flames protection—are we poisoned?” Robbi whispered hoarsely.

“Go, wash your hands, then find some garden gloves and return,” Carina replied calmly. “Bring a servant or two with you—only those you would trust her Highness’s life to that are capable of keeping a secret.”

Robbi nodded, already slightly pale, and quickly darted through the pantry door.

Carina glanced down at the invisible layer of ice that coated her fingers and sighed as she approached a lit candle on the wall sconce by the back door. She held her fingers over the flame and watched the ice melt and drip into the wax.

‘If the handkerchiefs were previously soaked in poison, then dried and carried here, dosed with another agent or water, and then wrapped around the bottle corks.’ Carina removed her fingers from the flame as she thought back to the short knight and the gloves he had been wearing indoors. ‘As long as the corks absorb enough of the poison, it would eventually seep into the wine while any sign of disturbance would disappear once the corks and bottles dried.’

Carina laughed as she stared down at her dry fingers, somewhat impressed by the Dowager’s plan. “So you forced your way into the palace to steal some valuable wine, but your real purpose was to poison the other wine reserved for Eleanora and her guests. You couldn’t use a spy because Mrs. Poppy controls the cellar keys and won’t lend them to anyone.” She paused for a moment and frowned. “But the poison can’t be anything lethal when yourself, your grandson, and other important guests stand a chance of drinking the wine.”

Carina rubbed her fingers together and paced slowly back towards the red handkerchief on the floor. “Your poison would need to be undetectable, even after such an uproar, so you could avoid suspicion. That makes using something immediately lethal out of the question. But still, for you to make such efforts, you must have prepared something worth the risk. Something specifically designed to harm your intended target.” She closed her warm fingers into a fist as her gaze narrowed. “Something that wouldn’t affect a visiting dignitary, the Crown Prince, or yourself, but would be harmful to a Crown Princess, who has a fondness for wine and a habit of overindulging to mask her loneliness. A poison that will affect Eleanora and Eleanora alone.”

‘Of course.’

Carina hastily resumed her frantic search, pulling out any bottle that looked remotely damp and setting them on the floor behind her.

By the time Robbi returned with one of the footmen, she had finished two shelves, which left another five for them to comb through. Carina gave the chef and servant strict instructions of what to look for, and soon another three rags were discovered, shoved between one of the shelves and the back wall. Robbi carefully moved them into an empty crate.

By the time their search concluded, twelve bottles were set aside. Six rags and four open bottles were also removed, one of them the Caligo wine.

“We just got these in last week. None of them should be open. They were reserved for the Ambassador’s banquet,” Robbi explained as he hastily pulled out the inventory log. “And according to this, only two of the Aswan Wine should be open at all.”

“Perhaps our visitors got thirsty?” the footman suggested with a tired shrug.

“It can’t be the servants. Only Mrs. Poppy has keys to the cellar, and she maintains the log strictly,” Robbi murmured as he turned to Carina.

“Let’s mark them and put them aside with the others,” Carina ordered promptly. “They might have been opened as a ruse to distract us from the other tampered bottles. Either way, nothing that is open can be trusted.”

Robbi nodded, and he and the footman gathered up the marked bottles then stacked them into emptied crates.

“Lady Maura,” Poppy called out briskly as she opened the cellar door, “the Crown Princess has returned, and she would like to see you in the study.”

Carina took in a slow breath as she examined the crate of damp scarlet handkerchiefs and nodded. ‘This could go one of two ways.’ “I need to bring one of the rags and a few of the marked bottles with me.”

“Not to worry, Lady Maura,” Robbi replied as he gathered the requested items into a small barrel. “I shall be a witness on your behalf.”

“The rest of the rags and bottles need to remain in the cellar under lock and key. Mrs. Poppy?” Carina turned back to the housekeeper, who raised a brow at the pile of discarded wine bottles.

“Very well, I’ll keep the rest of the staff out of here until you’ve explained whatever you’ve discovered to the Crown Princess.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Poppy.”

❆❆❆❆❆

Sir Jordan was just leaving the library as they approached. He stepped aside and offered Carina a formal bow before he moved on down the palace hallway behind them. Poppy continued forward without comment and knocked on the crown princess’s study door.

“Come in!” Eleanora’s voice called out sharply.

Poppy cast an uncertain glance towards Carina then opened the door and stepped aside to permit the attendant and chef to enter.

Inside the crown princess’s study waited Eleanora, Evelynn, and Tiffany, the latter of which seemed to shrink into her chair as Carina entered.

“Lady Maura,” Eleanora greeted behind tensely clasped hands as she leaned on her desk. She was still dressed in her riding attire and, judging from the grim expression on the crown princess’s face, not in a good mood. Eleanora’s amber eyes narrowed as they shifted from Carina to Robbi. “Why have you brought my chef here?”

“Your Highness, I brought myself,” Robbi answered swiftly in his native tongue. He offered a modest bow, then moved confidently towards the desk, where he set down the barrel with a soft thud.

Eleanora’s gaze narrowed further as she lifted one of the bottles of Aswan free. “Is this what they came for? I thought they wanted the Caligo Wine?”

“They were here to plunder and possibly do far worse,” Robbi answered grimly as he lifted the bottle from Eleanora’s hand. “I would not drink that, Princess.”

Eleanora’s expression shifted from annoyance to anger, but she nodded stiffly as the chef returned the bottle to the crate. Her brows furrowed further still as she noted the now bloody towel around Robbi’s arm. “Was anyone else injured?”

“Mrs. Poppy took a rather hard crack to the head and was unconscious for a time. Lady Maura examined the injury and advised her to rest and see a royal physician, but you know how Poppy is with these foreign doctors.”

Eleanora scoffed as her expression softened with worry. She waved him back. “Tell Poppy that I command you both take a few hours to tend to yourself and see a Royal Physician.” She shifted back to Lafearian as she continued, much to the relief of Tiffany and Evelynn, who squinted with confusion every time the language barrier disrupted the flow of conversation. “I want this attack investigated and put on public record before the Dowager attempts to brush it under the rug.”

“Attack, your Highness?” Evelynn repeated in shock. “Surely, that is a bit of an exaggeration. Especially when it was Lady Maura who escalated the situation with threats and violence.”

‘Why am I not surprised you would be the first to throw me into the fire—even though you were not here.’ Carina smiled grimly.

“Mrs. Poppy was already unconscious, Chef Robbi injured, and the pantry heavily damaged by the time I arrived,” Carina explained calmly. “As Sir Jordan, Chef Robbi, the maid Tilly, and Lady Tiffany can attest.”

“Indeed,” Eleanora murmured as she turned her gaze to Tiffany. “Perhaps you’d like to clarify your earlier statement, Lady Tiffany?”

“I—” Tiffany continued to stare at the carpet as she twisted the lilac handkerchief in her hand. “Yes, it is as Lady Maura says.”

“Perhaps you should also consult Mrs. Poppy about the events leading up to my arrival,” Carina suggested as she continued to study Tiffany. “And how it was Lady Sabella learned who had the cellar key.”

Tiffany’s eyes widened in alarm but still refused to lift her gaze from the floor.

“What are you going on about? We already know what happened,” Evelynn snapped as she pointed a finger at Carina. “You actually dare to carry a dagger on your person like some thug or assassin? And you used it to threaten and injure one of the Dowager’s attendants!”

“Please, Lady Evelynn,” Eleanora interjected with a raised hand and a warning look. “Permit Lady Maura to tell us her story first. Neither of us was present when these events transpired, so we should not be so quick to judge her actions.”

“You’re just going to take her word for it?” Evelynn demanded as she whirled to face the crown princess.

“There are others I trust who can bear witness as to whether her words are true,” Eleanora replied with a nod to Robbi.

Evelynn sucked in a breath and wisely held her tongue as she sank stiffly into the chair opposite Tiffany.

“Lady Maura, if you would,” Eleanora said with a permissive wave.

“Of course, your Highness,” Carina replied. “I left early this morning to mail some letters. Sir Jordan was gracious enough to accompany me to and from the post office. Upon our return, we found both the gate and the front door of Rose Palace were unguarded.”

Eleanora’s expression darkened as she intertwined her fingers together.

“We entered and heard the sounds of an argument coming from the kitchen. The maid, Tilly, informed us that Lady Sabella had stormed in with six knights.”

“Six?” Eleanora interrupted, then quickly shook her head and motioned for Carina to continue.

“I sent Jordan to locate our missing knights, but they had been sent away on some errand—though by who or what errand I have yet to discover. Lady Sabella’s knights were already inside the pantry when I confronted her. Lady Tiffany appeared to be held hostage by Captain Leo, and, as I mentioned, Chef Robbi and Mrs. Poppy were already injured and held at sword point.

“Lady Sabella informed me the Dowager had sent her to obtain some of the Caligo Wine. I asked that she return the cellar keys and take her men outside. Lady Sabella refused to comply with my request.” Carina paused and turned to Tiffany. “Do you wish to contradict anything I have said thus far?”

Tiffany timidly glanced up from the carpet and shook her head. “No. I—You did as you said.”

Carina nodded and continued. “I also asked Lady Sabella why the Dowager did not send a formal written request, as is custom, instead of a squad of knights. Lady Sabella replied that the Dowager had the power to do as she pleased and take whatever she wanted.”

Tiffany paled at those words, and even Evelynn looked shocked while Eleanora chuckled darkly and leaned her chin upon her folded hands. “I see. And the knife?”

“A recent purchase delivered this morning,” Carina replied as she lifted her skirt, pulled the blade free, and laid the silver dagger on the desk before Eleanora. She did not miss the shocked expressions of either Evelynn or Tiffany as she did so.

Eleanora, however, appeared unphased as she picked up the delicate but sturdy dagger. “An excellent piece. This is—one of Master Iker’s work, is it not?”

“It is your Highness.”

“A rather expensive purchase for someone who has just become my lady-in-waiting,” Eleanora added as her gaze moved from the dagger to Carina.

“I am not without my own means of earning an income, your Highness.”

Eleanora raised an inquiring brow but nodded, “You will have to share your methods with us another time.” She extended the dagger back to Carina, who returned it to the small sheath above her knee. “In either case, I see my aunt has taught you how to defend yourself. Ah—you can uncover your eyes now, Robbi,” Eleanora instructed with a chuckle.

The chef lowered his hand and coughed against it awkwardly. “Lady Maura is not as shy as most Lafearian women.”

“Your Highness,” Evelynn interjected as she rose from her chair forcefully. “Surely, you are not okay with this? Only knights are permitted to carry weapons inside the royal palace! And Lady Maura injured the Dowager’s attendant all over a few bottles of wine? This can’t go unpunished!”

[B2] Chapter 25: A Trace of Poison

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Chapter 25: A Trace of Poison

“Is this true?” Eleanora asked, turning her gaze to Carina instead of Evelynn.

“It is a rule by tradition, not law, your Highness,” Carina replied with a grimace. “There are certainly stories throughout Lafearian’s history of court noblewomen who carried blades and used them for self-defense.”

“Then, I do not see a problem. It is practical even,” Eleanora said with a satisfied smile. “Especially given our so-called knights have proven less than reliable at their duty.” Her smile quickly faded as she finished.

“Indeed, your Highness.”

Eleanora drummed her finger against the desk for a moment, then shrugged with a melancholy expression. “I would only have myself to blame if I placed further trust in my husband’s knights after today.” She opened her letter book with a determined expression, dipped a quill in ink, and scripted down a short letter.

“Your Highness?” Evelynn murmured uncertainly as she attempted to read the letter’s contents. “What do you—mean to do about the matter?”

“I mean to write to my father, Lord Alastair Kensington, and request that he send a squadron of Kensington soldiers to protect me.”

Evelynn’s hand hastily shot out to stall the crown princess’s pen. “Your Highness, you cannot! If you make such a request—it could be viewed as treason!”

“What Lady Evelynn means to say,” Carina interrupted with no less urgency. “Is that you would need permission from the Crown Prince to hire bodyguards and bring them inside the palace. So before you write to Lord Kensington—it would be best to get permission from the future King.”

Eleanora’s expression pained as she set down the quill and leaned back into her chair to fix them both with an unhappy gaze. “My palace has been invaded. My people were injured. My attendant was forced to use a blade because the Crown Prince’s knights abandoned my property and their duty in my absence. And you are telling me I need another’s permission to hire soldiers who will not hesitate to fight for my safety?”

“That is the law, your Highness,” Carina confirmed.

“And no one is above the law,” Evelynn echoed with a note of relief.

“There is, however, an alternative,” Carina added after a moment's thought.

“What?” Evelynn and Eleanora demanded in unison.

“The Earl of Hawthorne,” Carina answered confidently.

Evelynn scoffed. “It appears Lady Maura is mistaken, your Highness. Even the Earl cannot bring armed men inside the royal palace.”

“But he can petition the House of Lords on your Highness’s behalf,” Carina explained. “As your cousin and leader of the Aristocratic Party. He can force the matter or expose them to any blame should another threat appear.”

“That—” Evelynn exhaled in defeat.

“I see,” Eleanora murmured as her amber eyes moved between them thoughtfully. “Then that is what I must do. I will also write to my father and ask him to speak to the Earl regarding the best way to achieve our goal.”

“But surely that would only needlessly escalate the conflict between your Highness and the Dowager,” Evelynn protested half-heartedly.

Eleanora’s gaze swung towards Evelynn, who flinched beneath its invisible blow. “Are you suggesting I sit back and allow the Dowager to mock me, my people, and my position as future queen?”

“No, your Highness,” Evelynn whispered.

“Good. You may all leave.” Eleanora waved her hand to the study door. “Lady Maura, remain behind a moment.”

Carina bowed her head in acceptance and, upon seeing Evelynn’s unhappy frown, offered her opponent a smug smile. ‘You wanted to use this to discredit me, but now it is your position beside the Crown Princess that has weakened instead.’

Evelynn scowled as she turned and swept from the room. Tiffany hastily followed, her eyes still glued to the carpet. The dazed blonde attendant almost banged into the door frame but was saved by Robbi, who pulled her onto a clear path before he shut the door behind them.

“Please, Lady Maura.” Eleanora nodded to the vacated seats. After Carina sat down, the crown princess gestured to the crate of bottles left on her desk. “Explain.”

“Your Highness knows the cellar is kept locked and secured,” Carina answered, “And that the only person with a key is Mrs. Poppy, who does not lend it out to anyone.” Carina paused for a moment.

“Tell me all, Lady Maura,” Eleanora commanded. “Do not keep secrets from your Queen.”

‘Easier said than done.’ Carina sighed. “It may have been unintentional, but it was Lady Tiffany who told Lady Sabella that Mrs. Poppy had the key.” Eleanora blinked in surprise as Carina continued. “However, in the royal palace, it is fairly common for the head of staff to be responsible for such a task, though it is not unusual for a lady-in-waiting to be given charge over the royal’s cellar instead.”

Eleanora frowned but nodded. “And did you learn why the Dowager sent her henchmen to steal my wine?”

“According to Lady Sabella, they wanted to acquire a few bottles of Caligo wine for the Dowager’s pleasure. Nonetheless, I suspect their true goal was to tamper with the wine remaining inside your Highness’s cellar.” Carina rose from her seat, lifted one of the Aswan bottles from the crate, and turned it to show Eleanora the already drying cork stopper.

Eleanora took the bottle and looked perplexed as she examined the wrinkled wax paper decoration, then attempted to free the cork without success. “It hasn’t been opened,” she confirmed. “Perhaps the label was damaged some other way.”

“Your Highness, the cork itself is uncharacteristically damp, and these wet rags were found hidden away in the cellar, six of them in total.” Carina picked up a pencil from Eleanora’s desk and used it to lift a red handkerchief from the crate. “I believe the rags carried some unknown toxins which were then soaked into the corks of several bottles of your Highness’s wine.”

“Poison?” Eleanora’s tone rippled with anger. “Would the Dowager actually dare? Was the Caligo wine damaged?”

“One bottle was opened, but the other eleven remain undamaged. I would recommend disposing of the open bottle.”

“That would be prudent.” Eleanora eyed the damp rag as its weight carried it off the end of the pencil Carina held, and it dropped back into the crate. “We should have these corks and rags tested for poison then. Perhaps we can use this to our advantage and strike a blow at the Dowager.”

“I agree that having an alchemist test the corks would prove beneficial to identifying the toxins used— But I would not accuse the Dowager at this time.”

“Whyever not?” Eleanora demanded sharply.

“The witness to today's events are but two of your Highness’s attendants recently appointed to the palace, and both recently made nobles as well, along with a few members of your Highness’s staff,” Carina explained patiently. “By number alone, Lady Sabella and the knights she brought would be more than a match. If they countered our accusation with a story of their own, it would be a matter of hearsay and slandering the Queen Regent. They could just as easily accuse us of tampering with your Highness’s wine to harm you or frame the Dowager.”

“You mean—” Eleanora sighed exasperatedly. “She will get away with this.”

“Testimony is only as strong as its backer in the palace,” Carina murmured as she folded her hands patiently. “Which is why I would advise your Highness to gather what evidence we can about the poison used—and wait.”

Eleanora nodded stiffly, her gaze distant. “The old wolf still has too much power.”

“We will take it from her,” Carina replied reassuringly.

“A child would help in that regard,” Eleanora growled with a sharp look at Carina. “I hope you have been preparing to aid me in that matter.”

‘Must you jump to playing the same game as the Dowager? It will be both of our necks and the lives of others in peril if we fail.’ Carina folded her arms and smiled patiently. “All the more reason we should keep today’s events under wraps. The moment word gets out that poison appeared inside the Rose Palace, vigilance around his Majesty would increase. Not to mention, it could give the Dowager an opening to take control of your household servants.”

The latter had certainly happened in Maura’s past. Eleanora, naturally suspicious of the Dowager’s every move, had taken the open wine bottles to Nicholas, who confirmed they were poisoned but placed the blame on Eleanora’s household staff, most of whom came from Ventrayna with the Princess.

‘This was the Dowager’s first successful blow against Eleanora. Now it shall be our first defensive victory. We can avoid her trap and remove the other tampered bottles in one fell swoop.’

Eleanora grimaced and nodded reluctantly in agreement. “Of course. But I still believe the best time to act will be during the Ambassador’s visit. Since his brother’s death, Nicholas rarely drinks alcohol, but he is known to indulge quite heavily when Ventrayna is stripping the royal treasury of its riches.”

‘Any monarch would with the heavy taxes Ventrayna extorts.’

“But taxes this year will be lessened due to your Highness' marriage to the Crown Prince,” Carina mentioned cautiously.

“And you would think Nicholas would be more grateful of that fact,” Eleanora muttered darkly. “He saves his kingdom a small fortune while that old she-wolf is allowed to harass me.”

‘Be patient, your Highness. This is but the first of many blows the Dowager will inflict upon us.’ Carina sighed and brushed back her hair.

“You did well today, Lady Maura. You were as brave as any Ventrayna knight—take that as a compliment,” Eleanora said firmly.

“I will. Thank you, your Highness.”

“It is also reassuring to no longer have to worry about the Dowager winning you over to her side,” Eleanora added with a smirk. “That said, having made yourself her enemy—you should be careful.”

“I will bear that warning in mind, your Highness.”

‘But I’m not sure the Dowager is done with me yet.’ Carina frowned as she recalled Tiffany’s guilty expression. ‘Though—if she already has a spy among us—it is possible she has no further need of me.’

A sharp rap at the door interrupted her thoughts.

“Come in,” Eleanora called out with an anxious frown.

Mrs. Poppy entered, followed by an unfamiliar man who hastily swept a bow towards the crown princess.

“Forgive me, your Highness!” the man exclaimed nervously. “I was sent with an urgent message—for the Baroness of Averly.”

Carina turned towards him, surprised. “I am the Baroness. What message do you have?”

“His Lordship, Lord Acheron Hargreve, and the Sir Baltmore, the Mayor of Averly, urgently request your presence to deal with a crisis in your province. They have sent a carriage which awaits outside—” the man dropped hastily to his knees, “—forgive my rudeness, but the matter is grave and cannot wait.”

“It seems quite serious,” Eleanora observed with a hint of reservation.

“Your Highness?” Carina turned back to the crown princess uncertainly. The messenger’s presence and message had caught her completely off guard. Then again, the town of Averly itself had never been a part of her original plans. ‘Is this a move from the Dowager? Surely it's too soon for her to retaliate.’

“You should go, Lady Maura,” Eleanora said with a sigh. “It is your province, after all.”

“But I can’t leave the Royal Palace without a royal pass!” Carina protested.

“Ah, Lord Acheron sent one with me!” the messenger announced as he hastily untied a small silk pouch from his belt and held it out to her.

Inside, Carina found not just a pass but a ring with Hargreve’s family insignia engraved upon it.

‘It must be quite urgent if Acheron sent his family ring along with the messenger.’

Carina nodded. “I will also need to take one of the knights with me as an escort.”

“We have so few at our disposal,” Eleanora replied sarcastically. “However, rules are rules. You may take Sir Jordan with you.”

“Are you sure, your Highness?”

“I still have Major Garrett to keep me safe. He can round up a few trustworthy knights to fill our ranks until the Earl can acquire men with more loyalty to my family.”

“Thank you, your Highness,” Carina replied promptly with a low curtsey. “Then I shall be on my way.”

“Thank you, Baroness!” the messenger said with evident relief as he bowed his head to the floor. “And—Thank you, your Highness!”

[B2] Chapter 26: The Scent of Violence

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Chapter 26: The Scent of Violence

Despite the increased number of knights at the fortress gate, it took only one glance from the knight lieutenant at Acheron’s pass, marked by the House of Lord’s seal, before Carina was waved through without question. The driver quickly whipped his panting team of horses into a tense canter that built up speed and moved into a jolting gallop. Carina braced herself against the luxuriously cushioned seat as the cherry trees flew past and the first buildings of the capital appeared around them.

“Do we have any idea what sort of trouble your province is in, Baroness?” Jordan asked as he steadied his knight’s sword across his lap and held onto the handgrip in the corner of the carriage.

“No, but I suspect it's related to the arrival of the Pope’s Emissary,” Carina replied, her repose a bit rattled by their bumpy journey. “While I was waiting for you, the messenger said Averly’s Mayor was in a panic because their chapel was under attack.”

Jordan raised a brow and exhaled with an unhappy grimace. “So, we could be dealing with witch hunters?”

Carina tightened her grip on the carriage seat and touched the Winter Rose beneath her gown bodice. “We will find out when we get there.”

Jordan nodded and stared at his sword for a moment before glancing out the carriage window as the road veered, and the outskirts of the capital rapidly disappeared behind them.

A countryside of summer fields, dogwood trees, farms, and cottages lay overshadowed beneath the distant approach of rain clouds. Carina gazed towards the gloomy, threatening horizon and watched with curiosity as a flock of dark birds gathered in distant trees before they swarmed once more into the air to catch the north wind’s current.

‘North to Averly?’

A wheel struck a bump in the road with a jolt, and Carina’s posterior lifted cleanly off the carriage seat. Jordan caught her arm and waist as she tumbled forward, his sword forgotten as it slid onto the floor with a muffled clang. After a quick exhale, Carina regained her balance and returned to her seat, this time clinging to the handgrip with both hands.

“Should I have the driver slow down?” Jordan asked with a worried glance at her braced ankle.

“No,” Carina replied with a shake of her head. “I have a feeling we’re not moving fast enough.”

❆❆❆❆❆

By the time the carriage pulled to a stop, Carina was feeling “car sick.” Jordan appeared little better off though he bore it all silently, probably too proud to complain before a lady who had suffered the same journey.

Through unfocused, weary eyes, Carina made out a prominent country estate outside the carriage window. She straightened her stiffening back, rubbed her numb palms and fingers together, and motioned for Sir Jordan to open the door.

“Baroness!” the messenger yanked the door open just before Jordan’s fingers reached it. “I apologize if the journey was uncomfortable.”

‘If?’ Jordan’s expression seemed to grumble as he pushed past the anxious man and exited the carriage.

“Never mind that, why are we not at the church? Where is the Mayor?” Carina replied as Jordan gave himself a quick full-body stretch then turned to extend his hand to her.

Her first few steps wobbled, and not because of her ankle. Carina could only imagine how much pain her body would be in—if she could feel pain—and felt a stab of guilt for Jordan, who walked with a limp and occasional wince as they followed the messenger towards the large house.

Although the estate was not as large as the Turnbell Manor, it was nevertheless a house of status. A balding butler with a silver mustache greeted them with a bow and explained the Mayor was not at home but had gone to the chapel with Lord Acheron.

“Then I suppose that is where we should be,” Carina reasoned with a sigh. Jordan’s expression turned miserable, and Carina herself felt a bit green at the thought of another carriage ride. “How far is the chapel?”

The messenger leaned against his knees with a defeated groan and shook his head. “I can’t—go back there—”

The butler glanced at the younger servant; his immaculate pepper grey mustache barely quivered as he sniffed in disapproval. Then he turned to Carina and placed a hand on his chest. “If you will give me just a moment, Baroness, I can escort you.”

“Oh, of course,” Carina replied and blinked as he stepped back and shut the door between them. Carina turned to Jordan, who merely raised a brow and shrugged.

A moment later, the butler returned, this time carrying a loaded crossbow and quiver. “It is but a short walk to the chapel, Baroness—unless you would prefer to go by carriage?”

“No,” Carina declined quickly as she stepped back to let the man pass. “Sir Jordan and I could probably do with an opportunity to stretch our legs. Please, lead the way, Mr.?”

“Please, Baroness, call me Sir Basil. I may not look like it, but I was a knight once myself,” the butler informed them as he descended the manor steps and moved promptly down the lane towards the cluster of buildings that made up part of Averly’s town. Carina and Jordan followed close behind him while a frankly rather exhausted looking messenger trailed after them.

Closed doors and shuttered windows greeted them on every street. A few discarded tools, children’s toys, and a stray orange cat made the absence of pedestrians all the more unsettling.

“Where are all the townspeople?” Carina asked as she readjusted her hood around her hair and face.

“In the town square, I expect, Baroness,” Sir Basil replied in a polite but tense manner.

Murky reflections in a shop window turned Carina’s attention towards a flock of crows that swooped overhead on silent wings. She followed their path across the rooftops towards two pillars of smoke that twisted across the horizon of approaching storm clouds.

Carina focused on the smoke. A sense of dread coated her skin in sharp prickles as a lump rose in the back of her throat. “Something is burning?”

Sir Basil stopped in his track and followed her gaze towards the darkening smoke. “Ahh—yes. I suppose that means they’ve started.”

“Started what?” Jordan asked tensely, still surveying the empty streets around them.

The charred odor of bitter iron and pungent death drifted over the rooftops as the wind changed direction. The scent seemed to stir a memory within Carina, one that was not her own, as ghostly shrieks clawed her ears and raised the hairs on her neck.

Sir Basil glanced from Jordan to Carina with an expression of pity before he answered with apparent reluctance, “Burning Witches.”

❆❆❆❆❆

It was a different kind of town square from that of Lafeara’s capital. A single large public well stood at its center, surrounded by buckets and a few scattered tables and chairs. Along the edge of the public square, a half-circle of shops filed around the town’s water source to face the chapel and its bell tower.

Compared to the buildings around it, the two-story chapel with a single rising spire appeared to be newer and larger in size. The structure’s stained glass windows lay muted beneath the shadows of the gathering storm, but it was the two burning pyres that writhed and hissed but a few feet from the chapel’s open doors, which desecrated this reverent structure.

The fear in Carina’s chest twisted like a dagger as her gaze homed in on the wilted figures hidden behind the dancing wall of flames. Still bound to their post, the slumped posture of the victims’ heads implied they had escaped their grizzly torment, but the blistered, baked skin that framed human teeth and twisted, deformed jaws bore witness to their violent, barbaric death.

The howling agony of their death echoed in the flames that sparked and shrieked into the wind. Carina could not tear her eyes away, couldn’t block the scent or escape the terror it awoke in her. It was as if they reached to her from beyond their mortal shell. Their invisible cold hands wrapped around her throat and wrists and promised her no mercy.

‘This is the fate of a witch in Lafeara.’

“Lady Maura, please don’t look.” Jordan moved to block her view, his voice muffled by the handkerchief he held pressed to his mouth to mask the stench. “My Lady?”

“We—we should find the Mayor,” Carina whispered and flinched as a snowflake of ash dropped against her cheek. She wiped it away and stared at the black smear it left upon her fingers. “Where is he—where is the Mayor?”

“If my Master is not in the square, he will be inside the chapel,” Sir Basil replied in a sympathetic tone. “Forgive me, Baroness. It is not a sight for one still so young.”

‘Inside the chapel?’ Carina stared at the simple stone pathway, which led through the two burning pyres to the chapel. ‘Is that why they placed them there—to dissuade others from interfering?’

She glanced at the crowd of townspeople who gathered along the edge of the square and stared with shuttered eyes at the dead witches. Only the young looked stricken and horrified. The older residents bore an expression of grim acceptance and even indifference.

‘It’s only been two years since the last witch burnings. I don’t recall—but it’s possible Averly has witnessed such public burnings before.”

“I need to speak to Lord Acheron and the Mayor,” Carina announded stiffly as she stepped around Jordan.

“My Lady, please don’t force yourself too—”

“They asked for my help. If I can do anything to prevent further insensible cruelty—I will.”

Carina knew her words sounded far more confident than she felt. Logic and reasoning were screaming at her to run away, and yet her feet moved resolutely towards the remnants of these two unknown souls.

The bitter, nauseating stench filled her nostrils and throat with sweltering misery as Carina approached the twisting flames. The closer she drew—the more she felt them.

Like a barrier of wills, her limbs grew heavy beneath their empty, burning gaze. Rancid smoke stung her eyes and filled her lungs. Within her tightening chest, Carina’s heart raced hysterically as if her soul were desperate to tear away from her body and fly from this place.

‘Is this—a warning?’

Before she could take another step past the barrier, Carina heard the crowd gasp and a scream behind her—then a body blurred past her vision and slammed against the granite steps two feet ahead.

Carina stared at the figure in white. The woman’s habit twisted around her light brown hair, her face buried—no collapsed—caved into the cracked granite corner of the middle step. Blood quickly collected around the woman’s smothered face and stained the robes beneath her chest, then crawled along the crevices of the stone path to form a scarlet pool of death.

Carina sucked in a strangled breath as she stared into its dark crimson surface and saw the pyres' demonic flames reflected within them.

Wind and fire howled in her ears as Carina focused on the woman’s right hand, which twitched for a brief moment, but then went utterly still.

She barely registered Jordan’s voice as he grabbed her waist and pulled Carina back from the chapel. The town residents surged behind their retreat to gawk at the gruesome sight, their voices distorted and inaudible. And yet, from somewhere in the crowd, she could hear someone laughing.

‘How could they—How could anyone laugh at this?’

Her legs offered no resistance as Jordan sat her on a chair beside the well. Sir Basil appeared with a damp handkerchief, which he passed to the knight.

“Forgive my impertinence,” Jordan said gruffly before he pressed the cloth against her face and wiped it clean.

The cold pressure snapped Carina from her daze. She glanced down at the cloth in his hand and stared in confusion at the red stains smeared upon the damp green cloth.

‘Blood?’

The maddening pace of her heart steadily decreased to a dull, heavy thud that filled her ears as her body went numb, and her mind filled with one inescapable thought.

‘Unforgivable.’

Carina swallowed her fury and sharply exhaled. Through the cold vapor of her breath, she focused on the flock of crows gathered on the rooftops around the square. The observers’ dark gazes drifted over the rabble before them while the townspeople remained blissfully ignorant. Averly’s citizens soon turned their attention to a group of men that emerged through the chapel doors and strode down towards the woman’s corpse.

Two of the men were witch hunters, garbed in familiar scarlet cloaks and armor, while the other two behind them were dressed as Lafearian nobles. Carina recognized the youngest noble as Lord Acheron.

She did not attempt to rise or greet him. Her body remained locked in a stasis of shock long after Jordan removed the blood from her face and neck. The stains on her dress and cloak would likely not wash off—but Carina little cared to wear them again.

Her frozen breath appeared and evaporated before her eyes in slow repetition as Carina watched the crowds part. One of the witch hunters dragged the dead woman's mangled body from the chapel steps over to a pyre, where he tossed her onto the flames.

“If you’ve no stomach for this, go home!” Shouted the other witch hunter as he faced the crowd. “Rest assured, we are merely cleansing the church of foul witches that have tarnished this sacred sanctuary.”

The crowd murmured in response while Acheron, whose pale complexion had turned an odd shade of gray, registered Carina’s presence.

“Lady Maura!” He grabbed the arm of the noble beside him and quickly dragged the older man towards her. “Mayor Baltmore, this is the Baroness of Averly, Lady Maura.”

“Ah—a pleasure, Baroness,” the Mayor greeted her haltingly as he fumbled with his cane. “I-I am sorry. I do wish we could have met under happier circumstances—”

“How-how do we stop this?” Carina interrupted hoarsely.

“Lady Maura, your dress—” Acheron mumbled as he glanced towards the soiled handkerchief in Jordan’s grasp. Realization and shock registered across his face. “I—I am so sorry!” He knelt beside her and wrapped his hands around her cold, numb fingers.

“How can I help?” Carina forced out as her jaw tightened. She needed answers, a solution, anything to help refocus her mind from the image of a woman with no face.

“There is little that can be done, Baroness,” the Mayor answered with bitter resignation. “As long as they remain on church property and only punish members of the church—we cannot touch them. If we get in their way, we would be defying not only the church but the royal family.”

“They are murdering people—defenseless women!” Carina protested.

“Witches—” the Mayor corrected hesitantly “—or so they claim.”

“And did they provide you with any proof before they—” Carina’s voice failed her as her fingers twisted inside the folds of her cloak. She blinked rapidly and clamped her jaw shut before her genuine emotions could break free.

The Mayor lifted the handkerchief from his nose and mouth to wipe his brow. “They are witch hunters, my Lady. Their very identity means they can judge a witch from a mortal by simply looking at them.”

Another scream echoed through the square, followed by a quick, stomach-lurching thud that sent a sickening chill down Carina’s spine.

“Another one,” a voice nearby confirmed.

“Saints have mercy,” whispered someone else.

“Perhaps—I should not have brought you into this,” Acheron lamented as he moved closer to block her view.

“It seems this witch also couldn’t fly!” a witch hunter cackled, who stood a few feet to her right.

“Maura, your hands are freezing,” Acheron whispered as he released her left hand and brushed his fingers against her cheek. “You’re ice cold.”

Carina avoided his worried gaze as she searched the crowd, seeking some semblance of anger at this cruelty and injustice. She barely noticed when Jordan removed his cape and draped it around her shoulders. Her futile search only ceased when she caught a glint of glowing white hair.

Between the mutated figures of the murmuring townspeople, a strange white-haired woman, garbed in a scarlet dress, stared back at Carina with two bottomless eyes—and smiled.

A sinister sense of deja-vu washed over Carina as the volume of the protesting crowd suddenly spiked.

“This—they’ve gone too far!” the Mayor protested as he quickly broke away. Acheron released Carina’s hands and followed him.

Carina watched them struggle through the crowd and turned to search for the white-haired woman once more, but she too was lost in the chaos.

“We should get you out of here, my Lady,” Jordan said urgently as he pulled her to her feet.

“What is happening?” Carina asked, her voice barely mustering the strength to form a whisper.

“Please, Lady Maura.” Jordan turned her away from the turmoil towards the path they had taken into the town square.

“No, wait—I can’t just lea—” Carina’s feeble protest cut off at the sharp cry of a baby echoed over the crowd, followed by the desperate voice from a long-forgotten dream.

“No! Please! Please give me back my baby!”

Carina whipped around and shoved past a startled Jordan. Her breath caught in the back of her throat as she raced towards the crowd that blocked her view. The path through the jostling townspeople suddenly parted as Acheron stumbled back and fell to the ground with a grunt of pain.

A witch hunter advanced towards the fallen noble with a sinister laugh. “Now, now. Don’t hurt yourself, my Lord.”

Beyond them, Carina saw the Mayor climb to his feet and scramble away from the second witch hunter, who held an infant tucked against his chest with one hand. Below the witch hunter, a woman with familiar jade-green eyes and dark raven hair squirmed as she gasped for air beneath the boot pressed against her chest.

“Just lay there and be still. I’ll give the brat back to you if he manages to pass a quick test,” the witch hunter taunted as his comrade returned and yanked the woman up by her hair.

“No! No, you bastards! Don’t hurt him!” the young mother screamed.

Carina stumbled to a halt as she stared at the woman’s face—a face as familiar as Carina’s own name.

For eight long years, Carina had wondered, had grieved, had been riddled sick with guilt—and now Jade stood before her once more—alive.

[B2] Chapter 27: A Play of Power

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Chapter 27: A Play of Power

The deep tenuous roar of the crowd filtered around Carina’s loud gasping breath as she stepped hesitantly. Each step a cauldron of anticipation and fear as if she might carelessly break some magical connection she did not understand, and the familiar young woman before her might then disappear like an apparition who never existed.

‘Jade? Is that—is it really you?’

The screaming infant, which dangled out of Jade’s restrained reach, snapped Carina from her mesmerizing thoughts. Her confusion quickly smothered beneath the stench of death that lingered in the air and echoed in the child and mother’s frantic cries.

“My Lady.” Jordan caught her arm firmly.

“No—wait!” Carina protested tensely. ‘That’s Jade’s baby—I have to do something!’ She pulled against the knight’s grip as one of the three witch hunters carried Jade’s baby past them—towards the well.

‘The well? No!’

“Sir Jordan, stop him!” Carina commanded desperately.

To his credit, Jordan did not hesitate to follow her order. He released Carina’s arm with a grim look of determination and charged after the screaming infant. Acheron quickly rolled to his feet and followed behind, bellowing, “Don’t you dare harm that child!”

The other two witch hunters, realizing their comrade was about to be overwhelmed, abandoned their torment of Jade and swiftly ran to his aid.

Carina hurried towards the fallen woman and offered her hand. “Here, let me help you.”

Jade flinched and smacked Carina’s hand aside as she stumbled to her feet then rushed towards the scuffle of men. “Please, give me back my baby!”

‘She doesn’t recognize me?’ Carina felt a twinge of pain as she followed behind her friend. ‘Of course, she doesn’t. I’m Maura now.’

Jordan gripped the kidnapping witch hunter in a chokehold while Acheron latched onto the arm that held the wailing child. Jade attempted to pry the hunter’s grip open while Sir Basil kept the other two witch hunters at by with his loaded crossbow.

“What is the meaning of this?” A witch hunter growled as he eyed the cross-bolt aimed at his chest. “Why is a knight interfering with our inquisition.”

“Sir Jodan is following my orders,” Carina replied curtly. “This woman and her child are not part of your inquisition.”

The witch hunters turned their attention towards her, and Carina flinched, half expecting their magical piercing gaze to see past the Winter Rose and uncover her identity in a heartbeat.

“And who—is this wench?” growled the witch hunter pinned between Acheron and Jordan. The knight yanked his arm against the man’s neck harshly in response. With a strained gasp, the hunter’s knees buckled and hit the ground.

“The Baroness of Averly, Lady Maura,” answered the Mayor as he moved hesitantly to Carina’s side. “What are you doing, Baroness?” he asked in a panicked whisper as he leaned towards her. “I told you—we can’t interfere.”

“Does this woman and her child belong to the church?” Carina demanded.

“That—"

“No!” Jade sobbed. “I only went into the church for shelter last night.”

‘She only arrived last night—then if I hadn’t come today?’ Carina shook the thought aside as she faced the witch hunters. “Seeking shelter does not make her church property. What right do you have to detain her and harass her child?”

The second witch hunter, the smaller of the two, turned from Sir Basil to Carina and scoffed. “She’s a foreigner. A vagrant with no papers and no background to speak of.”

“So, the church uses its sacred inquisition as an excuse to harass homeless women and babies now?” Carina countered with a sneer. “Or are you saying this woman and her child are witches?”

“And if I said they were, what would you do about it, Baroness?” the witch hunter sneered back.

Carina smiled coldly as she walked past him, untied Jordan’s cloak, and placed it around the trembling Jade’s shoulders. “You are a foreigner, Miss?”

“I—” Jade’s eyes danced over Carina’s face curiously “—I am a far way from home.” Her voice broke for a moment, and then she seized Carina’s wrists tightly. “Please help us. We aren’t witches. I don’t even know how I got here. I—”

“Hush,” Carina murmured as she squeezed the young woman’s hand. “I will protect you, but I need you to trust me.”

“You—you are the Baroness of this place?” Jade asked uncertainly.

“Yes,” Carina confirmed quickly. “And I would like to invite you to stay in Averly, as one of my subjects. If you swear your fealty to the royal family and myself, then I can protect you. Will you do that?”

“You dare—to defy the church?” The pinned witch hunter growled past Jordan’s arm.

“Yes, I swear! I’ll swear to anything—" Jade dropped to her knees before Carina. “—Please save my baby!”

“I will,” Carina answered with renewed confidence and determination as she pulled Jade back to her feet. “What is your name?”

“Jade, Jade Hoffman!”

‘It is you!’

Carina smothered her excitement as she turned to the struggling witch hunter held by Acheron and Jordan and raised her voice. “Miss Jade Hoffman is now under the protection of the Baroness of Averly. She was never the property of the church and is, therefore—beyond the scope of your investigation.”

“Oh, a few pretty words, and this wench thinks she can tell us what to do—Arugh!” The witch hunter grimaced as the knight ground his heel into the man’s calf.

“Keep disrespecting the Lady and see where that gets you,” Jordan warned.

“Yes, by all means, continue to challenge the Lady Maura’s authority,” Acheron growled over the still screaming baby. “I’m sure the Crown Prince would be most interested to hear of this along with the rest of today’s events.”

“Release the infant, Theo.” The second witch hunter advised.

“Not until I’ve tested it,” snarled Theo. A flash of red light flooded over his chest plate as he ripped his arm from Acheron’s grip, spun upwards towards the unbalanced knight, and then smashed his forehead into Jordan’s nose.

Carina’s escort staggered back with a grunt of pain as the witch hunter flung Acheron and Jade across the muddy square with inhuman strength, then turned towards the town well.

“No!” Carina and Jade screamed in unison as Theo flung the infant like a stone towards the dark, swallowing void.

Theo howled in pain as his knee twisted suddenly sideways and crumpled to the ground. Carina ignored the man as the baby fluttered in the breeze, its descent slowed by some invisible force just before Sir Basil caught the child deftly in his arms. Jade was upon the butler and infant in a heartbeat sobbing in relief, Jordan’s cloak forgotten in the dirt behind her.

“Richter!” the injured witch hunter howled as he clutched his oddly distorted leg, groaning and gasping in pain. “Richter, you fool, send for Ripper.”

Carina spun towards the short witch hunter, who had pulled what appeared to be a flare from his pouch. A ring on his hand glowed orange as the end of the flare ignited, and he raised it towards the sky.

A cross-bolt zipped overhead and snapped the flare in half as a commanding voice called out, “That won’t be necessary.”

The two standing witch hunters spun around as Percy appeared on horseback surrounded by a dozen mounted mercenaries, their horses panting with effort as if they had just galloped from the Earl’s estate.

Carina exhaled with relief as the Earl guided his horse towards her, his winter gray eyes visibly relaxed as they settled upon her face.

“Baroness of Averly, might my men be of some assistance to you?” Percy asked with a warm smile.

“Lord Percy,” Carina replied, then cleared her throat as she tried to smother the overwhelming joy in her voice. “Perhaps they might. I have no wish to bully the church, but perhaps if these witch hunters would refrain from endangering the residents of Averly—” She turned towards the two witch hunters “—we could reach a peaceful agreement.”

“Indeed,” Percy replied as he turned his cold gaze from Theo to Richter and his unnamed comrade. “It would be in the church’s best interest if you left without a fight.”

“By what authority do you command us?” Richter growled.

“The chapel is church property. We are here under the Emissary’s orders to hunt out witches. We aren’t going anywhere,” Theo grunted through his obvious discomfort.

“But the ground you presently lie upon is not church property but mine,” Carina countered with a mocking smile. “You attempted to harm the infant of one of my subjects upon my lands. These actions have forced me to banish you from Averly; never show your faces here again!” She nodded to Jordan, who drew his sword and motioned for the other witch hunters to join their injured comrade. “If you have any grievances with my decision, you can take it to the Crown Prince. Now get out!”

“This—” Richter stammered to a halt.

“I would not expect much sympathy from his Majesty once he learns how you abused the authority he so graciously offered you to butcher women and drown infants,” Acheron confirmed grimly.

“That—” Theo protested.

“Leave it,” muttered the third witch hunter, the scar over his lip twisting as he muttered, “I told you this was going too far.”

Theo glared from his comrade to Richter and pointed towards Jade. “That woman smells of witches, even if she is not one herself. She ought to be taken in for questioning.”

“You have been burning and slaughtering witches from the chapel where she sought shelter,” Carina countered as she pointed towards the burning pyres. “Would it not stand to reason Miss Hoffman picked up their scent after sleeping among them? Or were those Sisters you murdered innocent and burned simply because they fall under the church's domain?”

Evident disgust and uncertainty rippled amongst the crowd gathered around them. The witch hunters exchanged tense glances and seemed to reach a silent agreement.

“Very well, Baroness of Averly,” growled Richter. “We will leave, but rest assured, we will return. There are still plenty of witches hiding in Averly.” His gaze shifted from Carina to Percy. “And still others hiding in plain sight among Lafeara’s nobility.”

Richter and the third witch hunter moved to Theo’s side and assisted their comrade to his feet. “Enjoy the peace while it lasts,” Richter advised as they carried their crippled friend away from the well. “When Ripper comes, no titles or clever words will save you.”

Percy smiled as he moved closer to Carina and addressed the retreating witch hunters. “You would do well to remind your Commander that the Baroness has the backing of Crown Princess Eleanora as well as support from the house of Hawthorne. He would do well not to provoke her further.”

Richter paused and glanced over his shoulder at Percy. “Hawthorne? Aye. I remember that name.” The man offered Percy a twisted smile. “Shame how the late Earl was done in so easily by a little bit of poison.”

Percy hissed as he took a step forward and raised his arm.

The gesture was enough for Carina to recall the exploding death note back in Rose Palace’s courtyard. She instinctively wrapped her hands around his raised arm and shook her head.

The crows along the rooftops squawked in anger while Percy froze, then turned his surprised gaze towards Carina and smiled down at her reassuringly.

“My men will escort these hounds to the borders of Averly,” Percy ordered without taking his gaze from her face. “I would also like to escort you back to my Manor, Lady Maura, to rest and—” his winter-grey eyes dropped down to her dress “—change into something less alarming for your return to the palace.”

Carina nodded her agreement silently as she glanced after the mercenaries who formed a square around the witch hunters. Theo and his comrades moved at a slow but steady pace through the crowd that parted before them, towards the town road. When the throng of onlookers merged behind the departing hunters, Carina quickly turned her attention back to Jade, who knelt by the well, softly consoling her child.

“Before we leave, Lord Percy.” Carina raised her ice-blue eyes to the Earl’s steadfast gaze. “I would like to ask a favor of you.”

Percy raised an eyebrow curiously, even as his smile widened. “Anything, Lady Maura.”

[B2] Chapter 28: The Guilt of Providence

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Chapter 28: The Guilt of Providence

Jade huddled in the corner of the carriage and clung to her baby as if someone might approach and snatch the child away at any moment. Carina sat beside her and covertly stole glances at the rosy cheeks of the brown-eyed infant that had, thankfully, calmed down and now stared back at her in silent curiosity.

‘A boy if I remember correctly,’ Carina mused with an affectionate smile. A thousand questions filled her mind as she studied both the child and Jade. ‘What happened to you after we were abducted that day at the traffic light? How long have you been in Lafeara? How is it you still look the same? How did you escape with your baby? Those men came looking for us because of the father of that child, so why—how?’

Carina repressed these questions behind taut lips and a tightening chest as her fingers trailed absently over the embossed silver thread that ran down Percy’s cloak, which he had given to her before their journey to Hawthorne Manor.

The Earl sat across from her now with folded arms. His gaze occasionally shifted from Carina to Jade and the infant with a neutral expression that did not hide the befuddled glint in his eye. Carina could not fault Percy for his confusion, not when he had so graciously agreed to her request to provide Jade with a safe place to stay until Carina had a chance to set up something more suitable and long term.

While Carina had made Jade a citizen of Averly, she had reasoned it unwise to leave her old friend behind that town alone while the witch hunters remained a threat.

And poor Jade, she looked beyond haggard and miserable. Carina could only imagine what ordeals her friend had been through since arriving in Lafeara. Those familiar green eyes, overshadowed with worry, fear, and exhaustion, only seemed to light up when she looked at her child.

Jade glanced up to find Carina observing her and quickly offered a half-hearted smile. The sort of timid smile one gives when they don’t want to offend, even if they have done nothing to cause offense—the smile of someone terrified of being cast aside.

Carina swallowed the reassurance that galloped to the tip of her tongue. ‘Not here. Not now. I will let her know I am Carina later.’

“How old is he?” Carina asked conversationally with a nod and smile to the babe, who was now distracted, forming tiny bubbles between his small pink lips.

“Hmm? Oh, he’s five months old—Baroness.”

“There is no need for titles,” Carina replied awkwardly. “Lady Maura will suffice. So tell me, what’s his name?”

“Benjamin,” Jade answered with the ghost of a smile.

“Benjamin,” Carina repeated curiously. It was not a name they had discussed before when Jade decided to keep the surrogate baby. A dozen new and old questions battled behind Carina’s confused expression before she quickly shook her head.

“It’s a lovely name,” Carina said instead and watched in silent fascination as Benjamin drooled silently from the corner of his mouth. ‘He’s cute—for a baby—I guess. However, he doesn’t resemble Jade much. I suppose that means he takes after his dad.’

“You mentioned that your home was far from here, Miss Jade,” Percy interjected from his seat across the carriage. “Where is that exactly?”

“It’s—Not a place you’ve heard of,” Jade answered uneasily.

‘Of course, it’s not.’ Carina smiled ruefully. ‘You’re from a completely different world.’

“If you could provide me with a bit more information, perhaps I could arrange for your return,” Percy continued with a generous smile that did not quite meet his eyes. “I’m sure you have a family—possibly a husband—wondering where you are?”

“No—husband, and I believe that would be impossible,” Jade returned with a hint of anger. “Unless you can use magic.”

Carina stiffened and watched as Percy’s smile soured. There was something about the way he studied Jade that made Carina uneasy and even a bit—afraid.

“Lady Jade has been through enough interrogation for one day,” Carina hastily interjected as she placed a hand on Jade’s arm. “We should allow her to rest and leave such questions for another time.” She met Percy’s sharp gaze with a raised eyebrow. The Earl relaxed his shoulders and smiled as he offered her a single nod.

“There’s no need to call me Lady,” Jade muttered under her breath. “I own the clothes I’m wearing and nothing else.” She swallowed as her voice thickened with emotion. “I am—very grateful to you, Lady Maura—for taking us in.”

“There is no need for thanks,” Carina replied with a flush of embarrassment. ‘I still don’t understand how you came to Lafeara, but I could never leave you out in the cold on your own.’ “And it is the Earl who has agreed to provide you a place to stay while I arrange for more permanent housing and comfort.”

“Did you hear that, Benjamin?” Jade whispered to the infant, who fussed as he suckled on his closed fist. “The Baroness and Earl are giving us a safe place to stay.”

Carina smiled and removed her hand. The amount of dirt and grime on Jade’s clothes and skin seemed to suggest she had gone without decent lodgings and a bath for a few days.

‘But these are not clothes from our world. Perhaps someone gave them to her?’ Carina sighed and tightened her hand around the edge of her cloak. ‘There will be time enough to ask her questions later. Jade will trust me once she knows I am Carina. Since I still have knowledge of our homeworld, it should be simple enough to convince her.’

She glanced towards Percy, who observed her over a hand pressed to his lips. Though Carina couldn’t explain why she felt guilty for the enormous favor she had asked of him. Although Percy had agreed readily enough, it was not without a moment's hesitation. ‘It's reasonable for him to hesitate. Inviting strangers to live in his estate isn’t something most nobles would willingly do. Let alone those like the Earl who are hiding their witch ancestry.’

Carina turned her gaze from the Earl to the window as she pulled Percy’s cloak over her blood-splattered dress. An uneasy thought had been growing in the back of her mind since before they left Averly. ‘Does Jade being here somehow affect the future—and if so, how will it change now?’

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For the life of him, Percy couldn't figure it out. Lady Maura had always been cautious by nature. Prone to the occasional bouts of emotionally based decisions, certainly, but even then, she still had a plan in place by which to retreat.

And yet Maura recklessly challenged the witch hunters and the church because of this foreigner and her baby.

‘Was this some form of female empathy?’

Maura certainly looked quite intrigued by the baby, but it was the woman, Jade, whom she seemed most focused upon.

‘What is that desperation I see in her eyes? Who is this woman that Maura would show this much concern?’

His gaze dropped to the collar of Maura’s dress and the tall tale smears of blood. ‘Too close. If she had gone a bit further—she might have been crushed on those church steps.’ His grip tightened around the cane that twisted into the wooden floorboards of the carriage.

Maura glanced at him, and Percy relaxed his grip as he smiled. Her ice-blue eyes shifted back to the window while the faint blush on her cheeks gave away her embarrassment. She also looked tired, and he wondered if she still suffered from nightmares.

Percy glanced towards Jade and her dirty child, neither of which were witches. ‘And yet she conveniently turned up at the chapel among the witches Mercy left behind.’

Percy didn’t believe in coincidences. Even the actions of a simpleton could be controlled by those who hid in the shadows of this world. And the crows had witnessed a specter of sorts walking amongst Avverly’s mortals. There one moment, her attention fixed on Maura, and gone the next.

‘If the other gods have started meddling, this is more than some curious coincidence.’

Jade glanced over at him and offered an uncertain smile. Percy’s returning smile was enough to make her cower and drop those jade-green eyes to her babe once more. ‘No matter, since Maura has placed you in my care, I have plenty of time to ferret out who is pulling your strings.’

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To Butler Russell’s credit, he did not show an ounce of surprise when he opened the door to find Percy accompanied by Lady Maura in a blood-splattered dress, with Jade and her wailing baby behind them.

“Welcome back, Master. Baroness,” Russell said with a modest bow to Maura.

“Thank you for the welcome, Russell,” Maura replied with a brief smile before her attention returned once more to the child. “Perhaps we should summon a physician to examine him?”

“He’s just hungry,” Jade answered numbly as she rocked and shushed the angry child. “As am I, we—haven’t eaten since—” She trailed off, but her words had their intended effect as Maura turned her beseeching gaze to Percy.

‘Not a complete simpleton then.’

“Russell, have the kitchen prepare an extra place for lunch. And have the staff arrange a room and tray for Miss Jade to enjoy at her leisure while she and her child get some rest,” Percy said quickly, just as eager to spare his sensitive ears from the wailing demon.

“What is this awful racket?” Serilda appeared behind the railing above them and gazed down at the screaming infant with disdain. “And whose noisy bastard is that?”

“Excuse me?” Jade replied sharply.

Percy shot his cousin a warning look as he took Maura’s hand and led the distracted girl towards the stairs. “Lady Serilda, this is Lady Maura, my mother’s protégée.”

“Oh?” Serilda frowned as she glanced between Maura and Percy, her hands still pressed against her ears.

“Lady Maura, this is Lady Serilda, my dear cousin, who has been away in the country for some years,” Percy continued with a reassuring smile. “She can offer you a dress to change into for your return to the palace—” his gaze shifted back to Serilda “—and the Crown Princess.”

“Ohh!” Serilda's moss-agate eyes brightened in realization as she dropped her hands. “So, you’re that Lady Maura!” Her smile widened with outright glee as she glided down the steps to steal Maura’s hand from Percy’s grip. “My goodness, what a fright you must have had. Is that blood—tsk! I have just the dress that will suit your complexion, though you are a couple of inches shorter than I, and—I’m embarrassed to admit—the few dresses I own are a several years behind the latest fashion. I plan on completely renovating my wardrobe before the holidays—at the Earl’s expense, of course.”

Serilda turned and sent Percy a coy smile as if daring him to refute her claims, but the Earl merely nodded his head in acceptance. Serilda beamed victoriously as she slid Maura’s arm around her own. “As you are a lady-in-waiting to the Crown Princess, I’m sure you must know all the latest trends in the capital, Lady Maura. You must advise me as to the changes I will need to make.”

“I—suppose. Thank you, Lady Serilda,” Maura murmured with a distracted glance towards Jade.

“Go and change, Lady Maura,” Percy urged with a reassuring smile. “Miss Jade will be given a room close to Miss Ivy. I intend to ask your former servant to look after the woman and her child during their brief stay. I hope that will offer you some peace of mind.”

There was no mistaking the look of relief on Maura’s face as Serilda led her up the stairs to the second floor and out of sight. Percy clutched the decorative railing as he breathed in the scent of Jasmine and frost that followed her—now tainted by the stench of blood. He sighed silently.

‘I must do better to ensure she does not encounter those witch hunters again. If Ripper had seen her—’ He grimaced as the child wailed unhappily behind him.

Jade wilted as the Earl turned around and focused his attention upon them.

“No need to be so afraid,” Percy replied with a mocking smile as he glanced down the hall to see if the servants were coming. “Tell me, Miss Jade, have you ever heard of or met Lady Maura before today?”

Her jade green eyes, eerily similar to Ivy’s, drifted around the foyer floor as she avoided his gaze.

Unlike Ivy, Jade’s thoughts were not easily read. In that way, she reminded him of Maura. As if she had spent her entire life learning to mask her true feelings.

‘And yet she smells of deceit.’

“No, I—never—before today,” Jade mumbled behind the infuriating curtain of her child’s wails.

But Percy’s trained ears quickly picked up the erratic fluctuation of Jade’s heartbeat as well as the distinct shift in pitch of her words. ‘Mask your face all you like. You can’t hide a lie from me.’

The Earl cringed as the child's screams tore through the magic around them. With an irritated twitch of his finger, he deftly muffled the air around the woman and her child—who smelled keenly of gutter and filth. Russell returned with two maids, who hurriedly swept Jade and her noisy brat towards the servant’s quarters.

“Have them bathed as soon as possible and some new clothes provided. Burn the rags they brought and see some powder is spread about for lice,” Percy instructed Russell. “Also, ask Miss Ivy to see to their comfort and care between her lessons. Inform her that they are guests of Lady Maura.” The butler nodded and trailed behind the maids and their newest unexpected guest.

Percy’s fingers danced over his cane. The air around him channeled and thickened until the quiet of Hawthorne Manor was once more, blissfully restored. He breathed a sigh of relief then frowned in the direction of his study. “What a curious nuisance they both are,” he murmured and headed towards the office door.

Percy was not surprised to find Mercy waiting for him inside, seated behind the Earl’s desk—but he was far from pleased.

[B2] Chapter 29: A Breath of Deception

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Chapter 29: A Breath of Deception

“So, tell me, what is my very distant cousin, Eleanora, like? Is she truly as scandalous as they say?” Serilda asked in an amused tone as she led Carina inside a familiar large bedroom with seafoam-colored walls and peacock green curtains.

‘Wait, wasn’t this the Countess’s room?’

“I don’t know—what do they say in the country?” Carina replied hesitantly as the strange but stunningly beautiful woman relinquished her arm. Serilda’s touch left an odd tingling sensation that raised the hairs along her arm. The Marchioness’s voice made Carina feel strangely relaxed, comforted, and yet still somehow uneasy.

“In the country, they say the Crown Princess wears men’s clothes, challenges the Lafeara knights to duels, and tears around the Royal Palace barefoot. Those sorts of rumors,” Serilda replied with an amused smile as she pulled out the chair by the vanity desk and gestured towards it. “Do come and sit, Lady Maura. You look ready to fall over at any moment, though that’s to be expected. Witch burnings are a terrible thing to experience when you’re a sensitive—and you do look rather pale, my dear.”

‘How did she know about the witch burnings?’ Carina pondered as she rubbed a hand across her tired brow. “No—I’m—fine,” she murmured and looked down in confusion as her body voluntarily moved towards the indicated seat. The Winter Rose prickled against her skin, and she stopped just short of the chair. For a moment, Carina could feel a sort of haze weighing down upon her head and shoulders, but it cleared away the moment she focused upon it. “I’m just a little tired, thank you.”

Serilda’s eyebrows raised faintly. “How strange,” the Marchioness murmured with a coy smile. “Ah, yes, a dress, one moment.”

Carina watched the noblewoman curiously. It was challenging to gauge Serilda’s age, given the perfect condition of her skin. She had to be at least in her early twenties, and yet, the haunted expression that lingered in the shadows of the Marchioness’s face made Percy’s cousin feel inexplicably older.

“Here we are, a lovely blue to match your eyes,” Serilda exclaimed as she pulled out a dress. “Such a rare, enchanting color,” the Marchioness added as she handed the gown to Carina and stroked her cheek. “Bewitching and yet—frigid.”

‘Okay?’ Carina cleared her throat and glanced around. “Perhaps I could change in another room?”

“Nonsense. I am more than capable of assisting you, Lady Maura, and that dress will probably need some adjustments with its length,” Serilda replied as she took Carina’s shoulders, spun her about, and lifted her hair. “I had forgotten ladies-in-waiting must make do without servants, but when did they start designing dresses with buttons in the front and not the back?”

“Fairly recently,” Carina replied as she stepped away. “How long have you been away in the country, Lady Serilda?”

The smile upon the Marchioness’s face tightened for a moment before she shrugged. “Oh—a few years.”

“Were you there to recover from an illness?”

“Yes—I suppose you could say that.”

Carina blinked at the warning tone in the Marchioness’s voice and decided not to press Serilda for further information. Instead, she turned away, laid the new gown upon the bed, and then slowly unbuttoned her bodice. Her fingers fumbled around the buttons covered in blood as the scent of the pyre drifted up the fabric. She shivered in relief as the soiled gown dropped to the floor and stepped away from it.

Serilda picked up the discarded dress, slid it onto a hanger, and hung it outside the bedroom door. “The maids will see it cleaned and returned to you.”

“That—isn’t necessary,” Carina protested. “I have plenty of dresses.”

“Oh? Is your family well off, Lady Maura? I didn’t catch the name earlier when Percy introduced you.”

Carina paused as she arranged the skirt of the light blue gown. “I do not share my family's name, Lady Serilda. I was born a half-blood.”

“Oh! Really?” Serilda sat on the bed across from her with a curious expression. “How deliciously unexpected and mysterious. Then you don’t know who your father is, Lady Maura?”

“No idea, I’m afraid,” Carina replied as she pulled the gown over her head.

“Your mother, then?”

“She—was—Lady Helena Turnbell. Formerly Lady Helena Gilwren before her marriage.”

“Was—? Oh dear.” Serilda pressed her delicate fingers against her lips. “You are saying—that you are a half-blood and an orphan as well?”

Carina did not answer as she focused on settling the dress’s fabric around her waist.

“Oh dear, look at me prattling when I promised to help you.” Serilda slid off the bed and moved behind Carina. “One never knows how valuable maids are until we have to make do on our own,” the Marchioness joked as she straightened the back of the blue dress and then buttoned it up slowly. “You must have many commendable qualities, Lady Maura. To have convinced the proud Countess to take a half-blood under her wing and raise your station.”

Carina turned her head but could not make out Serilda’s expression, though her tone seemed oddly bitter. “I was most fortunate to have received the Countess’s attention and care,” Carina replied as she raised her hair so the Marchioness could reach the buttons along her neck.

“It is far too early to count that as fortunate,” Serilda answered with a hint of cynicism. “I too was under the Countess’s care once—a long time ago.”

Carina turned, surprised.

“Not in the same way you were, I’m sure,” Serilda added with a sarcastic smile. “No, the lessons she taught me were not those of a proper court lady—” she slid her fingers under Carina’s chin and lifted it gently “—but the skills of a king’s mistress.”

Carina’s eyes widened as she took in Serilda’s beauty, the old fashion yet expensive silk of her dresses, and the lavish rooms she had been given in the Earl’s house. “You—are the Marchioness of Brexley!”

Serilda’s smile widened while her moss-agate eyes remained muted with darkness. “Yes, the Countess taught you well, indeed.”

‘Only the Countess told me that the Marchioness of Brexley went mad after King Henri’s death and the miscarriage of their unborn child.’

“What a waste, Lady Maura,” Serilda murmured as she stepped closer and glided her fingers down the ruffled collar of the blue gown. “To hide such a priceless jewel out of sight beneath such old garments.”

Carina blinked in confusion; then her hand moved to where the Winter Rose rested against her chest. “Oh, this—was a gift—”

“From my cousin,” Serilda confirmed with a mischievous wink. “A necklace worthy of a Queen.” She smiled and slid behind Carina once more to loosen the pins in her ash-brown hair. “Why don’t I try something different with your hair before we head down for lunch.”

Seemingly unable to protest or even ponder why she wouldn’t enjoy having the Marchioness brush her hair, Carina nodded mutely. As Serilda smoothed out the curls and tangles of Carina’s ash-brown hair, the heavy feeling of sleep slid over the attendant's eyes. Carina shook herself, embarrassed to have nodded off. Again the unyielding tiredness returned as the steady strokes of the brush against her scalp and Serilda’s soft humming wrapped Carina into the comforting warmth of an invisible cocoon.

A gentle knock at the door jolted Carina awake once more. “Hold still, Lady Maura,” Serilda soothed as she slid another pin into Carina’s new hairdo. “There, finished. You can come in, Cousin.”

The door opened slightly, and Percy cleared his throat as he remained just out of sight. “I came to inform Lady Maura that I sent a letter ahead to the Palace to explain her delayed return.”

“Thank you, Lord Percy,” Carina replied, a bit breathless and dazed as she rose from her seat. ‘That will at least give me some time to speak with Jade before I have to head back.’

“Then, if you are in no hurry, would you like to join my cousin and I for lunch?” Percy asked as he stepped around the door. He stopped abruptly, his winter-grey eyes widening in surprise as his gaze swept from Carina’s hair to the gown she wore, then shot towards the Marchioness reproachfully.

“Doesn’t she look gorgeous?” Serilda asked as she danced behind Carina. “Much like how I looked when the Countess sent me off to—”

“Seri! You—” Percy’s taut voice caught Carina off guard, and she glanced between the cousins befuddled.

“Is something wrong?” Carina asked as she studied the voluminous updo the Marchioness had brushed her hair into in the mirror’s reflection. It was remarkably old fashioned and not the sort of look Carina would have gone for—but hardly offensive. ‘So then why is Percy so upset?’

Carina turned towards the Earl to voice her question only to blink in confusion as he disappeared before her eyes, and the walls around her swayed. Shrill laugher filled Carina’s ears as a titanic wave of fatigue washed over her and sent her spinning towards the floor.

Percy’s arm caught Carina’s waist, and she gasped as a hairpin fell with sluggish slowness and struck the floor inches from her eyes. A strange distorted ring echoed from the small metal object. The sound rippled into shapes like a thousand bright flashing fireflies that swarmed around her vision. The Marchioness appeared at the dancing lights center, her smile beaming with strange delight as she gently touched Carina’s cheek.

“Oh dear, perhaps you should lay down and rest for a while, Lady Maura,” Serilda murmured as a dark curtain slowly moved closer and swallowed the fireflies one by one. “Maybe a prolonged overnight stay is in order.”

“No—I should—get back—” Carina protested. The air seemed too thin. A high-pitched ringing filled her ears as the Winter Rose burned against her chest and flashed in a warning.

Percy’s muffled voice, filled with anger, echoed through the darkness that rushed towards her as Carina slumped against his arm, and the room simply disappeared.

[B2] Chapter 30: The Labyrinth of Anthraticus

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Chapter 30: The Labyrinth of Anthraticus

The granular weight of soil scraped across Carina’s eyelids as she slowly peeled her heavy eyes open. The smell of earth filled her sense as she stared hazily at the sea of darkness that filled her vision. Beneath her numb fingers, the dry texture of stiff wooden boards slowly came into focus. She was lying upon some sort of wooden panels, ‘A floor?’ but in complete darkness, ‘Where though?’

Carina tried to sit up, but her forehead slammed against an immovable surface directly above her, the impact shaking off the invisible fog that clouded her mind.

The thud only made her more aware of the deep endless silence which surrounded her. Carina laid back down and rubbed cold fingers across her grime-covered forehead. The sound of sand or earth falling from her hair onto the floorboards sent a shiver down her spine. ‘What—is going on?’

Her hands reached out into the darkness and felt the rough wooden panels only a few inches from her face. The “thump, thump, thump” of her frozen heart as it shook off the sluggish grip of sleep and lunged into a gallop of terror echoed in Carina’s ears as she sucked back a sudden scream.

A strained breath quivered through her dry lips as Carina continued to trace and frame the invisible prison that now held her. A dark cocoon of damp, loose soil and immovable wooden barriers took shape in the darkness around her. Four walls surrounded her, another two at her head and feet. ‘I’m in some sort of narrow box—or—a coffin?’

“No—no-no-no!” Carina pushed down the suffocating fear that burned awake in her chest as she strained against the wooden panel above her. Frost spread from her fingers across the panels then through them, and she found only more earth on the other side. ‘I’m—I’m buried? Fuck! No—what? No!'

Tears blurred her vision as Carina’s shallow, rapid breathing seemed to expand the spread of frost that filled the coffin around her until it coated her hair and dress. Her lungs stiffened as the cold moved inward, forcibly slowing her heart even as a tear slid from the corner of her eye and froze before it could fall down her cheek. ‘It’s just a dream—it's another nightmare. Wake up—please, please, wake up!’

“Why do you panic, child?”

Carina’s closed eyes snapped open, and she blinked into the darkness, searching for the voice.

“You are a witch. Don’t you know why witches are always burned and never buried?”

Carina shivered beneath her own ghost-like breath as the voice crept through the darkness towards her. Another person couldn't possibly be there with her inside the coffin, and yet Carina heard them whisper beside her ear—or perhaps in her mind the way Maura did.

“Daughter of Frost, why do you slumber? If you play by the rules of mortals, then a mortal grave is all that awaits you.”

Something thudded in the distance behind the voice. ‘No—above me?’

“You are running out of time. Once our secret is revealed, you will not be able to hide from them anymore. You must be ready to harness the gift that has been bestowed to you.”

The thud grew steadily closer. To Carina’s ears, it sounded as if someone was digging through the earth above her.

“When they discover what you are, they will not suffer you to slumber peacefully. You must wake up!”

Metal struck the coffin’s lid and scraped against the wooden barrier. A snarl echoed through the cold darkness beneath her. Instead of hope or relief, Carina’s chest crumpled under the weight of dread that seeped into her coffin as grains of soil slid through the small cracks of light above her.

She pressed herself against the wooden floorboards, wanting to hide, unable to escape. Metal struck the wood, again and again, as chips of wood fell into the darkness, past Carina’s blinking eyes. Then the dull blade of a hatchet broke through and brought with it the harsh light of day.

“We found her! We found the witch!”

The angry accusation that rippled through the man’s voice confirmed Carina’s instinctual fear even as it echoed in another dozen voices beyond the hatch-wielding gravedigger. Malice flooded through the broken coffin’s lid, while beneath the floorboards at her back, the snarls grew louder as nails scraped against the soil below, desperately trying to reach her.

Human fingers reached through the widened cracks in the coffin’s lid, took hold, and then tore the wooden panels free. The dark silhouette of Averly’s townsfolk loomed above Carina as a dozen hands grabbed her frozen limbs, and her ears bled beneath the fury of their screams, chanting, “Burn her! Burn the Witch! Burn the Ice Witch!”

They dragged her up from the coffin as the horizon of a grey frozen sky came into view. Carina barely caught a glimpse of the tombstone planted in the earth behind her, covered in an inch of snow. Upon it was a name she barely recognized, Duchess Maura Frost.

‘Duchess?’ Carina looked down at her dress, a regal gown of black silk studded with jewels, a burial gown. ‘I’m dead?’

The looming mass of an angry mob awaited her confused gaze, their hostile gaze illuminated by a thousand sputtering torches as the snow continued to fall silently around them. They were not in the town but a field of snow. A picket line of fences separated the mob for a pyre that cracked and roared as the cold wind whipped against its flames.

Carina sucked in a sharp breath as her legs gave out beneath her. She fell, but not entirely as her captors yanked her back up and dragged her forward, unhindered and relentless. “No—no, let me go!” Carina cried only to be pelted with clumps of dirty snow that smelled of piss and shit but hurt far less than the stones that followed.

‘This is a nightmare—it has to be—this can’t be happening.’

Carina peered at the faces of the men, women, and children that closed in around her. Their skin marred with visible scars and boils of the plague.

‘Impossible. I did everything I could to prepare—to prevent its spread. How is it already here?’

At a sharp command, the rabble parted to clear a path between Carina and the pyre. Only Sophya Turnbell stood in her way, dressed in a scarlet gown, dazzling jewels, and a victorious ruby smile.

“Oh, there you are, half-blood,” Maura’s half-sister crooned as the firelight danced against her ravenous curls. “Filthy witch, did you think you had us all fooled?”

The crowd roared, and the hands upon Carina’s arms and shoulders flung her down at Sophya’s feet. A prison collar snapped around the ice witch’s neck and burned against her skin. She reached towards the metal choker, but the men restrained her arms and pinned them behind her back.

Sophya laughed. “Did you think I’d let you off so easily? What are a few mortal lords and kings to me? Anywhere you go, I will find you, drag you into the light, and watch those you wasted your hopes and affections upon tear you apart.” The vicious redhead grabbed a fist full of Carina’s hair and yanked the half-blood’s gaze upwards.

“It doesn’t matter how many times Veles resets the clock; you will never win,” Sophya growled in an unfamiliar voice. “Even if you manage to wake up this time, it won’t be soon enough. The next dragon already belongs to me, and I will use his power to rip out your heart and crush you for good.”

The moon flickered behind Maura’s half-sister, whose scarlet hair blackened and appeared to smolder. “Then, I shall be reborn, and the gods that stood against me will taste my vengeance.”

‘What-what was she talking about?’

The men lifted Carina to her feet as Sophya stepped closer, her vibrant scarlet curls restored. “Kiss Lincoln for me then, sweet Maura. He waits for you in the pits of damnation.”

“You would curse your own brother?” Carina choked out past the constricting grip of the collar.

“Brother?” Sophya laughed, and her teeth resembled the fangs of a hungry devil. “Oh, poor, sweet, naive Carina,” You may have many names—but I have many faces.”

The clouds above them scattered as the moon spilled its cold light across the harsh, snow-covered landscape. Beneath its ethereal glow, Sophya’s face shifted. Her curls smoothed out into flat, dry scraps of hair that barely covered her scalp. Her forest-green eyes darkened into soulless black orbs that glistened with the undying flames of hatred. Even her scarlet lips thinned as they formed a vicious, cracked smile that spread to reveal hellish teeth. “Do you see me now, Carina?”

Cold arms wrapped around Carina’s chest and hugged her tightly. Their translucent appearance snapped Carina’s gaze from the nightmare before her to the pale specter at her back. “Maura?”

The ghost’s grip tightened as her haunted eyes mirrored the soulless gaze of the demonic woman before them. Maura’s lips curled into a fiendish smile as black blood dripped from the corner of her mouth down upon Carina’s neck. “What right did you have to steal my life? It should have been me they praised and loved.” The ghost’s bitter whisper rose into a painful shriek as her crushing arms bruised Carina’s ribs and lungs. “Why did I have to suffer and die a slave—while you almost became a Queen?”

Maura’s accusations raked against Carina’s ears as she shut her eyes, unable to break free as the devil woman who possessed Sophya’s body laughed.

“I have to admit, it was interesting to see how much you changed after your last life,” the ghoulish woman taunted. “But whether Kirsi, Carina, or poor little Maura, your fate cannot be changed.” The woman leaned in closer. Her bottomless black eyes pulled at the frozen heart that thudded heavily against Carina’s chest as if desperate to break free. “This time, just as before, you will die—and Viktor will die with you,” The woman promised, then continued to laugh manically as she stepped aside.

Maura vanished as mortal hands gripped Carina’s arms tighter and dragged her towards the burning pyre and its hellish flames.

“Nothing you do will spare the mortals from what’s to come, little witch,” Sophya hissed. “But if it makes you feel better, I can make one or two of their deaths quick and painless. So go back to sleep and do not resist your fate.”

“What fate? Maura’s? I don’t understand! Wait!” Carina shouted as she strained against the men dragging her closer to the fire.

“Wake up, child.”

Carina grit her teeth as she struggled to connect with her cold magic. It pulsed chaotically beneath her skin, unable to break free as the collar around her throat shrank in size until Carina could barely breathe.

“Wake up, foolish ice witch!”

As the flames of the pyre flicked greedily against the hem of Carina’s burial gown, the familiar sensation of Maura’s death flooded through her, and the frozen heart inside Carina’s chest shattered. Its magic burned through her garments and snapped the metal choker around her neck as power clawed free from her rigid, falling body and launched towards the pyre in a wave of howling ice that engulfed flame, wood, and man and left Carina kneeling in a field of bloody snow.

“I am waiting for you, Daughter of Frost. It’s time to wake up.”

❆❆❆❆❆

The distant sound of muffled, arguing voices pulled Carina from the quickly fading nightmare. The cold hard surface beneath her fingers and back snapped her eyes open as her aching lungs sucked in a shallow breath. A dark vaulted ceiling loomed far above her covered in carvings of images and shapes she did not understand, their etchings illuminated by the torches that circled a large oval room.

“I assure you, Cousin, Lady Maura is perfectly fine. This much was to be expected since it is her first time entering Anthraticus. You endured the same dream as a child, just as we all did. You know it won’t harm her physically.”

The familiar female voice pulled Carina’s attention to her left, where two women stood facing Percy, each of them focused on a small table that held an open book, several strange glowing stones, and a basin filled with a dark liquid.

“She should be waking up any minute now—” Serilda turned towards Carina and smiled. “Ah, what did I tell you, Cousin. Lady Maura has returned safe and sound.”

“Maura,” Percy circled the Marchioness and the other strangely familiar woman as he rushed to her side. “I must apologize—Seri should have asked your permission before pushing you in like this.”

‘Pushing me in? Into that nightmare?’

“What-what’s going on—where am I?” Carina mumbled, still disoriented as she rolled over and took in the stone altar beneath her, covered in a dense layer of frost. “What is this place?” Her voice sounded feeble and afraid, but Carina little cared, still haunted by the visions of the nightmare she had just escaped.

‘What-what was that? And just what the hell is going on?’

“You are in Anthraticus, Lady Maura,” answered the second woman as she moved closer to the altar and removed her hood. “A series of labyrinths and tunnels that stretches far and wide beneath Lafeara’s capital. It is an ancient, secret place of safety and sanctuary for witches. The entrances are locked with magic, and the paths themselves enchanted to lead astray any unfortunate mortals who happen to wander inside carelessly.”

The woman’s familiar dusk blue eyes focused in on Carina with a hint of trepidation. “However, nowadays, most doorways to Anthraticus are only accessible from the houses of Lafearian families with the oldest, purest witch bloodlines.” The woman turned and dipped her head respectfully to Percy, “Such as the Earl of Hawthorne.”

“Who—are you?” Carina asked as her gaze narrowed in the woman’s face that tugged at her memory strangely. “Have we met before?”

“Maura, this is Lady Mercy,” Percy explained. “Though I believe you know her as Abbess Mercy.”

‘No—what? The Abbess was much older than—’

“Yes, I have changed a bit since Lady Maura last saw me.” Mercy smiled at Carina’s confused expression. “You will find that magic is useful in a lot of ways once you master your connection to its power.”

“Which is why we brought you here, Lady Maura,” Serilda explained with an apologetic smile as she reached over and took Carina’s hand. “I am sorry for whatever disturbing dream you just went through. Anthraticus can have that effect on a witch who enters for the first time. The older you are, the more vivid the dream, but they do say these dreams contain visions of the past and future. They are considered gifts of warnings of wisdom from the immortal who rests at the labyrinth's center.”

Carina shook her head slowly as she shifted her gaze from Serilda to Percy and then to Mercy and tried to soak in the information. “Okay. So you’re saying that you—are all witches?”

Mercy smirked while Serilda eagerly nodded her head. Percy gently took Carina’s shoulders and helped her to rise and sit comfortably.

“I told you that you were far from alone,” Percy whispered with the ghost of a smile as he brushed a lock of hair behind Carina’s ear. “There is a lot more for me to show you and infinitely more for you to learn, but time is not on our side.” He stepped back and held out his hand. “Come with me, Lady Maura. I will answer your questions as we walk.”

Carina sucked in her lip as she slid her frozen fingers across his hand and dropped down from the altar. Her loose ash-brown hair fell around her shoulders as the Winter Rose bounced against her chest. Carina reached towards it instinctively, even as the lingering whispers of the horrifying nightmare she had just escaped echoed in her ears.

‘You have many names—and I have many faces.’

Carina looked up at Percy’s familiar face as he tucked her hand around his arm and led her past Serilda and Mercy towards a dimly lit tunnel.

‘Who was the woman in my dream? How-why does she know my real name?’

She glanced up nervously as they passed beneath the stone archway. Earth walls painted with glowing runes flickered past as Percy continued forward confidently. A little further down the tunnel, the Earl paused and turned towards the wall as he pressed his signet ring against one of the runes. The stone wall evaporated, and another arched opening appeared. Carina blinked and glanced behind her as Mercy and Serilda followed, and the wall closed silently behind them.

‘A labyrinth with hidden walls?’ Carina shivered as the unnerving scent of earth pressed in around her and refocused her attention on Percy. “You said there are many of us? How many witches exactly?”

“Enough to make a difference in Lafeara’s future when the time is right,” Percy answered cryptically with a knowing smile.

Carina frowned at his vague answer and focused on the tunnel that widened around them. More side passages appeared along the walls that led off into meandering darkness. The path before them dipped and shifted into elegantly carved steps that led further down. Carina reached out to touch the runes that appeared at even intervals along the walls as they descended.

“What are these?” she asked, hoping for a more straightforward answer this time.

“What remains of the magic that formed this place a long time ago,” Percy explained as he pulled her hand away. “Old earth magic from one of the original covens that worshiped Minerva.”

“Minerva?” Carina whispered curiously.

Percy sighed as he dropped his hand to her waist and kept it there as they reached the bottom of the steps. “The history of Lafeara that my dear mother taught you is not, in fact, the true history of this kingdom’s origins.” He nodded to where the path ahead stopped before two giant green doors carved out of a dark purple stone Carina did not recognize. “The Countess would have happily kept me ignorant of this place, my family’s history, and our true birthright,” he added with unmasked bitterness.

The Earl released her waist and took Carina’s left hand in his as he pressed their palms against the crack between the two doors. “Repeat after me, Maura. Immortalitatis Potentia.”

“Im-Immortalitatis Potentia,” Carina echoed uncertainly. The light within her chest flared brightly, as did the crack between the doors, which groaned and moved inward.

Percy's grip on her hand tightened as he lowered it to his side. Carina looked up towards his winter-grey eyes and wished she understood the eagerness behind his eager smile.

A yawning entrance loomed before them as a cold breeze swept over Carina and Percy. She blinked and reached out her hand in surprise as specs of snow appeared from the dark void and swirled around her outstretched fingers.

“Finally, you have come, my little ice witch.”

The frozen heart within Carina’s chest thudded loudly beneath the voice she recognized from her nightmare. She turned uncertainly towards Percy, whose expression shifted to one of determination as he extended his hand towards the frigid air. The Earl’s fingers froze, then his palm spread across an invisible surface as he sighed.

“Only those with winter in their veins can enter here.”

Carina pulled her hand from Percy’s. Her heartbeat quickened with strange delight as she glided effortlessly across the threshold and entered the room. The moment her feet touched the frost-covered stone floor on the other side, a soft blue light glowed from the etched snowflake beneath her shoes. The magic spread across the other engraved stone tiles—similar to the rose tiles in the secret passage beneath Rose Palace— that stretched throughout the giant space and illuminated the giant, monstrous form of the frozen dragon that slumbered before her.

“And so it begins.”

[B2] Chapter 31: Daughter of Frost

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Chapter 31: Daughter of Frost

Carina could barely tear her gaze free from the towering mystical beast that loomed before her in the glow of magic runes. She let out a soft fearful gasp and watched the ghost of her breath float out across the chilled air that filled the room and prickled across her arms and down her spine.

“Come, little ice witch. There is no need to fear a dead dragon.”

‘Dead?’ Carina peered closer at the silver scales that covered the dragon’s closed eyes. Not a flicker of movement came from the eyelids or nostrils, nor its entire body, which lay beneath a sheet of glistening frost. ‘And yet—I can feel something alive from it.’

Her attention was pulled away from the legendary creature towards the tiles that glowed brighter as ice-like vines sprouted through tiny cracks in the stone floor. These glittering threads wove and wound together until they formed four chair legs, then its seat, back, and arms.

“Do sit, child, or you’ll hurt your neck, staring up at me like that.”

Carina whipped her head back towards the dragon suspiciously and let out a small nervous laugh. ‘If the dragon is dead, then who is speaking to me?’ She wondered but cautiously approached the chair and took a seat. Ice embraced her with a charge of cold magic that paralyzed Carina for a moment as it coursed through her body.

“To think it would take almost five centuries for the last of Isbrand’s bloodline to walk through those doors. Finally.” The voice rippled with anger as the icy grip on Carina’s body faded, and her muscles relaxed. “And a half-blood mortal at that.”

Carina’s eyebrow twitched at the familiar insult. “And who are you?” she returned curtly as she crossed her arms.

“Hahaha.” The short burst of laughter echoed around the chamber, and for a moment, alarm shot through Carina as she felt something intangible move inside the dragon. “To be sure, your many names are better known than an old god like me. How ironic that one of the Six would hold less space in the minds of mortals than that of a little, half-blood, ice witch girl.”

‘Did-did they just say—they’re a god?’ Carina’s arm tightened around her chest as she fought to keep her expression neutral. “What do you want—from me?”

“What do I want—from you?” The voice echoed back, each word punctuated with a different emotion. Anger, amusement, resentment, and even loneliness. “Poor little ice witch. You have no idea of the threads so tightly wound about you. And yet how magnificently your tainted soul has tangled up all their carefully laid plans.”

Another echo of laughter filled the chamber as Carina swallowed down the lump of unease in her throat. “Who—are they?”

“They are the Six,” the voice answered with a heavy sigh. “Though, more accurately, only Four of the Six who still remain in power.”

“And who—are you?” Carina repeated.

“Who am I?” The glow of magic in the tiles dimmed for a moment, then glared like burning rays of sun upon freshly laid snow as Carina quickly shielded her eyes behind her hands. “I am Viktor, God of Ice and Immortality.” Maniacal laughter filled the chamber as the air grew so frigid it bit against Carina’s skin and stiffened her garments and hair. “Immortal—yet trapped here—abandoned and forgotten—all because of that bitch, Kritanta.”

“Kritanta?” Carina echoed painfully as she clenched her eyes shut against the piercing glare of magic. She blinked tentatively as the glow faded, tears falling from her cheeks as the room returned to its original state of shadowed darkness.

“Are you completely ignorant, ice witch?” the voice whispered with a tone of helpless despair.

“My name is—”

“Carina.”

Carina flinched as her true name echoed throughout the chamber. Inside her chest, her frozen heart seemed to explode for a moment with joy. She lowered her hands and glanced cautiously at the sleeping—dead dragon.

‘Does he know because he’s a God? Then the demonic woman in my dream?’

“It seems you are not entirely to blame for your own ignorance,” Victor observed condescendingly. “Your last life has altered your memories; this much is clear. And Veles's decision to allow you to be raised by those savage mortals prevented most of your early training. Well, I suppose you were safer living as a neglected half-blood than following your foolish father to an early grave.”

‘My—’ “Maura’s father?”

“You may well call him your own father—even if you do possess memories of another world, this body belongs to you now—and our world is better for it.”

His words cut through Carina with the softest, kindest pain. She dropped her gaze to the trembling hands in her lap as she struggled against the warm comfort they had given and her guilt at longing to hear such words.

“Carina.”

Once more, her heart flooded with unmistakable joy, and she quickly pressed the palms of her hand against her eyes as tears flooded free. “I—I’m sorry—I don’t know why.”

“It is not your fault. The defect lies not with your heart but your mother’s mortal blood.”

Carina laughed and hastily wiped her cheeks. “I’m not even sure she had a heart—” She stopped and swallowed back the anger and resentment that were not hers alone to feel.

A troubled sigh filled the room as the tiles hummed. Then small glowing blades of white grass formed from the frost-covered floor and filled Carina’s vision with a dazzling field of sparkling flowers and magic.

‘Is this—to make me feel better?’ Carina felt her cheeks burn as she laughed. ‘Do I seem like a child to him?’

“You must be careful of your heart, Carina,” Viktor cautioned grimly. “An Ice Witch is never more vulnerable—than when their heart is broken.”

Instead of joy, this time, her name from his lips filled Carina’s chest with suffocating agony. She doubled over and clenched the Winter Rose as she fought against it.

“It is better to trust no one than to welcome a traitor to your bosom.” The room darkened once more as the pain in Carina’s chest twisted deeper. “I know this from experience, Carina, and you know my words are true. Betrayal is what trapped me here, immortal but forgotten—it is why my heart now beats inside your mortal chest.”

Carina sagged forward as a vice-like grip wrapped itself around her frozen heart and yanked upon it savagely. Her vision blurred as familiar, terrifying white lights burned down from the ceiling above her. A sickening numbness washed over her limbs as the white walls of a hospital filled her vision. ‘No—this—this is how I died!’ Carina closed her eyes and shrank away from the shadows that loomed above her as she fought for breath.

“You were numbed, Carina, when they cut the heart from your chest. But I—felt every—agonizing—moment.” Before her, the field of frozen flowers turned from icy-blue to fiery-red as rage and pain filled the chamber. “I still feel it—and will continue to remember—until I drink my fill of revenge and am finally reborn!”

The glaring red light vanished as Carina dropped to the floor, the chair now withered and fading behind her, and sucked in a painful gasp of air. Her cold tears fell unto the frozen flowers, and she remained where she was until the pain in her chest subsided, and she could breathe normally once more.

“And so, Daughter of Frost, you ask—what do I want from you?”

“Yes?” Carina answered weakly as she leaned against her trembling arms and raised her eyes towards the dragon before her.

“I want you to win, no matter the cost. It is as simple as that—but the game you are playing—” An audible sigh filled the room around her “—Veles controls it, or believes he does. Make no mistake; Veles is the God of trickery and deceit, and all Air Witches who serve him share that trait. The purer their blood, the easier it is for them to twist the hearts of mortals with mere words.”

Carina’s heart thudded as Percy’s name and face flew unbidden to her mind.

“Do not trust any of them,” Viktor growled savagely. “You will not survive your heart breaking a second time, Carina.” His words were filled with such despair that Carina knew he was withholding something from her. “You can rely on them to teach you the basics of their world and the history of witches, but for your future training—I will provide you with the tools you need upon your next return. You must become strong enough to survive the game the Six have placed before you!” He sighed heavily, and for a moment, Carina thought she heard him whisper, “Or we shall perish together.”

“Now go,” Vicktor commanded, his words edged with pure frustration. “Only one of us is trapped here.”

Carina nodded slowly as she gripped her numb knees and rose unsteadily to her feet. “I understand. I will return. But this—game, the Six, how do I win?”

“Become what you were destined to be,” Viktor replied. His words echoed throughout the room that glowed awake once more. It was only when Carina turned away to shield her eyes that she saw the artistic etchings on the wall. A long succession of men and women lined the oval room—each of their figures marked by a snowflake symbol. All of them wore a crown, the same shard-like crown, as their glowing eyes gazed back at her and the room filled with the echo of ghosts.

“Daughter of Frost. Queen of Winter. Ruler of Lafeara.”

[B2] Chapter 32: The Price of Immortality

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Chapter 32: The Price of Immortality

Percy paced on the other side of the cold, obstructing barrier, feeling more uneasy with each passing moment. Not only did the enchantments that surrounded the entrance to this room prevent him from seeing inside, but he also couldn’t hear anything from within either. And yet, Maura had walked through effortlessly.

‘I should have held onto her hand tighter. Then I might have been able to enter with her.’

“I still can’t believe it,” Serilda whispered behind him, rubbing her arms against the cold that seemed to emit from the dark gaping void between the two doors. “We finally opened the immortal's tomb, and Maura actually walked inside!”

“Can you sense anything inside? Has anything changed?” Percy asked as he glared at the barrier and then pressed his fingers against its invisible surface. Bone biting cold repelled his efforts once more, and he let out a hiss of frustration. “Seri?”

“Just the same magical presence that led me here years ago,” Serilda replied with a shrug. “The same higher power I sense in Lady Maura as well. She was destined to come here. I knew it!” Her exclamation trailed off into a whisper as she gazed into the dark void before them, entranced.

“You two and those silly old witch tales?” Mercy scoffed from her seat on the steps behind them. “You really think an Immortal is buried here—a dead one at that?”

“Not just any immortal, Mercy. I believe it’s Viktor—” Serilda breathed with glittering eyes “—the God of Frost and Immortality.”

“In a labyrinth built by earth witches?” Mercy repudiated in a dry tone.

“This barrier wasn’t made from earth enchantments,” Percy growled as he rapped his knuckles against the concrete, cold air. “Perhaps the earth witches built the tunnels after finding this tomb.”

“With this much latent magic in one room, the earth mages could draw power from such a source to enchant the entire realm of Anthraticus—with the Viktor’s permission, of course,” Serilda eagerly agreed.

Mercy sighed as she stood and stretched her back. “Well, whoever made it, you just sent an untrained witch inside with no warning or preparations, King Percy.”

Percy flinched at the accusation in her voice and clenched his fists silently.

‘Even I didn’t expect Maura to get through a barrier the entire coven couldn’t break on the first try.’

“Lady Maura will be fine,” Serilda assured him with a gentle pat on his shoulder. “But—I don’t understand—how she obtained such power with her parentage. You said her mother was a mortal?”

Percy nodded stiffly. “Mercy herself can attest to that better than I. She was there when Maura was conceived and born.”

“Conceived?” Serilda echoed as she turned towards Mercy.

“I may have—nudged Lady Helena towards a certain undisclosed witch festival masked as a party for nobles—but only because Veles suggested it.” Mercy grimaced at the memory.

“Veles spoke to you?” Serilda whispered with apparent shock as her head swiveled back to Percy. “And you as well, didn’t he, Cousin.”

“Both times in regard to Percy’s little ice witch,” Mercy muttered with a hint of annoyance. “Anyway, I could not foresee what Veles had planned at the time. I assumed she might become a sacrifice or some form of entertainment. It wasn’t until Lady Helena came running to my chapel a few days later, after nearly being caught up in a witch hunt, that I realized what Veles plans had conceived.” She snorted. “To think such an honor would be wasted on a quivering, useless mortal.”

“Veles sees both past and future. I’m sure he thought it best,” Serilda murmured, still looking dazed by this new revelation.

“And yet Veles let Lord Emmett, the last pure-blood of the Isbrand line, perish by that cursed blood’s hand,” Mercy observed darkly.

“Lord Emmett refused the sanctuary our Coven offered him,” Serilda retorted with a snort. “I remember my father’s anger with him quite well. Emmett would only accept our protection if we promised to make him King of Lafeara and the Covens. At least with Percy as our King, the Covens can expect fair treatment.”

“If Percy can make Maura his Queen,” Mercy pointed out doubtfully.

“Are you questioning my loyalty to Veles and the Covens?” Percy challenged, his expression darkened as winter-grey eyes narrowed on Mercy, and the air around them hissed with his displeasure.

“I just wonder if it is your future crown or Maura’s heart you desire most,” Mercy replied with a nonchalant shrug.

“Does one come without the other?” Percy growled. “I think you are simply jealous, Mercy, that such a young, untested witch will soon hold more power than your cannibalistic sacrifices could ever yield in a thousand years.”

“Have a care, King Percy,” Mercy hissed back venomously. “Your young ice witch isn’t a Queen yet.”

“Is that a threat?” A crimson light pooled behind Percy’s narrowing pupils, and Mercy stiffened in shock. Then, just as suddenly as the red glow appeared, it vanished as the Earl turned towards the tomb’s entrance and caught Maura’s extended arm. The ice witch stepped through the portal of darkness with a ghostly breath that matched her pale complexion and dazed expression.

“Maura,” Percy murmured anxiously as he stepped forward to examine her and the pale white arm he held. “You-you're ice cold.”

Maura blinked stiffly; her lashes layered in the same frost that coated her skin and clothes. Her purple lips let out another breath of cold air as those ice-blue eyes raised towards him with a distant, guarded expression. “Maura?” Percy touched her cheek carefully and stared at the pattern of ivy-frost that coated her skin. “Can you hear me? What happened? Are you alright?”

“What did you see? Was there anyone in there?” Serilda whispered eagerly as she pressed up close beside them. “Veles breath—she’s almost frozen to death.”

Maura turned her gaze from Percy to Serilda and replied in a tone tinged with unexpected pain, “There’s—a dead dragon.”

Percy glanced down at Maura’s shivering figure. The dark blue color of her fingernails sent a shiver down his spine, and he wondered, briefly, if any other witch would have survived entering the ancient tomb. The Earl shook the thought away as he ripped off his jacket and slid Maura’s frozen arms through the long sleeves. Serilda handed over her cloak, and Percy layered it over his coat, securely covering the trembling witch inside.

As Percy pulled the hood over Maura’s frost-covered hair, he saw a glimmer of frost on the Winter Rose that hung stiffly around her neck. He blinked, and the symbol he had seen glowing inside the diamond vanished.

“Percy?” Serilda whispered, rubbing and blowing onto one of Carina’s hands gently.

“Let’s get her back to Hawthrone Manor and warm,” Percy replied as he took Maura’s other hand—her ice-cold hand—and led her back down the tunnel.

Maura offered no resistance as Percy and Serilda guided her back through the passages of Anthraticus. Her brows remained pinched together, her gaze distant, and her feet unsteady as she trailed slowly behind them. After she almost tripped for the second time over her own two feet, Percy scooped her up and increased his pace towards the secret exit that led out to the bathhouse of Hawthorne Manor.

❆❆❆❆❆

Only after they wrapped Maura in blankets and set her before the fire in Percy’s study did her face, nose, and lips finally lose their purple chill. A warm bowl of soup brought in by Russell soon brought the glow of the living back to Maura’s pale cheeks once more as Mercy took her leave to deal with Coven matters.

Percy took the seat across from Maura, nervously tracing his signet ring as he studied the Winter Rose, which glimmered in the firelight. The suspicious symbol he had seen earlier was no longer visible. ‘It might have just been the frost Maura was covered with and a trick of the light.’ Although the signet ring assured him the Winter Rose's enchantments were still active, Percy felt uneasy. ‘She mentioned a dragon—is it possible she met Viktor himself?’

Maura sipped the steaming spiced potato soup in complete silence as she stared into the flames. Her face was so devoid of emotion that she hardly seemed aware of her surroundings at all. Only the occasional tremor in her grip as Maura raised the spoon to her mouth revealed her troubled state of mind.

‘What did you see, Maura?’ Percy wanted desperately to ask—and yet the words remained locked deep in his throat.

Serilda glanced between them with evident impatiences. The Marchioness opened her mouth more than once to voice the questions they were all thinking, but Percy shut her down with a warning scowl each time. Only after Maura set aside the finished bowl and Percy appeared distracted in his own thoughts did Serilda finally blurt out, “Well—tell us! We’re dying to know what you found in there?”

Maura sighed as she tucked her hands inside the blanket. “I told you already. There was a dead dragon. I—didn’t notice much else.”

“Really?” Serilda’s voice sounded crestfallen. “So it was just an old tomb? How big was the dragon? Were there any tomes, artifacts, relics, or books of any kind?”

Maura turned her gaze from Serilda to Percy and shook her head. “Just a massive, frozen dragon.”

“Viktor,” Percy murmured, and Maura’s attention snapped towards him.

“Viktor?” she repeated with cautious curiosity.

‘Right, she still lacks the basic knowledge of Witch History.’

Percy smiled as he lifted the finger with his signet ring and sealed the room from outside ears with a small gesture. “Viktor is one of the ancient dragons. Immortals or Gods, some call them. They are the source of magic itself, the origins of the original witches and the first covens.”

“If he’s a god and an immortal—how did he die?” Maura asked hesitantly.

“Who says he’s dead?” Serilda retorted with a snort. “If what you saw was indeed Viktor—that room is the source of the magic that keeps Anthraticus from crumbling into dust. Magic cannot come from a dead thing. You must learn to think outside the limits of what you perceive is normal, Maura. Life and death are not as simple as most mortals believe it is.”

“There are some who believe Viktor sleeps,” Percy interjected as he laced his fingers together thoughtfully. “Because Viktor is an immortal being, he cannot die, but he cannot reincarnate either without his missing heart.”

“Reincarnate?” Maura echoed breathlessly.

Percy narrowed his eyes at the strange eagerness that filled her icy-blue gaze but answered, “Yes. It is something unique to the immortals and dragons. What many consider dying is but a cycle of transformation that allows them to be reborn through magic.”

“It's how they shed the physical vessel that ties them to our physical plane and transfer to a new one,” Serilda explained. “Or at least, that’s what the ancient records of Anthraticus’s archives tell us.”

“There are five dragon gods recorded in history,” Percy explained. “Veles, the God of Air. Also known as the God of Knowledge and Discord. He is the source of magic for all air witches, such as our great families.” He nodded to Serilda. “And the three Covens which most of the witches in Lafeara belong to.”

“Minerva, the Goddess of Earth. Goddess of War and Prosperity,” Serilda continued. “Is worshiped by the Tharyn kingdom whose witches guard her temple deep in the mountains. Tharyn is the native domain of earth witches, naturally.”

“Arachne, Goddess of Water.” Percy crossed his legs with a grimace. “Goddess of Dark Secrets and Wealth.”

“Strugna is where most of the water covens reside,” Serilda happily supplied. “They had their own civil war a few years back. Eradicated those detestable mortals, the Glennis royal family, that the last Saint placed over them and set their own Coven Witch Queen on the throne.”

“There are two Witch Queens, one in Tharyn and one in Strugna,” Percy explained. “And one Witch Emperor they both fear, Arius.”

“We have our own Witch King,” Serilda replied with a smile of pride. “And perhaps Lafeara will even have a Witch Queen too in the future.”

“Viktor was the God of Ice and Immortality,” Percy interrupted quickly. “Though now he is called the Forgotten God. He was cast from the gods’ domain by Kritanta when she stole his heart.”

Serilda scoffed, “There are many who say it was Kritanta’s greed for power that doomed the gods and the old ways. The slaughter she brought upon mortal and witch alike after stealing Viktor’s power—brought about the arrival of the first Saint.”

“Kritanta?” Maura echoed with a hint of pain.

“Goddess of Fire,” Serilda whispered. “And—after she consumed Viktor’s heart—Goddess of Ice.”

“The only immortal to slay another immortal,” Percy muttered darkly. “Goddess of Death and Destruction. Emperor Arius owes his power and allegiance to her, as does the entire witch nation of Ventrayna.”

“And yet—she has not been reborn since Viktor’s defeat.” Serilda sighed as she sat on the armrest beside her cousin. “Her downfall was the ultimate proof that power always comes at a cost.”

“How—was Viktor defeated?” Maura asked as she stared between them, caught up in the history she had long been ignorant of.

“Well, there are a few differing records on that account,” Serilda answered sheepishly. “So it depends on which coven you ask.”

“Each nation's archive records a slightly different version of events,” Percy explained. “Strugna’s witches say Kritanta fell in love with Viktor, and when he refused to love her back, she took his heart by force. They also claim Viktor was enamored by their goddess Arachne, so not many outside the Water Covens believe this story.”

“Arachne is depicted as a nightmare that lives in the deep,” Serilda whispered ominously. “Kind of hard to imagine anyone falling in love with her—or Kritanta for that matter.”

“The Tharyn witches believe Kritanta fell in love with a pureblood that was stolen from her by Viktor. So she killed the pureblood for rejecting her and ripped out Viktor’s heart in revenge,” Percy continued with a faint shrug. “Meanwhile, the Ventraynian’s say Kritanta merely hungered for power to rise above the other gods, so she took Viktor’s heart and the Immortal power inside of it to make herself truly indestructible.”

“But,” Serilda smiled down at Percy as she sat on his armrest and slid an arm casually around his neck. “We believe the version of events recorded in the stolen scrolls from the Church’s archives.”

“From the Church?” Carina echoed in disbelief.

“It’s the only explanation that shares consistencies with all the others—and makes sense according to history as we know it,” Percy replied with a twisted smile. “Which might explain why it was locked in the most sacred room of the old Pope’s palace, a place no witch was ever meant to enter.”

“What did it say?” Maura asked, already leaning forward eagerly to listen.

‘It’s good that you're eager to learn, Maura. There is a lot of knowledge left for you to uncover.’ Percy smiled and turned his attention to Serilda with a nod of approval.

“It is an old legend, one the church will deny until its dying breath, which only makes us believe it holds the truth,” Serilda whispered dramatically. “According to this forbidden record, there was a sixth immortal. A dragon-god who controlled lightning magic.”

“Nothing else is known about them,” Percy added cautiously. “They have no coven, no alters, or archives, nor is there any other record that supports they ever existed—save one.”

“The origin of the Saint,” Serilda finished with a wave of her hand towards the fire, which roared energetically then resumed its lazy crackle.

Maura glanced between them with large child-like eyes as her expression grew more focused. “So, you’re saying—there are Six gods?”

“Well, in simple terms, yes. Possibly.” Serilda shrugged. “This unknown lightning god may have been the spark that set Kritanta and Viktor against each other. They may also have been the first Saint—or they made the first saint.”

The Marchioness shrugged and flicked her dark chestnut hair over her shoulder as she continued. “The record wasn’t exactly in the best condition after the fall of old Zarus, so some translation is a bit difficult to pinpoint. An air witch who traveled to Ventrayna to record the destruction of the Emperor’s war managed to record a secret copy of it while the document was being transferred to Arius. He brought that copy back to our archives for safekeeping. We can assert from this document and all the other records that Kritanta stole Viktor’s heart and stole his powers. Only then, a few centuries later, Viktor's heart was stolen from Kritanta, and she became cursed.”

“Cursed?” Maura echoed.

“She cannot be reborn,” Percy explained. “Until Kritanta holds both hearts again—she is locked inside the same rotting physical shell. That is the curse—according to the legend.”

“Kritanta was someone who enjoyed the affection and attention of many witch consorts—though she would only sleep with the purest—or most powerful—among them.” Serilda shivered as she rose from the chair and stretched before the fire. “In any case, her mortal shell was not immune to the passage of time and soon began to rot. That’s when Kritanta stopped taking consorts and started hunting ice witches to prolong her longevity.”

“And the Fire covens grew fractured under her chaotic leadership while the ice witches nearly became extinct,” Percy supplied as he stared into the fire.

“Extinct? Why?” Maura interjected quickly. “Why would Kritanta hunt them? For revenge?”

“This—is an old tradition—which is considered—barbaric and taboo now to most Covens,” Serilda explained solemnly. “But, it is widely known and accepted that consuming an ice witch's heart can prolong a witch’s life by at least five hundred years.”

“Thankfully, it does not have that effect on mortals,” Percy added with a hint of sympathy. “With the exception of the Saint’s bloodline. The church has gone to war more than once to capture and slaughter ice witches in order to prologue the life of their Divine Heir. Even Pope Jericho—”

Percy stammered to a halt as he took in the horror written upon Maura’s face. He clenched the armrest of his chair tightly to restrain the sudden desire to wrap her in his arms and promise Maura anything to make her feel safe and assured.

But after Mercy’s earlier observations, Percy knew he needed to be careful how much of his true emotions he revealed to the other Coven leaders, his own cousin among them.

“Your father, for example,” Serilda continued, seeming to have missed her cousin’s hesitation. “Was nearly 347 years old when the Witch Hunter’s trapped and killed him. His heart was presented to Jericho, the last Pope of Zarus, to prolong the sickly Pope’s life.”

Maura’s rigid expression turned a shade paler as she blinked slowly, seemingly without breathing, swallowed, and then croaked out softly, “What?”

“Oh—” Serilda glanced guiltily towards Percy and offered a weak apologetic smile. “Sorry—too much?”

[B2] Chapter 33: A Dangerous Deviation

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Chapter 33: A Dangerous Deviation

Carina took a moment to clear her throat as she analyzed this unexpected pile of information. Of course, she had always assumed Maura’s father was a witch given Carina’s magical powers, but to hear he was dead, that he had died at nearly 350 years old, and that the Pope had eaten his heart? Well—that was just a little unexpected, if not overwhelming.

But was the Pope more dangerous than the Fire Goddess, Kritanta, who hunted ice witches for their hearts? And what about the cannibal witches who would no doubt find Carina’s heart a rare delicacy impossible to resist?

‘It’s too much. Also, why does it sound like Percy knew exactly who Maura’s father was all this time? That means he knows that I’m an Isbrand descendant, right? Why would he keep that from me all this time? More importantly—does he know I have Viktor’s heart?’

Carina glanced towards the Earl, who continued to study her with a troubled expression. Serilda glanced between them worriedly and appeared about to speak—when a knock came at the study door.

Russell entered and hastily bowed. “Forgive the intrusion, my Lord, but a knight from the Crown Princess has come with an urgent message for you.”

Percy uncrossed his legs and stood. Then he sent a silent glance to Serilda, who smiled and offered him a curtsy before leaving through the study door past Russell. “Send him in,” Percy commanded after she had gone.

Carina rose hesitantly. “Should I leave as well?”

“No,” Percy replied and motioned to her seat. “I suspect this news involves both of us.”

Carina frowned but sat down willingly. She rubbed her hands against the blanket above her still numb legs as she processed all the information she had gained in the last few hours.

‘I would be a fool to think these gods, the Six, won’t affect my plans one way or another. But—becoming Queen?’

Sir Jordan entered the room and bowed respectfully to Percy while the knight’s mismatched eyes moved worriedly towards Carina.

“Sir Jordan?” Carina greeted uncertainly.

“Lady Maura. Earl of Hawthorne,” Jordan replied breathlessly. His brow and cheeks glistened with his nostrils flared with the effort to breath normally as he remained in a lowered bow.

“Rise. You have a message?” Percy replied authoritatively as he moved closer to Carina’s chair and tucked the blankets tighter around her legs.

“Ah—Yes, Earl Hawthorne.” Jordan shifted his gaze between them as he straightened. “The Crown Princess sent me with a request that you both return to Rose Palace. Immediately.”

“What is it? What’s happened?” Carina asked swiftly with alarm.

“News has just reached the palace,” Jordan explained as he focused on her. “The Ambassador from Ventrayna was seen at the border with over five thousand of the Emperor’s soldiers.”

‘Five thousand?’ Carina glanced at Percy, who raised his eyebrows as he thoughtfully twisted the signet ring on his hand.

“That is far more than Lord Haemish has ever brought before for such a visit,” Percy replied slowly. “Her Highness is worried?”

Jordan looked incredulous for a moment, then quickly cleared his throat. “Everyone is worried, my Lord. The Crown Prince and House of Lords called for an emergency meeting when I left. Her Highness made use of the confusion to slip me outside the palace to fetch you and Lady Maura.”

“Very well,” Percy said with a hint of disappointment as he glanced towards Carina. “Russell, prepare a carriage for our journey.”

The butler bowed and departed.

“Lady Maura,” Percy held out his hand. Carina accepted it as she stood, somewhat awkwardly, and unwound herself from the blankets.

‘The Ambassador was already here? Wasn’t his original arrival date still another week away? Why had he brought so many soldiers instead of his usual escort? Five thousand soldiers—’ She glanced at Percy and did not miss the look of tense concentration on his face. With five-thousand troops, especially if many of them were fire witches, the Ambassador could easily invade Lafeara, who kept most of its military forces to the west to fend off Tharyn invaders.

‘Rather than a peaceful negotiation—this feels more like the intimidating move of a tyrant. Something else has changed from the original timeline, but what? Damn it! Is this the meddling of the gods?’

“My Lord, they are bringing the carriage around momentarily,” Russell said as he returned with two heavy cloaks. Percy accepted the smaller cloak and wrapped it around Carina’s shoulders.

“Ah—Thank you,” Carina murmured as she reached for the mantle’s ties and found the Earl’s fingers instead. She retracted her cold hands quickly.

“Allow me,” Percy murmured as he slid the tassels through their loops and pulled the hood gently over her hair. Past the Earl’s shoulder, Carina noticed Russell beaming with contentment while Sir Jordan appeared to be staring rather intently at the carpet below his feet. “This is one of the Countess’s cloaks,” Percy said as he stepped back. “It looks good on you.”

To Carina, the Earl’s countenance seemed painfully conflicted before he turned to accept the last cloak from Russell and draped it around his shoulders. “We should get going.” Percy’s expression was once more calm and composed as he turned to offer his arm to Carina. “If the House of Lords has called an emergency meeting, things will start moving very quickly, and I believe Eleanora will need our help shortly.”

“Yes,” Carina agreed as she took his arm. “I fear you are right.”

❆❆❆❆❆

Lady Tiffany greeted the Earl and Carina at the door with a surprised look before she hastily stepped back. “Welcome, Lord Percy! The Crown Princess is waiting for you in the study.”

“Thank you,” Percy replied as he secured Carina’s hand around his arm once more and led her through the door. Carina was too distracted to care about the wide-eyed stare the blonde lady-in-waiting gave them as they moved swiftly towards the library.

Catching a glimpse of Lady Evelynn waiting inside the crown princess’s study, Carina quickly pulled her hand free. Percy looked momentarily annoyed, but he entered the office ahead of her without protest. Carina followed silently but did not miss the seething look Lady Evelynn sent in her direction.

“Cousin!” Eleanora breathed out with relief as she left her desk to greet him.

Percy took the crown princess’s hand and kissed it with a brief bow before he asked abruptly, “Did the Ambassador send you any word of his intent?”

“No,” Eleanora answered with evident frustration as she folded her arms around her waist. “I have no idea what my uncle or the Emperor are thinking. I have done everything they asked of me—” She cut off abruptly as her gaze swept between Carina and Evelynn. “Lady Evelynn if you would fetch Lady Hana down for me?”

“I—” Evelynn frowned but dipped a quick curtsey. “Of course, your Highness.” She slid out of the room with another glare in Carina’s direction.

“Lady Maura, the door,” Eleanora whispered.

Carina quickly obliged and shook her head at Tiffany and Sir Jordan, who waited anxiously outside.

With the door secure, Eleanora hastily continued. “The Emperor's orders were quite clear. If Nicholas married me, then peace between Lafeara and Ventrayna would continue so long as I become Queen. The Coronation is but a few weeks away. I don’t understand what purpose the Emperor would have to invade—”

“Who says it's an invasion?” Percy countered with a quick smile. “Perhaps the Emperor is merely applying pressure—to the alliance and your marriage.”

“But why now?” Eleanora countered with an uneasy frown.

“What better time for Arius to remind Lafeara of their difference in strength than when his Ambassador comes to collect the Emperor’s taxes and renegotiate the terms of allegiance?”

Eleanora shook her head and rubbed her temple as she returned to her desk. “It could also be because the marriage remains unconsummated.”

“Your uncle is aware of that?” Percy asked curiously as he pulled out a chair and motioned to Carina. “Please, sit down, Lady Maura. You are still in shock.”

“Oh—” Eleanora glanced between them. “Lady Maura, if you are unwell, you may leave—”

“I’m fine,” Carina answered quickly and took the offered seat.

Eleanora frowned and shook her head again as she wrapped her right hand around a letter opener and tapped the small dagger against her palm. “My uncle arranged all the servants I brought with me from Ventrayna, so I would assume he is well informed of the state of my marriage.” She glanced towards Carina with a rueful smile. “Hence my desperation to find a means of getting an heir.”

Carina swallowed and nodded reluctantly.

“And what means were you considering?” Percy asked curiously with a glance between them.

“Well,” Eleanora said hesitantly. “Lady Maura is familiar with certain aphrodisiacs—”

“Are you insane?” Percy hissed sharply and turned quickly to Carina. “Did you make such a potion for her Highness?”

“I—” Carina shifted uncomfortably. “I made a small amount—as a last resort.”

“Maura!” Percy hissed and then glanced sharply at the office door. He twisted his hand in a similar gesture as before in his study. “Anyone who uses any form of medicine against the royal family without their express consent will be found guilty of treason and executed! How could you—” His eyes shot towards Eleanora accusingly, then returned to pin Carina beneath their fury. “Maura, you will collect every shred of evidence that you ever made any such thing and give it to me before I leave tonight.”

“Percy!” Eleanora protested as she slammed the small dagger onto her desk. “You are overreacting.”

“You may have the Emperor’s protection in the event you are caught, Eleanora, but Lady Maura does not!” Percy snapped back, his tone vicious enough to stun the crown princess, who silently gawked at him. Percy ignored Eleanora as he wrapped his hand around Carina’s wrist. “Is it here? In your rooms?”

“Yes—the potion is in a secret compartment in my room,” Carina answered reluctantly. “I already burned the remaining herbs I used to make it.”

“How did you go about obtaining those herbs?”

Carina pulled her hand away and sighed. “I have a trusted associate—a physician—who helped me obtain some of the ingredients, but most of the incriminating ones were among the herbs your mother gave me.”

“A physician? Who?” Percy asked sharply.

“Never mind who,” Carina retorted as she rose from her chair. “He would not know their purpose, nor could he betray me without exposing himself.”

“We’ll deal with that later,” Percy growled as he took her arm and pulled her upright. “Go fetch whatever herbal concoctions you have made and bring them to me at once—all of it!”

The fury in the Earl’s winter-grey eyes suddenly sank in as Carina dropped her gaze, embarrassed. She had taken on such a risk blindly; and only because Eleanora had demanded her help.

‘How could I forget that I’m the only one at risk here?’

A chill washed over her as she recalled Maura’s warning and the vision of Eleanora pushing Maura from the safety of the hidden escape tunnel to her fate.

“I’ll fetch it right now,” Carina murmured as she pulled away from his grip.

“Thank you,” Percy replied with evident relief.

“Wait?” Eleanora protested. “I did not agree to this?”

“Trust me, Cousin,” Percy growled as he turned to face the crown princess. “You do not want to risk your future, and that of your future children, on such a desperate move.”

“I won’t have a future if I can not have children!” Eleanora snapped as Percy led Carina to the door and opened it.

Lady Hana stood outside and immediately focused her attention from the Earl to Carina. “Maura! Are you alright?”

Percy stepped aside as Hana quickly took Carina’s arm and pressed a worried hand to her forehead. “You don’t look well at all, Maura. You’re positively freezing! What in the Saints—”

“Lady Hana,” Percy interrupted with a polite bow. “If you could escort Lady Maura to her room, she needs rest.”

“I do not need you to tell me that,” Hana replied sharply. “You should have brought her back much sooner. How could you be so reckless with—”

“Hana,” Carina whispered worriedly. “The Earl is not to blame.”

“Very well, if you say so, Maura,” Hana murmured as she slid an arm around Carina’s waist and led her through the library towards the hall. “Is it true—they were burning witches in Averly?”

Carina swallowed—the taste and smell of ash and burnt flesh would likely haunt her nightmares—and nodded.

“What a shame they did not mistake you as one of them,” Lady Evelynn whispered sinisterly as they passed by her.

The arm supporting Carina’s waist slid free, and she turned just in time to see and hear Hana slap Evelynn across the face—with satisfying effect.

“Be careful of your words, Lady Evelynn,” Hana hissed coldly as she stood over the stunned Evelynn, who held her cheek as she leaned against the bookshelf behind her for support. “They are unbefitting of a court lady.”

The tears in Evelynn’s eyes burned with righteous indignation as they turned from Hana to Carina and then to Percy. The Earl stared back at Evelynn with cold disinterest before he reentered the crown princess’s office and shut the door.

“Come, Lady Maura,” Hana said gently as she replaced her arm around the speechless Carina’s waist. “Let’s get you upstairs in bed where you belong.”

[B2] Chapter 34: The Politics of Marriage

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Chapter 34: The Politics of Marriage

“I won’t ask you about Averly,” Hana said softly as she settled Carina down on the edge of the bed and went to close the door. “I can tell how awful it must have been just by looking at you.”

Carina offered a tired smile and exhaled. “It has been—a very long day.”

Hana nodded sympathetically. “I heard about your bravery this morning. Chasing Lady Sabella and all those knights out of the palace.”

‘Oh, right—that was also today.’ Carina slumped back across the bed and shut her eyes. ‘I have to figure out how to get back to Hawthorne Manor soon so I can talk to Jade. I have so many questions.’

“Tsk. Don’t lie down yet,” Hana admonished gently as she took Carina’s right arm and pulled it firmly. “Get changed first. I’ll have the servants bring up some supper in a bit so you can turn in early.”

Carina grumbled as she sat up and then left the bed. “Before that.” She moved to the single bookshelf in the bedroom and pulled out several books, which she stacked neatly on the desk.

Hana watched curiously as Carina cleared space on the shelf then slide her fingers against the bottom base of the ledge above. Her finger found a small smooth hole, which Carina pressed. A faint click followed, and a lid popped open as a small vial dropped into Carina’s open palm.

“What is that?” Hana asked, intrigued.

“Something Eleanora asked me to make,” Carina answered honestly.

Hana’s expression grew troubled as she crossed her arms over her chest. “What did she ask you to make?”

“An aphrodisiac.”

“Aph—” Hana covered her lips as her eyes widened. She quickly hid the vial in Carina’s palm with her hand and whispered, “Maura, you can’t—if you are caught with something like this—you have to get rid of it. Give it to me.”

“It’s alright.” Carina shook her head and pulled away. “I’m giving it to Lord Percy in a moment.”

“The Earl?” Hana's turquoise eyes widened in dismay, and she shook her head firmly. “Maura, I don’t trust him.”

“Percy has more political power than either of us and is more than capable of dealing with this,” Carina replied as she shut the secret compartment and placed a few books back on the shelf. “Besides, if it weren’t for the Earl’s insistence, Eleanora wouldn’t let me get rid of this aphrodisiac so readily.”

Hana tilted her head in defeat and sighed as she rubbed her throat. “If you’re sure you can trust him, then I won’t protest.”

A knock on the door made Hana jump as Carina hastily slid the vial inside her sleeve.

“Lady Maura,” Percy’s voice called from outside.

“It’s the Earl,” Carina said as she moved to open the door.

“Maura,” Percy greeted as his gaze slid past her to Hana. “Eleanora and I are headed to the Ministry. Nicholas and the House of Lords have summoned her.”

“I see. Please look out for her Highness,” Carina replied tensely.

Percy frowned at Hana again. “Can you—give it to me?”

“I’m well aware of what you came here for, Lord Percy,” Hana replied as she crossed her arms and gave him a cold stare. “Be sure to get rid of it and leave no trace.”

Percy raised an eyebrow at her as he held out his hand. Carina glanced up and down the hall, then pulled out the vial and placed it in the Earl’s palm. His fingers wrapped around hers and held them as he raised her hand to his lips. “Thank you for trusting me,” Percy whispered against her skin.

Carina flushed as she pulled her hand free and took a step back. “Thank you for your assistance today, Lord Percy.”

Percy offered her a devilish smile as he slid the vial inside his jacket. “I look forward to your next visit to Hawthorne, Lady Maura. Good night.”

He nodded to Hana, then turned towards the steps before Carina could manage a reply. She shut the door swiftly behind him.

Hana stared at her with raised eyebrows and a questioning smile.

“It’s not what you think,” Carina said quickly. “I rescued a woman and her infant from the witch hunters in Averly today. I’ll be returning to check on them and see they are properly placed in a house of their own—once the danger has passed.”

“A baby?” Hana echoed, shocked.

“The witch hunters were going to—throw it in a well—” Carina shook her head.

“Those vicious dogs,” Hana seethed with surprising anger. She quickly smiled and wrapped her arms around Carina. “You were brave to rescue them. A true Baroness.”

Carina laughed as she accepted Hana’s hug and laid her cheek against the woman’s shoulder in weary defeat. “I didn’t have a choice.”

‘I wanted to avoid the church’s attention all together—but I never expected to meet Jade again in this world.’ She thought of the white-haired woman in red and Viktor. ‘Was it just good fortune that I was made Baroness of Averly and happened to be there when Jade needed me? Or was this all orchestrated by some deity?’

It had never occurred to Carina that the gods briefly mentioned in Lafeara’s mythology and history might actually be real. If she had not seen Viktor nor had that dream in Anthraticus, she would probably deny it still.

‘If they truly exist—will they stop me from changing the future? How am I supposed to outwit a god?’

❆❆❆❆❆

“Your Majesty, this cannot be a coincidence,” Borghese protested as he rose from his seat without waiting for acknowledgment from the Prime Minister.

‘As always, Borghese does what he likes with no regard to rank or hierarchy,’ Attwood thought darkly as he resigned himself to another foolhardy lecture.

“Only a few days after the Pope’s Emissary arrives, the Emperor sends his Ambassador to our border ahead of schedule with five-thousand soldiers!” Borghese glared along the table as if his gaze alone would add weight to his somber words. “If this is not an invasion, then it is a show of intimidation meant to remind us of the Emperor’s position against the church.”

“The Marquess has a point,” Lord Caldwell muttered as he raised his hand.

‘I should be grateful Caldwell at least tries to follow protocol, but I can’t let Borghese control the momentum of this meeting.’

“Marquess Borghese,” Attwood ignored the noble’s signal for recognition and remained focused on Borghese. “It takes nearly a week to travel from Ventrayna to our borders. You know that. Which means the Ambassador had already left Ventrayna before the Church’s Emissary reached Lafeara.”

“I would not be so hasty to exclude a connection between them, Prime Minister,” Caldwell interjected impatiently as he dropped his hand. “It is possible the Emperor was made aware of the recent witch attacks and changed the dates of the Ambassador’s visit accordingly.”

“Surely the Prime Minister is not so naive as to believe that the Emperor has no spies among our fair city,” Borghese added with a hint of ridicule.

Attwood didn’t bother replying. ‘Sometimes the only way to beat an overconfident opponent is to let them dig their own grave.’

“Your tone is not appreciated, Borghese,” growled Marquess Winifred, whose seat faced his political opponent. “It is wise to avoid jumping to conclusions without any evidence to support these wild claims. Paranoia and quick assumptions will only lead us to make unnecessary choices that bring about more harm than good. Or would you have us call up Lafeara’s armies and start a war on your word alone?”

‘Marquess Winifred, ever the voice of reason. And a master of the art of speaking only when necessary.’ Attwood kept his expression neutral as several lords rumbled their agreement behind Winifred on both sides of the table.

“I would not be so dramatic nor hasty,” Borghese countered sharply.

“And yet, strangely enough, your actions and words do not match up,” Winifred replied in a tone of incredulity. “Perhaps Marquess Borghese should learn to govern his emotions and words with a bit more care if he does not wish to appear hasty or dramatic.”

Borghese appeared unable or unwilling to combat Winifred’s cutting words and took his seat with a sullen expression.

Attwood tapped his fingers softly against the table as he waited to see if any of the other lords wished to voice an opinion. He let the tense silence lengthen for a good five minutes before rising from his chair to speak.

“We do not know why the Ambassador has arrived ahead of schedule. Nor should we jump to conclusions as to why his entourage of guards has been strengthened to such numbers. It may be because of the presence of the church—” Attwood nodded reluctantly to Borghese “—it may also be a show of force since the terms for renegotiation under Nicholas’s reign will be discussed during this visit.”

“Perhaps the court rumors have reached the Emperor, and he is displeased with the progress the royal couple has made in the marriage bed,” Borghese replied with an indignant snort.

Attwood winced as a foot slammed against the floor behind him.

“Perhaps the Marquess should remember that I am present when he chooses to voice his opinions on my marriage so openly,” Nicholas replied coldly from the throne upon the dais which faced the noble’s table.

“Ah,” Borghese turned and inclined his head politely to the crown prince. “A slip of the tongue, your Majesty. Although the matter remains a valid concern for us all with the Ambassador already at our border.”

‘A slip of the tongue? Any other noble would be in fear of losing their head after such an offensive slipup.’

“Borghese,” Winifred growled, clearly offended on behalf of the crown prince.

“Can you find fault in his words?” protested Lord Bennet.

“It’s a well-known fact that the marital bed has become a source of popular gossip among the court attendants,” agreed Lord Kendall. “There are even rumors that commoners are placing bets on whether Princess Eleanora will ever become queen.”

“I never thought I’d live to see the day the House of Lord’s resorted to listening to gossip,” protested old Lord Gladstone with a derisive snort.

“We cannot just disregard gossip and rumors since they provide the best insight into the public’s opinion,” Caldwell countered somberly. “Nor can we ignore the impact such rumors may have on the upcoming negotiation—especially given the current status of the royal couple’s marriage.”

‘And yet it was likely someone from Borghese’s party who spread those rumors to ensure it would become a matter of concern before the Ambassador’s visit,’ Attwood seethed quietly.

“Why was it your Majesty failed to consummate this important political marriage on your wedding night?” Borghese inquired quite pointedly as the House of Lord’s ten members turned their attention towards the crown prince.

Nicholas glared back at them with evident displeasure before waving a hand to Attwood.

‘Like a Master commanding his dog to speak.’ Attwood sighed but stood to address Lafeara’s body of government. “As was recorded in the royal diary, the Crown Princess felt unwell, and so, to avoid contracting any foreign illness, his Majesty slept alone.”

“Foreign illness?” Lord Enfield protested scornfully. “The Crown Princess has been living in the royal palace for over a year now. Surely the royal physicians would have noted any—”

“Eleanora was unwell,” Nicholas snapped as he smacked his hand against the throne armrest. “Or does Lord Enfield wish to imply there was some other reason?”

Attwood sighed as Enfield, one of the lowest-ranked members of the House of Lords, wisely bowed his head and remained silent.

“Whatever the reason,” Marquess Winifred said gravely. “You have been married for several weeks, your Majesty. Has the Crown Princess remained unwell over the last twenty days of your marriage?”

Whatever protest Nicholas was about to fire back, it was cut off when the knights opened the door, and the page announced, “Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Eleanora and his Lordship, Earl Percy Hawthorne.”

‘Speak of the devil,’ Attwood thought as Nicholas’s expression darkened and the House of Lords turned their accusing gaze towards the Emperor’s adopted niece.

[B2] Chapter 35: A Wave of Ambition

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Chapter 35: A Wave of Ambition

The hushed silence that fell over the House of Lords was in no part due to the Crown Princess’s expected arrival, but rather the Earl's appearance by her side.

Percy ignored the stares as he surveyed the council room with a tingle of nostalgia. The last time he had entered these esteemed halls had been on his father’s shoulders when the Earl, serving as the previous Prime Minister, had introduced Percy to many of the noble lords who sat before him now in stunned silence.

‘It almost feels like you’re still here.’

Percy’s gaze settled on Marquess Winifred, who rose abruptly from his chair and bowed humbly to the Earl over the table.

“Your likeness to your father is remarkable, Young Percy—no, Earl Hawthorne,” Winifred said with a hint of sadness. “We are delighted to welcome your Grace and your Highness.” He bowed humbly to Eleanora, and the crown princess smiled back with a nod of her head.

“Grace?” Borghese remarked cynically. The other lords ignored him as seven chairs scraped across the floor, and seven of the ten council lords rose to bow in silent recognition of late Earl Ethan’s son and heir.

“Esteemed lords,” Percy replied hastily as he motioned for Winifred to rise. “I am humbled and undeserving.” The Earl smiled as he released Eleanora’s arm and bowed in return.

‘It is good to see the old ways are still respected here.’

“My Lords,” Eleanora greeted as the councilmen all rose, their gaze still fixated on Percy. “I received a summons to appear before you. I believe this is due to the presence of Ventrayna forces at Lafeara’s border?”

“Ah, yes—your Highness,” Attwood rose from his chair with a polite bow. “We wished to inquire if the Crown Princess had received any notice of your uncle’s sudden change in plans, but—” he turned his attention back to the Earl who was shaking hands with Marquess Winifred. “Why has Lord Percy chosen to accompany you?”

Percy turned his amused gaze towards Attwood as Winifred released his hand with a muffled snicker. ‘What’s wrong, Attwood? Do you see my presence as an omen of your demise? You who took my father’s seat at this table with the help of his killer.’

“I invited Earl Hawthorne,” Eleanora answered without hesitation. “I wanted my cousin’s council and understanding of Lafeara politics.”

“What would a boy know of politics?” Borghese responded cynically.

“That boy is Earl of Hawthorne,” growled Earl Coldwell with a warning glare to the Marquess he so often supported. Borghese inhaled a sharp breath, both caught off guard and annoyed to have been corrected by one of his own.

“Let the Earl stay,” interrupted Nicholas, looking rather relieved by the unexpected interruption. “We will need the support of all the nobles should the Ambassador’s actions lead us to war.”

“I do not believe things are quite so dire, your Majesty,” Eleanora protested with a soft laugh.

“And I would agree with her Highness’s assessment,” Lord Percy added as he escorted Eleanora to her seat beside Nicholas. “In fact, I have a suggestion if your Majesties and the House of Lords are willing to listen?”

“Of course,” Nicholas replied happily.

‘Still as eager to win me over as ever I see.’ Percy smiled politely at the crown prince, then turned to face the House of Lords and noted the anxious and annoyed expressions on Attwood and Borghese’s faces.

‘You both have exerted quite a bit of effort to keep me away from this room—but it is far too late to stop me from claiming what is rightfully mine.’

“With over a quarter of our army at the border of Tharyn in Wolfthorn Valley, we have only two thousand troops on hand to defend the capital,” Percy explained calmly. “Therefore, it would be to our advantage to determine the Ambassador’s intentions before he arrives at the capital.”

“That would be obvious,” snarked Borghese.

“And how are we to determine his intentions before he arrives,” Winifred cut in intently.

“That is quite simple, Marquess Winifred,” Percy replied in a patient tone. “We communicate with him. I would suggest asking her Highness to write a letter welcoming the Ambassador, her uncle, to Lafeara. I would be happy to volunteer to deliver this letter to the border in person to greet Lord Haemish and inquire as to his intentions.”

“Your Grace!” Winifred protested as the other lords raised their voices in protest. “The mission is far too dangerous to send a noble such as yourself!”

“Lord Percy!” Attwood stood and held out his hands to silence the council lords. “It would be against all protocol for you to undertake such a task. You are young—and not a member of this council—and as the Marquess said, such a mission could well be perilous.”

‘Not to me.’ Percy composed his face, careful not to show his overconfidence as he turned to face Nicholas. “I am well aware of the risks, but I believe the Ambassador will welcome me as family. That is why I offered to deliver her Highness’s letter.”

‘It's not as if any of these other lords would volunteer to go themselves.’

Nicholas glanced from Eleanora, who nodded approvingly at her cousin, to Percy, who met his gaze with calm certainty. “But—”

“Lord Percy is still not a member of the House of Lords,” Borghese interjected as he rose from his seat. “Your Majesty, you cannot leave such an important mission to a mere boy—”

“Lord Percy is the same age as his Majesty,” Winifred interjected with a deadly calm that quickly silenced the room. Borghese choked on his words for a moment as Marquess Winifred rose from his seat to address Nicholas. “Your Majesty, we have three vacant seats with Lord Tomberline and Lord Acheron absent to deal with the witch hunters from the church. I believe it is high time we filled the last seat.”

“Hear, hear!” Seven other lords quickly drummed their fists against the table in approval.

‘And here it comes.’ Percy watched with silent delight as Attwood and Borghese glanced desperately at each other for aid. ‘Desperate times make for desperate allies.’

“Your Majesty,” Attwood protested.

“Prime Minister, Marquess Winifred has a point,” Nicholas called out with a chuckle. “So, I will approve his request. Let us put it to a vote.”

“But—we do not have a full house!” Borghese objected.

“We do not need the full house to carry a vote,” Winifred replied as he raised his hand into the air. “Just a clear majority. I shall start this motion by giving the first vote in favor. All who agree it is high time the Earl of Hawthorne reclaimed his ancestorial seat among the House of Lords, say Aye!”

“Aye!” “Aye!” “Aye!”

Percy smiled as hands rose without dissent all around the table until only Marquess Borghese and Prime Minister Attwood sat alone in their futile objection. The succession of office from father to son was widely accepted and a standard practice among Lafeara’s nobles. Even Borghese’s supporters would not dare oppose this tradition out of fear it would be held and used against them in the future.

As for the Prime Minister, who had only been appointed due to the Dowager’s influence, his support from Marquess Winifred came from their mutual interest in protecting the new crown prince from Borghese’s ambitions.

‘However, very soon, Winifred’s interest will align with mine, and then Attwood and the crown prince will have no one left to protect them.’

“Eight out of nine approve the motion,” Winifred counted off with evident satisfaction. “Does the Prime Minister recognize the results of this vote?”

Attwood pressed his lips together in silent frustration as he turned towards the throne in hopes of appealing to Nicholas one last time. Percy caught the Prime Minister’s worried gaze and offered him a mocking smile.

‘You know the Crown Prince will never choose you over the power of the Hawthorne name.’

“Prime Minister?” Nicholas inquired with a frown from behind the Earl. “Do you recognize the vote?”

Attwood nodded solemnly. “The House of Lords recognize Marquess Winifred’s motion to accept Lord Percy as the twelfth Lord of Council.”

“And I give my royal blessing and welcome to the Earl as well!” Nicholas declared eagerly as he leapt up and embraced Percy warmly.

“Thank you, your Majesty,” Percy answered stiffly as all the lords, including the reluctant Borghese, applauded for him. “And thank you, noble lords, for your gracious welcome.”

“Come, your Grace,” Winifred said enthusiastically as he vacated his chair and held it out. “Allow me to offer my seat.”

“I dare not, Marquess Winifred,” Percy protested with raised hands as Viscount Bronte pulled him over.

“Nonsense, I will take Lord Acheron’s seat—he is hardly present for such matters as it is,” Winifred countered without so much as a glance in Attwood’s direction. “And it would be a disgrace to your father’s memory for his son to be seated any lower at the table.”

The council lords nodded their approval, and friendly hands pushed him towards the chair as Percy, with a defeated laugh, sat upon the seat to Attwood’s left. A single look at the strangled expression on the Prime Minister’s face was almost enough to break the mask of humility Percy displayed for the other lords’ benefits.

“Well, then—” Attwood coughed and cleared his throat. “With that matter concluded, perhaps we should return to the pressing urgency of the Ambassador—”

“I would like to accompany the Earl on this journey, with his Majesty’s permission, of course,” Winifred interjected quickly. “My family holds several estates near the border, and I can provide a small retinue of well-armed guards to safeguard the Earl and myself.”

“I welcome your company, Marquess,” Percy replied with an appreciative nod to the councilman. “But if we are to be a welcome party, we must not appear to be on guard against our guest. I have a trusted group of eight mercenaries who can accompany me—”

“Only eight?” the other lords quickly murmured in disbelief.

“What the Marquess said has merit,” Nicholas interjected with a glance to Eleanora. “I will approve your suggestion, Lord Percy, if you accept the Marquess company and offer of protection.”

Percy sighed in modest defeat and bowed his head. “Of course, your Majesty. Then—if her Highness would write the required letter—I would like to depart for the border tonight.” He rose from his seat, and the other lords rose around him, startled.

“So soon?” Earl Caldwell protested with a worried look.

“Surely, first thing in the morning will be soon enough!” added Viscount Marlowe. “To travel at night with witches and witch hunters about—”

“I appreciate your concerns, noble lords,” Percy replied. “But the sooner I can put his Majesty's concerns to rest, the sooner the court can focus on preparations to receive our guest and the vital negotiations that lie ahead.”

“Well said, Lord Percy,” Eleanora declared as she left her seat and curtsied to Nicholas. “Then, if you’ll excuse me, husband, I have a letter to write.” She swept towards Percy, who offered his arm once more and led the crown princess through the doors the knights hurriedly pulled open before them.

❆❆❆❆❆

Attwood sat sullenly in his seat long after Nicholas and all the other lords had left following the Earl’s departure—all except Marquess Borghese. The Prime Minister rubbed his jawline thoughtfully and glanced towards the equally sullen and grim expression on Borghese’s face.

“You realize he’ll be after your seat next, Prime Minister,” Borghese announced suddenly.

“I am aware of the Earl’s ambition,” Attwood replied tiredly. “But it will take more than a majority vote for him to take my seat.”

Borghese roared out a bitter laugh as he dragged a jeweled hand down his face and sighed. “Did you not see how easy it was for him? How readily they all welcomed him back? As if he were the reincarnated Earl they all once worshiped.”

“Earl Ethan’s memory—his service to the crown and his terrible death—is not something easily forgotten.” Attwood pushed back his chair. “Even I, when I took this seat, merely hoped to live up to the example the Earl left behind.”

Borghese scoffed as Attwood stood. “Mark my words, Prime Minister. We will both live to regret this day.”

Attwood waved a hand dismissively as he headed towards the exit. “I may be in the Earl’s path—but I am not his enemy.”

“Is there a difference?”

Attwood shook his head but did not respond.

“It would be a shame to see you give up your seat without a fight after struggling to keep it out of my reach for so long!” Borghese shouted after him as the Prime Minister left the council room.

Attwood did not stop walking until he stood outside on the Ministry steps, alone. The evening sky filled his view, lined with crimson clouds that promised more clear days ahead, but deep in his bones, the Prime Minister knew a storm was headed their way.

[B2] Chapter 36: A Prison of Fear

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Chapter 36: A Prison of Fear

“So, Eleanora is writing a letter?” Carina clarified as Tilly, the maid, cleared away the tray of dinner she had just finished.

“Yes, my Lady. And Lord Percy will be taking it to her uncle at the border,” Tilly replied as she covered the plate, silverware, and cup with a heavy linen fabric that both hid the mess and kept the dinnerware from shifting about too much.

“I see. Thank you for telling me, Tilly,” Carina replied with a distracted smile. Of all the maids who worked in Rose Palace, Tilly had become the most reliable at passing on information when asked. That didn’t diminish the fact that Tilly's curiosity often had her listening in outside of doors when she shouldn’t, but Carina made use of the information the clever maid gathered all the same.

“Of course, my Lady. Goodnight.” Tilly called over her shoulder as she balanced the tray against her hip while she opened the door with her free hand.

‘But am I the only one you tell your stories to, Tilly?’

“Goodnight.” Carina smiled back at the maid and waited until Tilly had shut the door. In an instant, the bedsheets were tossed aside as Carina moved swiftly across the carpeted floor towards the bookshelf.

She selected a large book ambiguously titled Lafeara’s Great History from the lower shelf and then pulled a folded map free from beneath its cover. Using the history book to hold down one side of the map while a candlestick and ink well held down the other corners, Carina traced the distance from Lafeara’s capital to the Serpentine River, and beyond to Ventrayna’s border, following the inked routes most often used by merchants and travelers.

‘On horseback, without a carriage or marching troops, it will take the Earl two to three days to reach Widow’s Tree Pass where the Ambassador and his army are currently camped. Which means I have about a week to finish my preparations.’

Carina straightened, nervously toying with the Winter Rose necklace chain as she paced behind the desk chair, and mentally ran through her plans.

“Madame Maylea’s caravans are expected to arrive in the next three days. I’ll need to send a message before she gets here to explain the shift in our schedule—” Carina let a short laugh as she sank into the chair. “Then again, this is Madame Maylea. Something of this magnitude happening in Lafeara, she will no doubt have heard.”

A smile crossed Carina’s face as she thought of her old dance instructor. A woman who lived like a gypsy queen, with a reputation for producing the most desirable performers and exotic dancers. But underneath the silk skirts and painted faces of Maylea’s troupe was a network of information gathered from the most remote corners of the continent that could be sold, for a fair price, but only if Maylea wished the information to be known. And that was just one of many services she offered her favored clients.

“Maylea’s performers would fit in perfectly at the banquet and would certainly match the Ambassador’s taste. Evelynn has yet to secure anything beyond a four-person string band to play during the banquet. The chances of her finding any available performers that would suit Eleanora’s expectations in the next few days is slight at best, and the Crown Princess won’t happily settle for a mediocre entertainment.”

Getting Eleanora to agree to allow Maylea’s dancers into the palace would not be a problem. The real trouble would start the moment the Ambassador reached the city. Although Hana was holding up well, Carina could only imagine how the woman truly felt about facing her attacker again.

The fading sunlight cast a strange burnt-red glow over the ceiling as the curtains' shadows and furniture stretched across the floor, then twisted against the far wall. The smell of fire and burning flesh filled the room with the echo of suffocating screams as cold fingers wrapped themselves around Carina’s neck.

She bolted from the chair and ran to the window as a familiar pain stabbed through her chest. Carina’s vision blurred as her cold fingers fumbled with the stiff latch. Frost crept over the windowpane and along the wooden frame with each strained pant. When she finally flung the window open, Carina leaned her head outside to drink in deep mouthfuls of air.

“You must use your magic regularly. Ignoring your gift will only bring you agonizing pain that even my heart can’t protect you from.” Viktor’s parting words of warning echoed through her pounding ears as Carina sagged and leaned her forehead against the window frame.

‘How long has it been since I last intentionally used this magic?’

The image of Lincoln’s frozen, bleeding mouth and shocked expression came to mind, but this time Carina felt no lingering distress from the memory. If she hadn’t killed him, Lincoln would have done worse to her. And if she had let him live, it would be Carina burning at the stake with the other witches.

‘Maybe, if I had been discovered and burned—those other women would have been spared.’

Carina stared out the open window at the rigid structures of the palaces. The dark silhouettes of history stood like great giants against the fading red horizon.

“Become a queen?” Carina exhaled and rubbed her cheek as she straightened. “A half-blood? Ridiculous. How many people would have to die for that to even be possible?”

‘None if you become Nicholas’s queen,’ Maura’s voice whispered behind her.

Carina whipped around to find Maura standing in front of the bedroom mirror. The specter appeared to be preening as one of Carina’s dresses materialized around her ghostly form. “Maura?” Carina greeted cautiously.

The dream from Anthraticus still lingered in her mind like a warning, but even without it, Carina had felt a bit on edge around her resident ghost lately.

‘Call me, Queen Maura!’ the specter replied with a chilling smile as she bobbed a clumsy curtsy to the mirror.

‘At least she’s in good spirits now.’ Carina moved from the window to the bed to watch Maura fidget with her cloudy dark hair. ‘She’s been a bit moody ever since that night in the secret tunnel.’

“You know that becoming queen is impossible, Maura,” Carina replied carefully. “We agreed to protect Hana by making sure Eleanora becomes queen and removing all threats to her reign.”

‘Does that bitch really deserve to be queen?’ Maura replied as her head rolled unnaturally in Carina’s direction. ‘I showed you what Eleanora is really like. She would even put your life at risk just to help her bed the crown prince.’

“I appreciate the warning, Maura. But I’m just trying to be practical here. You—” Carina cut off as a sudden thought flickered awake. “Maura, your father—his family bloodline—"

‘Yes?’ Maura loomed closer. The layered skirt of the dress she had copied floated across the floor like a dark shadow.

“You don’t know who they were?” Carina pressed curiously.

‘No.’ Maura sighed as she reached towards the Winter Rose around Carina’s neck, then halted with a frown as her dark eyes slowly rose to meet Carina’s. ‘Do you?’

Instinct stopped Carina from answering. From spilling every detail of her discovery and Viktor’s secrets.

“Just that they are witches,” Carina answered with a forced smile, trying not to feel guilty but unable to ignore the warning that prickled along her throat and deep in her gut.

The ghost smiled, sharp teeth glistened behind lips rubbed with too much rouge. Even in death, Maura could not replicate the etiquette and training of a lady. Carina’s guilt twisted deeper as the ghost gently cupped the ice witch’s cheeks and kissed Carina’s forehead.

‘You should get some sleep. You are looking run down.’ Maura suggested as she floated back towards Carina’s closet of dresses. Maura replicated the Winter Rose against her dress with a gesture of her hand and smiled in glee like a little girl playing dress-up.

“Yes,” Carina whispered, feeling tired enough to sleep for a week at least. ‘If only there were time.’ She sighed and cleared her throat, unable to chase away the taste of smoke, then rose to shut the window.

Once under the covers, Carina tried to relax as the sound of Maura’s humming filled her ears. The ghost’s playful suggestion floated up through the sea of troubled thoughts, which kept her awake long after the night sky had locked the sun from view.

‘Marry Nicholas? That is equally impossible.’

❆❆❆❆❆

Winter chased Carina as she ran through the halls of Anthraticus. A howling storm of snow and ice roared down the tunnels behind her. The shrieking tsunami echoed with the snarls of a hundred wolves whose red eyes glared after the ice witch.

Carina ran on, stumbling into one dead end after another. Each time the runes carved into the walls flared awake to guide her through yet another secret door which led deeper into Anthraticus.

“You’re running out of time,” the familiar voice from her nightmare echoed in Carina’s ears. “Give me what is mine, Kirsi!”

Viktor’s doors appeared before her, and Carina almost collapsed against them in relief as she pressed a hand against the marbled green barrier and shouted, “Immortalitatis Potentia!”

The doors didn’t move.

Confused, Carina pressed both her hands against the stone’s surface and reached for her magic—only to find it gone.

“Maura.” Hana’s soft voice turned Carina from the door to where the blonde-haired woman stood in her nightgown on the tunnel steps. A faint glow filled the dark space around her and illuminated Hana’s golden hair, but it was her eyes, blinding with light, that was painful to look at as her lips spread into a sorrowful smile.

“Hana?” Carina whispered, eyes moving fearfully down the tunnel where the hungry sounds of winter were closing in on them. “What are you doing in my dream?”

A glimmer of pain flashed across Hana’s face as she raised a trembling hand to her throat and whispered, “It’s not your fault, Kirsi.”

Carina froze as Hana’s eyes rolled back, and her body convulsed just before the storm of ice and wolves devoured her.

“Hana!”

Carina snapped awake, once more in her bedroom in Rose Palace, and stared down at the sheets that were covered in frost. Maura materialized at the foot of her bed, the ghost’s face twisted in warning as her black lips shouted, “Hana!”

Carina bolted from the bed to her desk, stubbing her foot against the chair as she nearly ripped out the drawer of quills and chalk. She fumbled in the dark, found and grabbed her room key, then unlocked the door before racing across the hall towards Hana’s room. A distorted thud echoed from behind the door, followed by a gargled groan as Carina hurriedly shoved her key into Hana’s door and unlocked it.

With no source of light, she could make out little inside the dark room. Shutting the door behind her none-the-less, Carina fumbled through the darkness, listening intently. “Hana?”

Sounds that were not quite human came from the direction of the bed as the disturbing thud continued.

“Hana!” Carina repeated as she continued forward and stopped when her foot found a hand on the floor. With a stifled cry, Carina stepped back and illuminated the room with a flash of ice magic.

Hana’s pale face gazed up at her from the floor. Foam pooled between her purple lips, and the whites of her rolled back eyes glowed beneath Carina’s magic. The fallen attendant’s legs were twisted up in blankets and sheets half pulled from the bed. Her entire body was rigid and awkwardly posed as Hana lay on her stomach against the floor. Painful uncontrolled jerks banged the side of the attendant’s head against the carpet as she convulsed.

‘She’s having a seizure!’

Carina grabbed a pillow from the bed and quickly dropped down beside Hana to slip it under the woman’s head.

“It’s okay, Hana,” Carina whispered as she untangled the blankets from the woman’s legs, “I’m here. You aren’t alone. It will pass.”

Gargled grunts that were not words conveyed the woman’s desperation, pain, and fear through the darkness. Carina cast another flare of magic into the air above them and ignored the small falling snowflakes as she gently grabbed Hana’s hip and shoulders, then turned the woman carefully on her side to prevent her from choking.

“You’re doing great,” Carina said as reassuringly as she could. “Everything’s going to be alright—it will be over soon.” The panicked tension in her chest faded as Carina sat down beside Hana and grasped one of her stiff hands. There was nothing she could do but watch Hana suffer and illuminate her pain with the soft glow of ice magic that filled the room with a flurry of cold snow.

When the worst of Hana’s convulsions passed, Carina slipped her fingers through Hana’s hair and gradually cooled down her neck, scalp, face, and the tormented brain within. Hana calmed gradually, and Carina removed her hands once the woman’s body began to show signs of relaxing.

“Maura,” Hana croaked as her hand fumbled through the darkness and found Carina’s leg.

“I’m here. It's alright now.” Carina stroked the woman’s hair gently as her fingers slowly returned to their normal temperature.

“I couldn’t—be alone—again,” Hana whispered heartbrokenly.

“You should have told me you weren’t feeling well,” Carina admonished gently.

“I thought—some sleep—would be fine.”

“How could you be fine.” Carina sighed as she bent over the woman and placed her forehead against Hana’s shoulder. “You don’t have to fight this all on your own.”

“I can’t—be a burden.”

Carina closed her eyes as tears of frustration threatened to pour free. She took Hana’s hand and held onto it tightly. “You’re not a burden. You are my friend, Hana. Please—know that I will always protect my friends.”

“Maura,” Hana’s trembling voice whispered back. “Snow?”

Carina laughed shakily. “What do you know of snow, Hana? You are from the desert. It’s just a bit of ice I used to cool your head down.”

“I saw—Maura.” Hana’s hand tightened around Carina’s fingers. “Cold—but beautiful.”

Carina sighed and gently brushed her fingers through Hana’s hair.

“I won’t tell,” Hana whispered tiredly. “I’ll protect—you too.”

“Of course,” Carina whispered back, somehow certain Hana would do exactly as she promised. “Let’s get you back in bed. I need some light to—”

The door opened, and Carina froze as Eleanora appeared with a candle in hand.

“Hana!” Eleanora whispered as her gaze flickered over them, and she hurriedly shut the door. “Maura, why didn’t you send for me?”

“I didn’t want to leave Hana alone while she was suffering,” Carina replied quickly as Eleanora set the candle on the floor and pulled Hana gently into her lap.

“She needs a bath,” Elenora ordered, her voice still groggy from sleep. “Wake Mrs. Poppy and help her fetch some buckets and towels. Bring up some of that herbal tea you make if it will help.”

“Yes, of course.” Carina rose to her feet and anxiously surveyed Hana’s dress and the floor. Most of the snowflakes had already melted into the carpet, and Eleanora appeared far to be too focused on Hana to notice. ‘Let’s hope she doesn’t.’ Carina turned to the door and opened it silently.

“And Lady Maura,” Eleanora called after her sharply. “Not a word of this to anyone.”

“I know, your Highness.” Carina curtsied, shut the door, and slipped across the hall to retrieve her own candle.

Thanks to the Holy Church's teachings, epilepsy and seizures were often viewed as signs that someone was possessed by a witch’s ghost. ‘What a convenient excuse to condemn an ill person to death.’ Carina’s fists tightened around the candlestick as she descended the palace steps and turned towards the servant’s quarters. ‘Hana took a great risk in coming here—but she had no choice. Even this superstitious country is safer than the palaces of Ventrayna.’

[B2] Chapter 37: The Web of Politics

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Chapter 37: The Web of Politics

A windowpane of gray clouds awaited Carina when she twitched awake, half expecting to find Maura lurking by the side of her bed again. With no specter in sight, Carina pushed herself up and glared at the tangled mess of blankets and pillows. She was still wearing the bathrobe and nightgown she had worn earlier while tending to Hana, who had finally managed to fall asleep a few hours before morning.

Unfortunately, that meant that Carina, Eleanora, and Mrs. Poppy had gotten just as little rest before the rising sun as well.

‘Sleep is a crutch anyway,’ Carina reflected as she stretched tiredly and rose to prepare for another long day. It was well after her usual waking hour, so it didn’t surprise Carina to hear from Tilly, whom she met in the hall, that everyone else was already awake.

“Her Highness and Lady Evelynn went riding,” Tilly explained. “Though judging by the bow and arrows she carried, the Crown Princess will likely stay out until she catches something.”

‘Hopefully, that won’t take all day.’ Carina nodded, though mildly irritated that Eleanora would choose to spend the morning outside of the palace rather than keeping Hana company. ‘I suppose if she lingered around Hana too much, it might draw suspicion.’

She checked in on the older attendant and was relieved to find Hana sleeping peacefully beneath a curtain of tangled blonde hair. The carpet on the floor had been removed for cleaning, and several fresh flowers were spread around the room to mask any odor of Hana’s illness.

Carina went over and opened a window to help freshen the room but kept the curtains closed to keep out the already brightening sunlight.

“There you are,” Mrs. Poppy called as she pushed Hana’s bedroom door open further. “Lady Tiffany is looking for you. She needs some help with a task her Highness left for her today.”

“What task?” Carina asked distractedly as she returned to the bed and tucked Hana’s right arm under the blanket. “With her Highness away, I’ll need to stay with Hana. Why can’t Lady Tiffany complete her own tasks?” Carina did not miss the annoyance, brought on by the lack of sleep, which crept into her voice.

‘I’m not whining. I’m just tired, and I already have enough on my plate.’

“Well, I can certainly relay that to Lady Tiffany if you wish,” Mrs. Poppy replied with an arched brow. “You’re not the only one who lost sleep last night, Lady Maura, and I’m perfectly capable of looking after Lady Hana myself. I did so for several years before you blessed us with your presence.”

Carina cringed under the housekeeper’s sharp sarcasm.

“I cannot,” Poppy continued, “Be of much use to her Highness in a fancy boutique or expensive jewelry store. Those duties fall to the Crown Princess’s noble ladies-in-waiting, not her common housekeeper!”

“Point taken, Mrs. Poppy,” Carina replied quickly with a raised hand. “I’ll go see what help Lady Tiffany requires. But I will be making a tray of breakfast for Lady Hana before I go anywhere. Please avoid giving her the same medication you did before.”

“Oh, of course, Lady Physician,” Poppy snarked and promptly left the room.

Carina turned back to the open window, drew in a deep breath, and exhaled. ‘It was going to be a very long day.’

❆❆❆❆❆

“I hear that Lady Hana’s illness relapsed?” Tiffany said curiously as Carina finally settled into her seat at the dining table after preparing Hana’s breakfast of brown sugar and cinnamon porridge that could be reheated, along with some Valerian tea and soft caramel cookies.

“Yes, her fever got much worse last night,” Carina replied as she scraped a bit of butter to the mix-berry muffins Robbi had baked for breakfast.

“Did—Mrs. Poppy explain—that I need to go out of the palace today?” Tiffany pressed hesitantly.

“She mentioned you might need some help with the tasks the Crown Princess left you.” Carina took a bite of food and leaned back as one of the maids brought over her requested cup of ice raspberry tea. “Thank you.”

The maid smiled and dipped a brief curtsey before retreating to stand by the wall.

“Her Highness asked me to check up on the dresses for the Ambassador’s banquet,” Tiffany explained and tapped her empty plate to signal the maid to clear away her finished breakfast. “I was also going to stop by my family jewelry store to check on some pieces I had made for the upcoming Royal Ball.”

“Ah, the one the Dowager is hosting for the Ambassador’s visit?” Carina frowned, mentally running over the previous arrangements for the upcoming negotiation.

Eleanora was to hold the first banquet on the day her uncle arrived. As the future queen and Lord Haemish’s relative, she was tasked with making the Emperor’s dignitary feel welcomed. The following morning negotiations between the two kingdoms would begin when Lord Haemish met with the Crown Prince, and of course, the House of Lords followed by the Dowager’s Royal Ball, held in the evening.

Negotiations would resume the following morning with either a celebratory feast held by Nicholas once a new alliance treaty was signed or another banquet hosted by the Prime Minister if negotiations had still not reached mutual concessions.

Depending on how well Nicholas and the Ambassador yielded to each other’s demands and requests, the visit could last up to a full week or could be as short as three days. Unfortunately, as far as negotiations went, the Ambassador had the Emperor’s interests to uphold, and thus the most power.

“Lady Maura?” Tiffany called out.

Carina blinked as she snapped out of her thoughts and realized she had missed whatever Tiffany had said before. “Ah, I’m sorry, Lady Tiffany. I’m still a bit tired.”

“Yes, of course, you are.” Tiffany smiled readily. “I wanted to ask if you wouldn’t mind joining me for this trip. I confess I’m not very familiar with her Highness’s fashion sense nor certain what her expectations are. I wouldn’t want to disagree with something the Crown Princess might like or add something she would detest, so—”

‘She really is hopeless.’ Carina set down her unfinished muffin, she didn’t have much of an appetite, and sighed. “Alright, I can come with you, but I can’t be gone for very long. Mrs. Poppy will need a break from watching Lady Hana at some point.”

“Oh! That shouldn’t be a problem. It’s just the Holy Maiden Boutique and the Royal Tiara Jewelry store.”

Carina narrowed her eyes at Tiffany, who looked strangely relieved, as a sudden thought came to her. “That’s quite a bold choice in store names, given your family lacks a royal patron of any sort.”

“Oh? No, but we do!” Tiffany froze, her lilac-blue eyes widening before she lowered her gaze and hastily dropped her napkin on her plate. “Well, I should go get ready. Do enjoy your breakfast, Lady Maura.”

‘It is you.’ Carina nodded and smiled as she watched the blonde attendant flee the dining room. ‘It all makes sense now. The Dowager was behind your family's rise to nobility. She even patroned your family store; of course, you would agree to spy for her.’

❆❆❆❆❆

Hana was awake by the time Carina went back upstairs, though the pale attendant looked far more drained and lethargic than Carina felt. She sent for Hana’s breakfast and lingered long enough to ensure her patient had a few spoonfuls of porridge before Mrs. Poppy shooed her out of the room.

“Lady Tiffany is waiting for you downstairs,” the housekeeper informed Carina crossly. “Do try to get back before her Highness returns. I have other duties to take care of. This palace doesn’t run itself, you know.”

“At least let me fetch my cloak before you throw me out the door,” Carina grumbled and quickly darted into her bedroom for her cloak, dagger, and a drawstring purse with a fan and few letters she needed to mail tucked inside.

Tiffany beamed with joy as Carina joined her in the foyer. “I already called the carriage around. Thank you so much for doing this, Lady Maura. I know I’m a year older, but you’re so much more confident about these things.”

‘The word you’re searching for is assertive.’

“I don’t have your family's experience with jewelry,” Carina deflected as they walked through the front door past the two knights on duty. Sir Jordan was not among them, and judging by the new faces, these appeared to be the new knights Major Garrett had selected.

“What is it about a knight’s uniform that just makes them seem so—mature?” Tiffany whispered as she linked arms with Carina and led her down the steps.

‘Maybe because the uniform symbolizes their rigorous training and the responsibilities they have sworn to take on?’ Carina kept this thought to herself as she pondered the blonde attendant’s happy smile. ‘You’d think we were headed out on a casual afternoon picnic.’

“You’re in a good mood,” Carina commented lightly as she matched her pace to Tiffany’s.

“It’s a beautiful day,” Tiffany replied with a sheepish smile as she gestured to the clearing blue skies above where the gray clouds had thinned into white wisps of wool. “I’m just excited to get out of the palace,” she added in a whisper.

Carina could understand that feeling. “Will your brother be escorting us?” She glanced towards the gate and saw one of the Crown Princess’s carriages waiting for them as promised.

“Ah, yes, Malcolm offered to come—but he got reassigned at the last minute, so—” Tiffany blushed as two knights appeared ahead of them and opened the gate.

Carina immediately recognized the smug grin and honey-brown eyes of Knight Captain Leo, who stepped forward to take Tiffany’s hand, which he bowed and kissed with affection.

‘Is this an official outing or a date for you two?’ Carina scoffed as she took in the Captain’s companion, who appeared only mildly interested in them as he surveyed the Rose Palace with aloof dark grey eyes.

“Lady Tiffany,” Carina said as she turned back to the blushing attendant. “Could I speak to you for a moment?”

Captain Leo sighed, though laughter lurked behind his eyes as he watched Carina pull Tiffany a safe distance inside the gate.

“Are you insane,” Carina demanded as she whirled around on the attendant. “You asked, Captain Leo? Did you forget all about how he forced his way into Rose Palace only yesterday morning?”

“Leo hardly forced his way inside,” Tiffany grumbled as she twisted her fan. “I let them in. It was the servants who created a fuss over a few bottles of wine.”

“Tiffany—” Carina swallowed down the tidal wave of angry words that would only wreck their shaky relationship further. ‘Don’t forget. Tiffany is very likely the Dowager’s spy. Of course, she wouldn’t have a problem flirting with one of the Dowager’s knights.’

“Leo’s not a bad person, Lady Maura!” Tiffany protested quickly, reading Carina’s expression. “He apologized for upsetting me last time and offending her Highness. He wouldn’t have taken things that far if it weren’t for the Dowager’s order.”

‘Are you really clueless, or is all this naivety an act?’ Carina wondered bitterly as she turned back towards the palace. “You may believe that, but I don’t trust him.”

“No—wait, Lady Maura!” Tiffany quickly caught her arm and held her back. “Please don’t leave. Just give him a chance to apologize.”

“I have no interest in anything he has to say,” Carina replied flatly. ‘Surely even Mrs. Poppy would understand why I refused to leave with someone who assaulted her and Robbi.’

“Oh, Lady Maura, tsk,” Captain Leo called out as he strolled casually across the stone pathway towards them. “It’s not like you to run away from a fight.”

“Oh dear, would my leaving deprive the Captain of his new hobby, fighting defenseless women?” Carina shot back with an icy glare.

“You are hardly defenseless,” Leo countered with a wry smile. His gaze descended to study her cloak and the dress she wore with interest. “Where does such a fiery young lady keep a dagger, I wonder.”

“That is for a lady to know and hardly the concern of a gentleman!”

Leo’s smile turned coy as he crossed his arms and leaned in closer to Carina. “Perhaps you will show me one day, Lady Maura.”

Carina smiled back as she pulled out her fan, pressed it against Leo’s cheek, and pushed his face away. “The day you wear a dress, Captain Leo, I’ll be happy to show you how to hide a dagger beneath it.”

A burst of laughter came from behind Leo, who scowled towards his companion, as the knight wandered up behind them. “Is something funny, Eustis?”

“Oh, I—” the knight choked on a snort of laughter as he held up a hand “—forgive me, Leo. You did say she had a sharp tongue, but this—” he waved his hand vaguely in Carina’s direction “—was beyond my expectations.”

Leo sighed as he flicked an annoyed glare at Carina. “Lady Tiffany Clemont, Lady Maura—” he gestured towards the recovering knight “—this is Captain Eustis Winifred.”

“Beautiful Ladies,” Eustis bowed politely as he glanced between them and winked at Leo. “And now I know why you're always slipping away to Rose Palace, Leo.”

“Ahem,” Leo cleared his throat and straightened his jacket. “If you’re both ready to leave?” He turned his honey-brown eyes on Tiffany, who lost her troubled smile in an instant.

“We are, aren’t we, Lady Maura?” Tiffany pleaded with a hopeful stare.

‘She really is trying too hard. And if I leave her alone with Captain Leo—'

“Fine,” Carina sighed, resigned to whatever unknown lay ahead. “Just to the boutique and the jewelry store, then right back to the palace.”

“Of course!” Tiffany smiled with relief and pulled Carina past the knights towards the waiting carriage.

Leo jogged past them and swiftly held the carriage door open. Tiffany blushed as he offered her a hand and assisted her inside. Carina ignored the same hand offered to her, and Eustis cackled as Leo shut the door behind them and headed back to the knights’ horses.

“Sir Eustis is handsome,” Tiffany chirped the moment the carriage pulled away.

Carina raised a brow but said nothing.

“Don’t you agree?” Tiffany pressed.

“There’s nothing visually wrong with him,” Carina grumbled. ‘Though he has an odd sense of humor.’

Tiffany raised both brows in exasperation as she leaned over her seat towards Carina. “Lady Maura. Sir Eustis’s father is one of the House of Lords' leading members, Marquess Winifred.”

‘Who is also Marquess Borghese strongest political opponent.’

“I know who he is,” Carina replied with a shrug, then narrowed her gaze at Tiffany. “What is the real reason you wanted me to join you on this trip?”

“Hmm?” Tiffany blinked and sat back quickly. “I just—wasn’t confident about going out on my own. That’s all.”

“And Captain Leo just happened to bring along an extra knight before knowing that I would be accompanying you?”

“I—didn’t know he would bring a friend,” Tiffany replied as she twisted the family ring on her finger.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Carina observed with a sigh.

“I—” Tiffany flushed, “I just wanted you to meet someone—more suitable. Eustis is not attached in any form, and he’s the Marquess’s second son, so—he wouldn’t mind all those unfounded rumors about—”

‘So, this was a different kind of set up.’ Carina laughed incredulously and shook her head. “What rumors?”

“Oh, Maura!” Tiffany moved across the carriage to sit beside Carina and grabbed her hand tightly. “The most scandalous rumors are circling the court that you caused the Earl, Lord Percy, to break off his engagement with Lady Evelynn.”

“What? That’s ridiculous! They were never even engaged!” Carina protested.

“Even if the engagement hasn’t been officially announced, the agreement between their parents isn’t something that can be ignored either. Especially when the—other woman—falls much lower in status than Lady Evelynn. Lord Percy can get away with a casual affair before the announcement, but this could irreparably damage your reputation,” Tiffany continued with a tone of urgency.

Carina shook her head, dumbfounded and more than a little annoyed. “As much as I appreciate your concern, Lady Tiffany, nothing is going on between Lord Percy and myself.”

“And yet you nearly spent an entire night at his estate the other day—”

“That was only because I had a bit of a shock after encountering witch hunters and—” Carina sucked in a sharp breath “—you try watching a woman fall from a church steeple to her death and bleed out in front of you.” She pressed a hand against her cold lips as the image resurfaced and threatened to upend what little breakfast she had eaten.

“What?” Tiffany’s face paled as she covered her mouth and stared at Carina. “No wonder you looked—” she shook her head. “While that does explain where you were yesterday—why did Lord Percy visit your room before he escorted her Highness to the palace? A servant saw you pass him something.”

“A servant?” Carina raised a brow skeptically. There had been no servants in the hallway when Percy had dropped by the other day, but someone must have witnessed their exchange for Tiffany’s report to be this accurate.

‘I’m certain the hallway was empty, but if either Tiffany or Evelynn were watching from their bedroom door—I might not have noticed since their room is across the hall.’

Carina pulled her hand free and shifted away from Tiffany. “I have nothing to say as it was a private matter that concerned her Highness and the Earl, but I promise you, there is no romantic relationship between myself and Lord Percy.”

Tiffany sighed, returned to her seat, and thoughtfully arranged her skirt. “I will take you at your word, Lady Maura. I have certainly never seen you do anything that would support this story before yesterday. But, in the meantime, it might help to refute these rumors if you were seen spending time in the company of another man—like Captain Eustis.”

Carina refrained from rolling her eyes and stared out the carriage window instead.

‘As if I haven’t seen similar ploys in dramas before. Only, in this world, it's far more likely to earn me the reputation of a loose woman rather than clear me of suspicion.’

“I have no interest in romantic entanglements of any kind, least of all a fake one meant to counter a falsehood,” Carina replied calmly. “I am used to having a bad reputation already because of my birth. Rather than worry about what lies others have chosen to spread, I will remain focused on serving her Highness.”

“Of course,” Tiffany replied with a faint smile. “But, Maura, it was her Highness who suggested you get to know Captain Eustis.”

Carina wanted to laugh, but she couldn’t. She watched Tiffany shift uncomfortably, and this time she could tell the young woman was telling the truth.

It shouldn’t surprise Carina that Eleanora might try to win favor and support from one of Lafeara’s politically influential families. But what did surprise her was the sudden suspicion that Eleanora might have chosen her ladies—not just because of their family background or loyalty—but because she could marry them off to further strengthen her position.

‘Is that the real reason she gave me the title of Baroness—so that I would make an acceptable bride for the second son of a Marquess?’

Carina smiled ruefully as she stared out the window and watched the tunnel of the palace-fortress swallow them in its web of darkness.

[B2] Chapter 38: The Peril of Gossip

❖❖❖❖❖❖❖❖❖❖

Chapter 38: The Peril of Gossip

Before reaching the Holy Maiden Boutique, the streets were lined with a procession of carriages that promised the popular dressmaking store would be busy as usual. The carriage driver pulled up beside the roped-off steps. Lady Tiffany and Carina stepped down and waited for their escorts to join them before attempting to move forward through the crowded street. Sir Everly was nowhere to be seen when they entered the store, which was not unexpected.

“Make way!” Leo barked in his usual hostile style. The startled ladies quickly turned from the window displays they were admiring to gawk and move aside for the Crown Princess’s ladies-in-waiting.

“Saint’s mercy. Is it like this all the time?” Tiffany panted as she managed to squeeze through the shop door behind Carina.

“Every noble family is invited to the Royal Ball held during the Ambassador’s visit,” Carina explained as she adjusted her hood and glanced around the front of the shop for a free attendant. “Now that rumors of the Ambassador’s early arrival have started to spread across the capital, every noble family with an incomplete order at this boutique has sent their servants to ensure their dresses will be done in time for the Ball.”

“Just like us.” Tiffany nodded, looking worried.

“Not really,” Carina replied as she nodded towards an attendant furiously scribbling in a book by the shop's back doors. “Sir Everly always places an order from the palace above all others no matter how late the request.”

The attendant finished scribbling out another name, muttering something about “chaos” and “over-privileged ladies,” then realized she had an audience and quickly snapped on a smile as she raised her gaze to meet them. “Good morning!” The attendant's hazel brown eyes blinked as she took in the royal emblem on the tassels of their court robes, and Carina could almost hear the sound of coins being calculated in the back of her mind. “Ah, yes! You are here for the Crown Princess’s order?”

“Yes, we are. And is Sir Everly available?” Carina asked, hoping to pass off a letter to one of Cerberus members early if she could.

“Oh, I do apologize,” the attendant murmured with almost genuine sympathy. “Sir Everly isn’t available to speak to clients this morning. As you can see, things have become rather chaotic with the number of orders being rushed out.”

“Of course, then what about Lady Ursula?” Carina pressed firmly. “Surely she is available to show us the Crown Princess’s orders and discuss the anticipated delivery date.”

The attendant appeared ready to decline this request as well but then glanced over Carina’s shoulder towards the two knight captains and changed her mind. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting here, I will go have a word with Lady Ursula.”

“Thank you. We will wait,” Carina replied with a quick smile as the attendant turned and dipped through the back door of the store.

“Honestly,” Tiffany huffed as they moved over to one of the in-store displays. “No matter how busy they are, to think they would try brush off a court official like that. Oh—” she stopped before the cream white wedding gown “—this is a pretty dress!”

“It is,” Carina agreed as she studied the wedding dress and recognized Sir Everly’s style and handiwork in the cascade of pearls sewn from the bodice down to the waistline in the shape of a heart. “The feathers are a bit much.”

Tiffany nodded as she examined the plumage of white feathers that formed the dress's otherwise sheer shoulders. “Yes, I imagine it would be quite uncomfortable to be poked constantly while wearing that on your big day.”

“It’s a commission for Baroness Winslet,” explained an attendant who stopped beside them with a distracted smile. “Or I should say, the future Baroness of Winslet. I saw the lady herself here only yesterday. What lovely red hair she had and such pale skin—though, I did wonder if she was feeling unwell.”

“Oh?” Carina replied with a note of surprise as the attendant hastened away to help another customer. “Sophya’s engagement must be going well then.” She made a mental note to check in with Sir Bryson to ask about the scam investigation.

“Do you know the couple?” Tiffany asked curiously.

“I do. The Winselts are a small but notable Baron family. The groom, Lord Asher, is heir to the Barons estates, and the intended bride is my half-sister, Lady Sophya Turnbell.”

“Oh! Congratulations to your sister then! When is the wedding date? Should we attend together? Have they picked out their rings? My family's store is quite famous for their wedding rings!”

Carina held out her hands to stave off Tiffany’s excited babble of questions. “I don’t expect to receive an invitation, Lady Tiffany. My sister and I have been strangers since before our Mother’s funeral—and that is for the best.”

“Oh.” Tiffany's excitement quickly faded, and she turned towards the gown with a troubled expression. “So that’s how it is.”

The back shop door opened, and the attendant returned, followed by Lady Ursula. Carina nudged Tiffany as the attendant pointed in their direction, and Ursula made her way towards the ladies-in-waiting with an order book in hand.

“I understand you ladies are here regarding her Highness’s order,” Lady Ursula said promptly, all business, as she flipped open the order book. “I am pleased to inform you that the gowns for her Highness were finished last night with all speed and care. Sir Everly isn’t here to show them to you as he is recovering from a late night of work. But he takes great pride in doing each of the Crown Princess’s dresses by hand, and she should know, despite the sudden rush, these dresses will be no exception in treatment and quality.”

“We are pleased to hear it!” Tiffany replied, taking the initiative as Carina decided it was best to stay quiet.

“Yes,” Ursula murmured as she made a quick note. “The Ambassador’s early arrival has certainly thrown us an unexpected challenge. I’m sure the palace is equally frantic in trying to move preparations up.”

“Nothing we can’t manage,” Tiffany replied with a glance to Carina. “Ah—when would the dress be delivered?”

Ursula turned to the attendant, who opened another book and motioned to something written inside. “We should be able to have the dresses delivered this evening—or if you ladies have brought payment with you, I can have them packed and sent back with you right now.”

“Oh! Of course—payment—” Tiffany flushed as she brushed back her hair and folded her hands together. “Delivery would be fine,” she replied with an overconfident smile. “The dresses would get rather crammed if we took them back with us. Right, Lady Maura?”

Carina raised a brow, realizing that Tiffany had not thought to bring payment for the order along with her. Perhaps because the royal family was rarely expected to pay upfront for any purchase since there was no question the bill would be covered. Lady Ursula could have simply suggested and accepted a promissory note instead. But then again, Sir Everly’s wife was rather opposed to the idea of giving clients special treatment just because of their status.

“Yes, delivery will be fine,” Tiffany repeated when Carina gave no reply. “And we will have payment waiting for you.”

“Excellent!” Lady Ursula smiled and made another note in both her book and the one her attendant held. “Would you ladies follow me for a moment?” She moved towards the desk by the shop's back door and wrote out a quick bill of payment, which she promptly handed to Tiffany. “This is the amount due upon delivery. You can give the banknote to the servant who will drop off the order.”

“Yes! Thank you.” Tiffany accepted the bill, stared at the price for a minute too long, and carefully placed it inside her purse.

“Then, if there is nothing else?” Ursula raised a brow as she lifted her books with a dismissive smile.

“Could you deliver this to Sir Everly for me, Lady Ursula?” Carina inquired as she pulled out two letters and handed them to Ursula.

“Ah. I’m afraid my husband can’t accept any more—” Ursula’s customer service face faltered for a moment as she took in the nearly invisible snowflake embellishment on the envelope's surface. “I’ll see that he gets them.” Ursula promptly tucked the letters inside her book and then regarded Carina with a raised brow. “Who should I say delivered them?”

“Lady Maura,” Carina replied with a shallow curtsey, then took Tiffany’s arm and turned them both back towards the front of the store. “Thank you for your assistance, Lady Ursula.”

“No,” Ursula called after them with a slight smile. “Thank her Highness for her Patronage, Lady Maura. We look forward to the reviews on her dress after the Ball.”

“Oh, thank goodness that’s done,” Tiffany breathed as they followed behind Sir Eustis while Captain Leo tried to clear a path back to the door. “I get goosebumps just thinking about the secret investor that owns this shop.”

“Secret investor?” Carina raised a curious brow as she hid a smile.

“Yes. Oh, you likely haven’t heard of Mr. Frost. People say the man is a prophet or a soothsayer. My father says an investment from Frost is as good as a blessing from the saints themselves because its means the business will likely succeed if not become popular beyond expectations.”

“Really?” ‘A prophet?’

Tiffany nodded. “Take this store, for example. Sir Everly was just a commoner before Frost opened this shop and invested heavily in his early designs. Then Sir Everly and that other mystery designer, Lady Aconitum, worked together on a wedding dress for Princess Eleanora. After their design won the royal wedding challenge, Sir Everly received his noble title, and her Highness became a Patreon of this store.”

“I see,” Carina murmured, distracted by the distinct clamor outside the store.

“Shall we head to the jewelry store now?”

“Yes, I think we should. It’s getting rather crowded in here—”

Carina faltered as Sir Eustis held out an arm to hold them back. She glanced over the purple sleeve of his uniform to where Captain Leo held the door open for a familiar figure. The young, ginger-haired noblewoman swept into the store with all the grace and privilege one would expect from one of Lafeara’s most powerful families.

“What is Lady Priscilla doing here?” an attendant whispered as Marquess Borghese's daughter closed her parasol and tossed it to a maid who followed close behind her.

“Lady Priscilla Borghese, welcome back,” the attendant who had helped them earlier stepped forward to greet the noblewoman.

“I am here to order another three dresses for the Royal Hunt,” Priscilla stated authoritatively as she examined the nobles about the room with equal disinterest until her gaze settled upon Tiffany and Carina. “No—make that seven new dresses. And bring out the catalog, I will choose the style and material myself.”

“That—” the attendant repressed her usual automatic decline. “I will inform Lady Ursula of your request—”

“My word,” Priscilla brushed past the store attendant towards Sir Eustis, whom she also ignored as her chartreuse green eyes settled with a cunning gleam upon Carina. “So it's true, Crown Princess Eleanora kept a half-blood as a lady-in-waiting.”

The whispers and eyes around the store quickly fixed upon Tiffany and Carina with rising curiosity. Priscilla held out a hand, and the maid behind her promptly supplied her with a fan that the Marquess’s daughter used to push Tiffany out of her way as she stepped closer to Carina.

“I still owe you for that insult before the Dowager, half-blood,” Priscilla informed Carina with a smug smile. “I never forget an offense or those foolish enough to oppose me, no matter how low the quality of their birth.”

Carina scoffed as she stepped to the side, determined to ignore the irritating noblewoman. Priscilla quickly sidestepped to block her way and shoved the jeweled fan against Carina’s sternum.

“I hear you seduced the Earl into giving you one of Hawthorne’s priceless heirlooms,” Priscilla announced as she dragged her fan up against Carina’s dress collar and smiled when she saw the silver chain beneath it. A hush fell over the room of interested ears as attendants and shoppers alike leaned in to listen intently.

“How strange,” Carina replied as she knocked the fan aside. “The Countess always told me that it was beneath a lady’s dignity to listen to gossip.”

“So you’re saying the Earl didn’t give you Hawthorne’s Winter Rose?” Priscilla replied as her chartreuse green eyes narrowed with triumph. “But—it would appear you are wearing it right now.” Priscilla unfurled her fan with the skill of a courtesan as she retreated from Carina with a stunned expression. “Don’t tell me you dared to rob the Countess who took such a lowly half-blood under her wing.”

Carina glared back at the malicious noblewoman and clenched her hands tightly. She was annoyingly impressed at the skill with which Priscilla now painted her as either a purse-grabbing slut or an ungrateful thief—perhaps both?

“Oh dear, your silence is rather condemning, Lady Maura,” Priscilla observed with an amused laugh. “How humiliating for poor Lady Evelynn to lose the Earl to such a cunning little half-blood.” Priscilla lowered her fan as she shook her head sadly, though a victorious smile was never far from her lips. “Well, go on, Lady Maura, show us. I hear you wear the Winter Rose on your person at all times like a shameless harlot.”

“I have nothing to show or say to such an ill-mannered lady,” Carina replied with a restrained smile and then walked briskly around Priscilla to the shop door.

“Stop her!” Priscilla snapped. The maid stepped forward obediently, but Eustis quickly caught the woman’s arm and restrained her as Carina continued to where Captain Leo stood waiting by the door.

“You, Captain Leo. Stop that woman!” Priscilla shouted.

Carina sucked in an angry breath as Leo calmly placed an arm across the door to block her path. ‘Well, I should have seen that coming.’ She glared at the knight, who avoided her gaze with a disgruntled expression.

“Excellent.” Priscilla caught up to them quickly. “Now, will you show it to us willingly, Lady Maura, or should I ask the Captain to search you instead?”

‘Your mistaken if you think I’m going to act according to your little play, Priscilla.’ Carina raised her chin and stared down the knight blocking her escape. “Move aside, Captain Leo.”

“And why would the Captain listen to a half-blood over the daughter of a Marquess?” Priscilla snorted in amusement.

Leo sighed as he leaned towards Carina and whispered. “If you’re wearing the necklace, Lady Maura, just show her.” He offered a cold smile and then added, “I’m sure the Earl will clear your name once he returns from the border.”

“Leo, did you—” Tiffany whispered in a dazed tone as she stepped up beside them. Carina glanced at the blonde attendant's confused expression and the guilt that followed as Tiffany avoided her gaze.

‘Was it Tiffany who saw the Winter Rose and told Priscilla? Is this the real reason she asked me to join her today? Priscilla seems rather informed and well prepared to take me down for this to be a mere coincidence.’

Anger swirled like a cold storm inside her chest, and Carina clamped it down as she gave Leo a cynical smile. “Are you sure you’re on the right side of this, Captain? What do you think will happen to you when the Earl returns and clears my name?” She stepped in closer and whispered against his ear. “And if I am the Earl’s lover, what do you imagine he will do to the knight who dared to put his hands on me?”

Leo’s left eye twitched while the rest of his face went rigid. Carina smiled at him, ducked under his arm, and pushed the shop door open.

“No, wait!” Priscilla called out in confusion. “Why did you let her go?”

Carina ignored her as she walked down the roped-off steps, not bothering to wait for the carriage as she turned in the direction of the palace.

“—Useless! Just see if I don’t—" Priscilla’s muffled voice came and cut off as the door opened and shut.

“Maura, wait!” Tiffany called out as she ran up quickly behind Carina.

Carina ignored the blonde attendant as she lengthened her stride, stopping only long enough to let a carriage pass before she crossed the street and marched briskly down the next sidewalk. She could still feel the accusing stare of every person in that store and her predetermined guilt already spreading through Lafeara’s weekly gossip circles.

‘It doesn’t matter if the Earl returns in three or five days. My reputation as a Baroness will be worth little more than those maids Josiah cast aside over the years.’

“Maura!” Tiffany’s voice was much further away and buried behind the rattle of wheels and the clog of voices as men and women jostled around Carina, unaware they were brushing shoulders with the notorious half-blood who dared to seduce the Earl of Hawthrone.

The sound of galloping hooves and disgruntled protests preceded the knight that pulled up onto the sidewalk ahead of her. Carina glared up at Sir Eustis, who maneuvered his stallion firmly into her path and held out his hand.

“Come on then,” Eustis called out firmly. “You’re not walking all the way back to the palace in those shoes, Lady Maura.”

Carina unclenched the nails biting into her palm as she looked from her already dirtied heels to his hand and then away.

“Look, ignore the bitch,” Eustis said bluntly as the crowds wove around them, with one or two commoners lingering to stare at the knight on his fancy horse. “No one likes Lady Priscilla—or her father.”

“You think that matters?” Carina demanded. “Do you think that’s what people will say? That the daughter of a Marquess was a bully to a lowly half-blood?” She scoffed and folded her arms.

“Don’t let yourself become a target,” Eustis replied with an angry scowl. “Make her the target instead.” He leaned down over the saddle as the stallion paced uncomfortably. “Look, there are plenty of stories I could tell you about Marquess Borghese that would make your toes curl. That bastard should be behind bars, but he’s protected by his minions and his hold over the Royal Party. I’d be happy to share one or two with you if you like, Lady Maura, but only if you take my hand and let me get you back to the palace safe and sound.”

Carina exhaled slowly, tempted by his offer and also aware she would need his help to avoid trouble re-entering the palace—whether she wanted it or not.

“Alright,” she agreed reluctantly. “But it better be a good story.”

“Well, they—might be a little much for a lady.” Eustis looked down at her uneasily as he removed his boot from the stirrup and offered his hand again. “But as far as juicy gossip goes, it's a thriller.”

“Haven’t you heard?” Carina smiled icily as she grabbed the knight’s hand, placed her foot in the stirrup for leverage, and climbed up awkwardly behind him. “I’m a half-blood, not a lady.”

[B2] Chapter 39: The Scent of Manipulation

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Chapter 39: The Scent of Manipulation

Dowager Octavia smiled as she pinched the stem below the delicate blue petals and pruned the still closed flower from the garden bed. She placed it alongside two other not yet woken blooms in the ornamental jewelry box that Lady Sabella held open.

“There, that should be enough to hold the Countess over until her return,” Octavia said with a resigned sigh. “She should make use of this time away to meditate. I did warn that her short-sightedness would come back to haunt her one day.”

“You won’t summon the Countess back?” Sabella asked curiously.

“Gracious, why would I do that?” Octavia shut the box and placed her pruning shears on top. “If Constance can’t reign in that son of hers, what use is she to me?” she added as Sabella helped her mistress to her feet. “Right now, the Pope’s Emissary and the Emperor’s Ambassador are more than enough cause for my concern.”

The Dowager removed her garden gloves as she walked down the path that led away from her small bed of unique blue flowers towards the line of purple roses that filled the mid-morning breeze with a soft sweet fragrance.

“Besides,” Octavia smiled as she leaned in to smell a freshly bloomed rose, “when dealing with an intelligent, headstrong young man, one should never face them directly. The more you push, the more they resist, but once you grasp their weakness—well, they are little better than worms forced from the ground by the rain and left to be eaten by birds.”

“I don’t understand why the Earl has to marry the Hendrix daughter?” Sabella mumbled under her breath. “Surely any daughter from the upper noble families would do.”

“Because Percy’s mother fears his ambition,” Octavia answered as she passed over her gloves with a cold smile. “The Hendrix family has a title, but the title of Viscount is useless to Percy. They have no wealth and no seat in government. The Viscount's lands have barely produced the crown's taxes after the Viscountess’s family lost their merchant shipping rights due to a bad investment. And then there is the lingering rumor that the first Hendrix Viscount was the grandson of a smuggler.”

“So, in other words, Evelynn’s family would be a burden, not a stepping stone for the Earl,” Sabella reasoned out loud.

“I’ve no doubt the Earl will handle the engagement in a manner that suits his future interests when the time comes,” Octavia murmured as she raised a hand to shield her eyes and regarded the voluminous white clouds in the clear blue sky above them. “Come, we should return.” The Dowager announced briskly as she turned towards the shrubs that obscured the door to her forbidden garden. “Lady Priscilla Borghese was to pay me a visit before lunch.”

“Yes, your Majesty. Will you be inviting the lady to stay for lunch?” Sabella asked as she hurriedly unlocked and opened the garden door while balancing the box, prunes, and gloves against her hip.

“I don’t know that I like the Marquess’s daughter well enough for all that,” Octavia replied with an arched brow. “Lady Priscilla will certainly be of use to me in the future, but right now, that child has a lot of growing up to do if she wants to become Queen.”

“I can’t help but feel sorry for the young lady,” Sabella commented sympathetically as she set down the Dowager’s items on the bench and turned to secure the gate. “When King Henri broke off her engagement to Nicholas, the poor thing was so heartbroken.” Sabella sighed and gathered up the box and other items once again. “If only Eleanora wasn’t in the way.”

“Eleanora is the Emperor as far as you or Priscilla’s hopes are concerned,” Octavia remarked sourly as she accepted the key from Sabella. “Well, one never knows what the future will hold,” she amended and tucked the key inside her sleeve. “It would not be the first time a Queen of Lafeara was found to be barren and forced to resign her position.”

The murmur of angry voices turned the Dowager’s attention from her attendant towards two figures at the end of the footpath. Her smile dimmed as she recognized the figure of Lady Priscilla standing beside General Stryker’s bastard son. “Captain Leo, you’re back early. Weren’t you supposed to be escorting one of Eleanora’s attendants this morning?”

“Your Majesty,” Priscilla greeted quickly with a curtsy as the knight bowed beside her. “I happened to meet Captain Leo on my way in today.”

“How strange, Lady Priscilla, your letter mentioned you would drop by before lunch, but I did not expect you at this hour,” Octavia replied coldly. “Weren’t you visiting that popular boutique before coming to the palace?”

“Yes! Well—I had an unfortunate encounter there,” Priscilla replied as her polite smile faltered beneath a grimace of annoyance.

“Lady Priscilla happened to run into Lady Tiffany and Lady Maura while Sir Eustis and I were escorting them on errands for her Highness,” Leo supplied with an accusing glance in Priscilla’s direction.

“Oh?” Octavia replied with less warmth. “It seems you may have given the Crown Princess’s ladies a hard time, Lady Priscilla.”

“I—” Priscilla drew in a sharp breath as she glared at Leo. “I merely wanted to confirm the rumors Lady Sabella shared with me regarding the Earl giving Lady Maura the Hawthorne Winter Rose.”

“And did you—” Octavia turned towards her attendant, and Sabella trembled as she cast her eyes to the ground “—confirm this rumor?”

“No, the half-blood threatened Captain Leo with the Earl’s name, and he balked.”

“I—” Leo exhaled sharply and bowed his head. “Forgive me, Queen Regent, but you know I can’t afford to anger a member of the House of Lords.”

“You made the right decision,” Octavia replied with a smile that did not reach her eyes. “Imagine what your father would say if you suddenly lost your position as a knight before the Lord General could name you his legal heir.”

Leo nodded stiffly and clenched the hilt of his sword tightly without comment.

The Dowager’s smile twisted, and she laughed against her frail fingers before turning to Sabella. “It seems our little half-blood has outwitted the pair of them.”

Priscilla flushed furiously as she fanned herself. “Well, it little matters. I called that half-blood out for the temptress she is. Soon enough, the capital's gossip mills will have her reputation in tatters—just as I had planned.”

“And why set yourself against Lady Maura?” Octavia asked with a curious smile. “Shouldn’t Eleanora be our target?”

“You told me to be patient regarding Eleanora,” Priscilla replied with a shrug. “So I’m distracting myself by taking down a half-blood who dared to offend me.”

‘Short-tempered and short-sighted, just like her father.’ Octavia sighed as she stepped forward and brushed between the two completely useless goons, who hastily retreated from her path. “Patience is the virtue of a queen. Without it, one is little better than an infuriated boar plunging herself into a hunter’s pit.”

“I understand, godmother.” Priscilla curtsied again, this time dipping much lower as Octavia turned slowly towards her. “I am trying to learn from you.”

“You listen, but you do not hear,” Octiva replied with disinterest. “A potter's hands will have little effect if the material is of poor quality.”

“Have I—done something wrong, godmother?” Priscilla asked hastily as she rose to her feet. “I was trying to follow the advice you gave me. All those stories you shared about your rise from fourth consort to Queen and now Queen Regent.”

Octavia smiled and gently stroked Priscilla’s cheek. “It’s not your fault. You inherited your mother’s beauty but not her brain.” The Dowager glanced over the disappointed girl’s shoulder towards Captain Leo, who glared silently at the ground. “You seem upset, Captain?”

“I only worry—I hope I have not greatly disappointed you, Queen Regent,” Leo answered somberly with a bow.

“Oh, you dear boy,” Octavia shook her head as she left Priscilla to pat the knight’s shoulder reassuringly. “That’s not what's troubling you, is it, Leo? You’re worried about your little diamond lady, aren’t you?”

Leo sighed. “Lady Tiffany is—rather upset with me.”

“And what have you told her?” However soft the Dowager’s words, their meaning did not escape the shrewd captain.

“Nothing,” Leo replied hurriedly. “But I could tell she suspected it was all arranged. Lady Maura will certainly have worked it out. Even Lord Eustis has been giving me the cold shoulder.”

“Never mind Eustis Winifred. Lady Maura may be clever, but it will take more than cleverness to silence gossip unleashed like a spark set upon dry grass.” Octavia smiled as she took his chin and forced him to meet her eyes. “Do you know what makes the best present for a girl who has all the diamonds she could ask for?”

“What?” Leo asked gruffly. “Flowers?”

Octavia chuckled and shook her head. “While some of those wouldn’t hurt, I would wait a few days before attempting to buy her affection. Let Lady Tiffany see that her suspicion hurts you. Apologize for not defending Lady Maura the next time you meet. Then give it time. If you have done your job properly, Lady Tiffany will miss you long before those flowers start to wilt.”

“And then?”

“And then we will continue to use Lady Tiffany as planned. Marry the girl if you like. Once we’ve removed the Emperor’s hook from Nicholas’s crown, I will have no further use for either of you.” Octavia stepped back and held out her hand. “Rest assured, if you perform well, I will ensure Stryker names you as his heir.”

Leo took the Dowager’s hand obediently and bowed as he kissed the gold diamond ring upon it.

After the knight captain had led Lady Priscilla back down the garden path to escort the troublesome young noblewoman to her father, Octavia held out her hand expectantly, and Sabella carefully laid a clean handkerchief over the Dowager’s pale fingers.

“I do not care for careless gossip, Lady Sabella,” Octavia said as she wiped the ring and fingers that bastard knight had touched. “But I have even less patience for loose lips among my people.” The Dowager discarded the handkerchief and trod upon it as she turned to face her trembling attendant.

“Forgive me, Dowager.” Sabella dropped to her knees, ignoring the prunes and gloves that fell from the box in her hands. “I wasn’t thinking—I was just venting—”

“This is the second time you have acted without my permission against Lady Maura,” Octavia cut the attendant off sharply. “If I find there has been a third, I will turn you into fertilizer for my garden. Is that understood?”

“Y-yes! Your Majesty!” Sabella lowered her head to the ground as Octavia brushed past her. Lafeara’s oldest reigning monarch smiled brightly once more as she drank in a deep breath of fresh air from her garden and surveyed the palaces of her kingdom with impatient ice-blue eyes.

❆❆❆❆❆

Captain Beaumont looked up as footsteps rapidly approached Nicholas’s study. A frantic series of sharp knocks soon followed as Nicholas looked up from the map he had been studying with Lafeara’s military forces marked out in small clusters of painted metal wolves.

“Who is it?” Nicholas asked with a hint of irritation as he rubbed the red wolf marker between his thumb and index finger.

“It’s me!” Acheron announced as he opened the door and shut it firmly behind him.

Beaumont nodded to his cousin and noted with some concern the dark circles that lined the younger man’s eyes.

“Saint’s Mercy, were the witch hunters torturing you?” Nicholas joked as he set the red wolf down on the edge of the map.

“You try watching women burned, battered, and killed for a day and a night,” Acheron snapped, then quickly held up an apologetic hand as he covered his mouth. “I—Forgive me. I need a drink.”

Nicholas nodded, speechless, and gestured to the waiting pitcher of wine.

“Thank you,” Acheron responded then quickly poured himself a glass that he downed without any enjoyment.

Beaumont raised a worried brow as the crown prince circled the map table and leaned against it with a heavy sigh.

“How bad is it?” Nicholas asked gravely.

“I don’t rightly know. The first thing Ripper did was split up his witch hunters and scatter them to each nearby province. I went to Averly.” Acheron poured another glass and nursed this one slowly. “Nicholas—it's not my place, but I don’t think you should have let them into Lafeara.”

“If I denied them entrance, the Pope could renounce Lafeara and excommunicate me. Then not only would I lack the Pope’s blessing as Lafeara’s next king, but I would become its first heretic king.” Nicholas pushed away from the table and crossed his arms tensely. “Do you imagine the nobles and citizens of Lafeara would willingly follow the rule of a heretic king?”

“Do you remember when your father let them in,” Acheron replied softly. “After your brother died. They rounded up all the noble families opposed to naming you Crown Prince and had them burned without a trial.”

“You know I remember,” Nicholas growled. “Which is why I gave strict instructions they were not to touch any of Lafeara’s citizens. Have they disobeyed me?”

“Nicholas—they nearly threw an infant down a well in Averly.”

“What?” Nicholas dropped his arms with an expression of shock.

“If Lady Maura hadn’t interceded—”

“Lady Maura?” The crown prince and Beaumont echoed in alarm.

“Ah—I wasn’t supposed to mention that,” Acheron replied meekly as he refilled his not yet finished glass and sank to the floor to lean against Nicholas's desk. “By the gods, I’m tired.”

“You can sleep later,” Nicholas said as he cut off Beaumont’s rapid steps towards his cousin. The knight captain exhaled but remained still as the crown prince knelt beside the pale noble and pulled the glass from his fingers. “First, tell me what happened in Averly.”

The crown prince and Beaumont listened with rapt attention as Acheron recounted the lockdown of Lafeara’s cathedral. The subsequent orders from Ripper to interrogate all church members and isolate those suspected of being witches. Then, the Ripper's new orders to have the witch hunters spread throughout each nearby province and cut off communication among the churches.

This was followed by Acheron’s account of events in Averly, the burning of two accused witches, and the equally disturbing manners in which the witch hunters continued to execute any who carried the scent of a witch.

“After Lady Maura threw them out of Averly, I followed the witch hunters to Dunbroke, where they quickly sent word back to Ripper. I’m worried that he’ll return personally to Averly, to draw Lady Maura out and punish her as a heretic.”

“But how did Lady Maura even know the witch hunters were in Averly?” Nicholas asked, baffled. “And how did she get out of the palace?”

“I—sent Lady Maura a message—also my carriage and a palace pass,” Acheron explained hesitantly.

Beaumont growled and refrained from punching the desk or his cousin’s face. “You dragged Lady Maura away from the palace in front of witch hunters!?”

“I only wanted to help Maura protect the town, which she did—quite splendidly at that!”

Beaumont’s right eye twitched slightly when Acheron casually dropped Maura’s title. “That was your job! How do you always—”

“Okay, I think that’s enough,” Nicholas interjected with a sharp look at Beaumont. “Acheron, go home and get some rest. I’ll assign more knights to watch Ripper and track down all of his witch hunters—which shouldn’t be hard if they’re burning their way through Lafeara’s churches.” The crown prince sighed as he rose to his feet. “We’re already stretched thin, but the last thing I need is to lose track of any witch hunter while the Ambassador is in Lafeara.”

“You’re going to let them stay?” Acheron asked with evident concern. “What if they start drowning babies or burning children?”

“By now, any witch in Lafeara will have gone underground,” Nicholas growled as he dragged a hand down his face. “The first two days of inquisition are always the worst.”

“And the nuns trapped in those chapels?”

“They won’t burn them all,” Nicholas replied with uneasy certainty. “Hard to convince the citizens of Lafeara to continue to pay and pray to the merciful Saints if all the church’s sisters are suddenly burned as witches.”

“Then what about the Abbess?” Acheron continued to protest. “Ripper has all but proclaimed that he intends to burn her publicly.”

“The Abbess?” Nicholas echoed in disbelief. “Does he honestly believe Mercy is a witch?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a half-witch!” Acheron climbed to his feet and took the wine glass back from Nicholas. “I can’t tell who’s innocent and who deserves to be burned alive.” With a pained expression shadowed by the horrors he had no doubt witnessed, the young noble drained his cup, dropped it on the floor, and headed unsteadily towards the office door. “I’m going to find some more wine—I won’t be able to sleep—but maybe I can forget for a little while before I have to go back—” Acheron mumbled to himself before yanking the door open and slamming it shut behind him.

“Should I look into it?” Beaumont asked carefully as he turned to the crown prince.

“One of the knights—the lieutenant they say is a half-witch,” Nicholas said thoughtfully.

“Lieutenant Declan,” Beaumont replied.

“Let’s have him shadow Ripper,” Nicholas replied as he moved to his desk and wrote out a quick message. “And have this sent to Captain Huxley. He can assign as many knights as he needs to keep the other witch hunters under careful watch.”

“And if this Ripper and the other witch hunters continue to defy you?”

Nicholas sighed as he poured wax over the letter and stamped it with his seal. As the golden circle of wolves dried against the parchment, he looked up towards Beaumont and replied, “Then I’ll send you to deal with them in whatever way you deem necessary, Captain.”

Beaumont smiled grimly. ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’

Nicholas picked up the letter and handed it over to him. “And we will visit Rose Palace tonight so that I can have a word with Lady Maura regarding this incident.”

“Very well,” Beaumont replied with a hint of relief.

“You still have feelings for Lady Maura?” Nicholas observed with a sly smile. “Even though she already turned you down.”

Beaumont pressed his lips together as he bowed and swiftly left the room.

[B2] Chapter 40: A Mark of Enmity

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Chapter 40: A Mark of Enmity

Carina was still pacing beneath a cherry tree outside the stables at the back of Rose Palace when Stitcher found her.

“Well, it’s certainly a beautiful morning, Lady Maura,” he said with an exaggerated bow. “I received a message from a rather handsome captain that you wished to speak with me?”

“I have a list of people I’d like you to look into, carefully and quietly,” Carina explained as she held out a folded piece of paper. “They are nobles of Lafeara.”

“Someone dared to offend you?” Stitcher joked as he opened the document and read the names with a soft whistle. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised considering who you asked me to investigate in Ventrayna.” He closed the paper and tucked it inside his jacket. “Why Marquess Borghese?”

“His daughter is coming after me, possibly by the Dowager’s request,” Carina replied as she crossed her arms defensively. “Priscilla’s social status and power come from her father. If I want to scare her off permanently, I’ll have to weaken her position, which means aiming for the Marquess.”

‘It would certainly make for a smoother future if Priscilla Borghese no longer has access to the palace.’

“Clearly, I’m missing something,” Stitcher commented with a wry laugh. “You don’t go against a Marquess just because his daughter offended you over afternoon tea.”

“Samael.” Carina gritted her teeth. “Do you honestly think I would recklessly put everything at risk without a good reason?”

Stitcher frowned and tilted his head. “Fair enough—but as long as you acknowledge that this is reckless.”

“For now, I just want to know who I’m dealing with.”

“Oh, I know more than enough about Marquess Borghese to give you a good place to start,” Stitcher replied with a cautious glance towards the stablehands washing and brushing down two horses a few yards away. “But now is hardly the time or place.”

“Whatever you know, write it down and deliver it to me before sunset.”

Stitcher drew in a deep breath and sighed. “Alright, as long as you promise not to act without running your plan by me first. My Master has been looking for a way to remove Borghese from government, so I’m more than happy to aid the Marquess’s downfall—However, neither of us want you getting tangled up in the aftermath.”

“If Ghost had discovered a weakness I can use—that is exactly what I need.”

“Knowing a man’s weakness doesn’t just make you his enemy. It makes you his primary focus,” Stitcher cautioned. “A man like Borghese would rather take out a potential threat than wait to retaliate after the fact.”

“I’ll be careful,” Carina replied confidently.

“And these other names. Viscount Hendrix and Baron Clemont?”

“I want to know everything about their family wealth and any connection to the Dowager.”

“These are the families of the other ladies-in-waiting,” Stitcher observed with a hint of worry. “You’re looking for a spy?”

Carina gave him a grim nod but held her tongue.

Stitcher raised a brow and pursed his lips as he frowned thoughtfully. “This last name I’m not familiar with, Marquess Serilda of Berxley?”

“She was King Henri’s last mistress,” Carina supplied. “She recently returned to Lafeara.”

“Another enemy?”

Carina shrugged. “I’m not sure where she falls at the moment. The Marchioness is cousin to the Earl of Hawthorne. I want to know more about where’s she’s been for the last several years. What social circle she was a part of before her sudden departure from the capital six years ago. There was a rumor that she went mad after a miscarriage, but that might have just been malicious gossip.”

“That shouldn’t be a difficult request,” Stitcher replied with a rueful smile. “The mistress of a King will have certain luxurious habits that should make tracking her movements easy enough. I’ll deliver what I have on Borghese tonight, but I would avoid meeting anyone outside for a while—especially at night.”

“Why?” Carina frowned at his sudden change in tone.

Stitcher smiled and shook his head as he picked up a broken branch and tapped it against her forehead. “Always assume your enemy is one step ahead of you, Lady Maura. If you’re watching them—chances are they’re watching you as well.”

Carina scowled as she waved the branch away. “Then how will you get the information to me?”

Stitcher tilted his head thoughtfully and tossed the branch aside. “Hmm. What’s your favorite color?”

“I don’t know—blue?” Carina shrugged.

He nodded and strolled away from the cherry tree. “Expect something blue and slightly inconspicuous tonight. My delivery will be inside.”

Carina watched the curious assassin disappear around the stable and returned to pacing amongst the fallen petals of the three. The cold anger inside her chest had still not receded, but she could no longer delay her return. With a deep, drawn-out sigh that sent a gush of cold hair through the cherry blossoms above, Carina ducked beneath their branches, headed towards the corner of the stable, and then back towards Rose Palace.

❆❆❆❆❆

Carina found that Tiffany had already returned and ignored the attendant who sat in front of the silent piano in the receiving room as she headed upstairs. Tiffany made no effort to follow or call out to her, so Carina decided it best to continue ignoring the girl for now. She checked in on Hana instead and smiled when she saw her patient was awake and reading.

“Another tragedy?” Carina asked as she moved to sit beside the tired-looking young woman.

“Maura,” Hana smiled. “Yes, though I haven’t gotten very far. Reading makes my head hurt, but I’ve slept enough today.” She shut the book and studied Carina curiously. “Did something happen? You look—upset.”

“My outing with Lady Tiffany ended early thanks to a nasty run-in with Lady Priscilla,” Carina answered honestly.

“Oh, that pesky shrew—” Hana grimaced. “Did you know she called Eleanora a harlot the first day the Princess arrived in Lafeara? I thought Elly would cut out her tongue there and then, and she might have if the Marquess hadn’t dragged his daughter from the room.”

‘So Lady Priscilla has always been hot-headed and arrogant.’ Carina shook her head. ‘Then again, that would have been around the time her engagement to Nicholas got canceled, so she was probably more than a little enraged.’

“I hear the Dowager is her godmother. The late Marchioness was a lady-in-waiting before her marriage, and the two were supposedly very close. Other than the Dowager and the Marquess, I’m afraid there are very few people who can keep Priscilla’s temper in check,” Hana continued with a weary sigh. “After that incident, they barred her from entering the palace without prior permission from the Dowager.”

‘The Dowager is her godmother?’ Carina laughed softly. ‘That’s one suspicion confirmed. Then taking down the Borghese will likely turn the Dowager against me as well if I’m not careful.’

“How are preparations for the banquet going?” Hana asked with a sudden worried look.

“Well—I think,” Carina replied. “Eleanora and Evelynn have been working at it all day.” She glanced down to where Hana was refolding the corner of a book page and frowned. “Has Eleanora been up to visit you?”

“No, but I expect she’s busy,” Hana replied with a weak smile. “Mrs. Poppy dropped in a few times to make sure I’m still breathing and see if I needed anything.” An empty laugh as she abandoned the corner and absently traced the embossed letters on the book’s cover. “Mrs. Poppy can be quite prickly, but beneath it all, she’s very sweet and caring.”

“Mm,” Carina returned noncommittally. “Do you need anything?”

“A proper bath would be lovely,” Hana replied with a hopeful gleam. “And if someone could remove all these flowers. I feel as if I’m breathing in more pollen than air.”

Carina laughed. “Very well, I’ll have the maids prepare a bath and removed some flowers. No open windows until your hair has dried.”

“And more of that Valerian tea, if you wouldn’t mind,” Hana added as Carina left the bed. “It seems to help with the nightmares—I mean the headaches.”

Carina nodded slowly. “I’ll have some waiting for you after your bath. Tomorrow we’ll take a stroll around the palace and get you out of this room.”

“Oh, it's fine. I don’t want to get in the way,” Hana replied as she opened her book. “I’m sure you all are very busy preparing and planning your dresses and accessories.”

“Make that two strolls around the palace,” Carina said firmly and smiled back at Hana’s surprised face before she left the room.

‘Honestly, Eleanora, you could take a break to check in on her at least once! She’s lonely, bored out of her mind, and has nothing to think about except—him!’ Carina exhaled as she shut the door and turned to find Mrs. Poppy marching up the stairs towards her.

“There you are—the maid said you had returned,” Poppy commented sourly. “You’re needed downstairs, Lady Maura. Apparently, his Majesty has decided to dine at Rose Palace tonight. Eleanora is looking for you.”

‘Thank all the Saints Percy took that aphrodisiac with him yesterday!’ Carina smiled with relief as she nodded. “I’ll head down then.”

❆❆❆❆❆

In the hallway off the foyer, Eleanora was speaking in Ventrayna with Chef Robbi regarding a dinner menu that would suit Nicholas’s taste.

“Just make whichever Lafearian dish you think will do,” Eleanora said impatiently as an anxious Robbi sighed and shook his head.

“I can do that, but in the future, it would be good to know what dishes your husband prefers!” The chef raised an accusing brow at Eleanora, whose scowl only deepened.

“His Majesty is the same as any other Lafearian nobleman,” Carina said reassuringly. “He likes high-quality meat, but sparingly seasoned and sliced into small portions, so he doesn’t have to cut it himself. Vegetables should be fresh, skinned, uncooked, and set aside on a separate plate. A hearty sauce and pasta that works well with whatever meat and wine pairing you have in mind. He’ll also expect a desert, something with fruit, light seasoning as well, though with a sweet sauce.”

“Thank you, Lady Maura. I will follow your suggestions,” Chef Robbi said with mixed surprise and relief.

“Robbi will push the blame on you then if it goes badly, Lady Maura,” Eleanora commented dryly as she watched her chef retreat to his kitchen. “That man has cooked for the Emperor. He should be more confident in his skill.”

“He is in a foreign country now serving a foreign monarch. A little caution is wise,” Carina replied, switching to Lafeara’s native tongue.

“Your dialect was painful, but you have a good grasp of our language,” Eleanora observed with a smile. “But for this matter, I would prefer your discretion. Do you have any more of that special tonic we discussed earlier?”

‘I knew it,’ Carina blinked rapidly and maintained a somewhat stiff smile. “No, your Highness. Lord Percy took all that I had prepared.”

“Kritanta’s flame,” Eleanora snapped. “Can you make another?”

“I only had enough ingredients for the vial I gave him. I didn’t want anything left behind that would—identify the tonic.”

“As smart as you are, Lady Maura, you could have given the Earl a dupe and kept what is mine. Now, what am I supposed to do?” Eleanora sighed and pinched the skin between her brows.

“Pardon my bluntness, your Highness, but is now the time to be taking such risks?”

“When will be the right time, Lady Maura?” Eleanora shook her head and took in a slow breath. “Well, there is still plenty of wine. I suppose I can work with that.” The crown princess turned back towards her study with a faint groan.

“At least see why his Majesty has come to dinner before you try to get him drunk?” Carina called after her worriedly. “This is the first time he’s come to Rose Palace for a meal. You should ensure he has a pleasant experience so that it will happen again more often in the future.”

“I am aware of the importance,” Eleanora called back and waved aside a maid carrying fresh linen down the hall to the dining room. “I plan on discussing the charity event that you and Lord Percy presented to me. I still have the documents Percy left on my desk.” She folded her arms as she continued towards the study, “Nicholas has always had an interest in charities because of his mother. The late Queen invested a great deal of time and effort into establishing many great works before her death. I hope it will be a good conversation point to break the ice between us.”

“An excellent idea, your Highness,” Carina answered with renewed hope as she followed behind. Perhaps if Eleanora and Nicholas found something they both agreed on and could work towards together, it would help eliminate the barriers between them—that is, if they could keep from arguing about it.

‘Baby steps, it's just one dinner, Carina. What could go wrong?’

[B2] Chapter 41: The Taste of Emptiness

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Chapter 41: The Taste of Emptiness

The anticipation of the royal couple’s first dinner together in Rose Palace created an atmosphere so quiet and tense that Carina found herself almost whispering as she complimented Mrs. Poppy over the table decorations.

“It all looks very grand, Mrs. Poppy. Well done.”

A few mini halos of white flowers around three scented red candles in golden candlesticks set just the right lighting with the curtains drawn. A light purple table cloth with silver napkins and silverware completed the simple but elegant settings. The wine table had been prepared with glistening crystal glasses and a freshly opened Monvua bottle that was rumored to be Nicholas’s favorite vintage.

“Well, yes, it's not every day I have to set the table for a king.” Mrs. Poppy replied, attempting to appear calm and unaffected. “Lady Evelynn provided the candles, and Tilly, the maid, helped weave the flowers together.” The housekeeper circled the table and paused to examine each piece of silverware for any scandalous hint of a smudge before measuring both sets to make sure they were precisely an inch apart and three inches from the end of the table.

Eleanora swept in, and both Carina and Mrs. Poppy blinked in surprise at the glittering red dress, which complimented the crown princess’s womanly figure. Eye-catching ruby jewels glistened beneath Eleanora’s stylishly curled hair that framed her diamond-shaped face, narrow neck, and hung loosely around her provocatively exposed shoulders.

“Kritanta’s flame,” Mrs. Poppy whispered under her breath. “It’s a shame Lady Isabella isn’t here to see her daughter looking so radiant in a dress.”

“It is a bit daring by Lafearian standards,” Carina murmured, happy none-the-less at the pleasant transformation from the usual plain dresses and trousers her Highness preferred.

Evelynn appeared behind Eleanora and draped a sheer golden shawl over the crown princess’s shoulders while offering whispered compliments. Lady Tiffany shadowed them both with a timid look in Carina’s direction as Eleanora cleared her throat.

“Is everything ready?”

“Yes, your Highness,” Mrs. Poppy replied as Carina moved behind her chair.

“We should light the scented candles first,” Evelynn suggested. “Give them time to fill the room before his Majesty arrives.”

“Quite right. Mrs. Poppy, would you please?” Eleanora gestured to the red candles.

“I’ll light them right away, your Highness.” Mrs. Poppy slipped through the side door, where the bustling sounds of the kitchen staff finishing their preparations billowed out with audible anticipation and a savory aroma.

“What scent did you choose?” Carina asked as she curiously studied the red candles.

“Oh, just a little something romantic,” Evelynn replied with a dismissive wave. “Are you sure your dressed suitably, Lady Maura? Your appearance is quite—forgettable.”

Carina glanced down at the day dress she was still wearing from her trip with Tiffany. Compared to the evening dresses and jewels that Evelynn and Tiffany wore, while careful not to outshine their mistress, her appearance was indeed lacking. “I suppose I haven’t had time to consider an evening dress. I was busy helping Eleanora review the papers on the orphanage, visiting Hana, and helping the staff prepare.”

At the mention of Hana, Eleanora’s confident smile dipped, and she shot an uncertain look towards Carina. “You should go change, Lady Maura. There is time enough,” the Crown Princess said stiffly as Mrs. Poppy returned and lit the three candles with a long, narrow matchstick.

“As you wish,” Carina curtsied and circled the table. She noted Evelynn whispering into Eleanora’s ear as she left and wondered over their sudden closeness. ‘Then again, with Hana’s illness and Tiffany’s timidness—is it any wonder Eleanora has had to rely on Evelynn to get preparations finished.’

Back in her room, Carina stifled a yawn as she opened her closet door. The wall of rainbow-colored dresses seemed a mundane task after the chaos of the afternoon.

‘I wonder when Stitcher’s delivery will arrive. I did say before sunset. I wonder what this something blue will be?’

Her hand settled on a pale blue evening dress, and Carina pulled it from the closet with a shrug. “Might as well dress for the occasion.” It took longer than she would have wished to pile her hair up into a stylish evening look.

Carina lacked the jewels that Evelynn and Tiffany, in particular, had in spades but then she had always viewed them as a risk while living at the Turnbells. Dresses had been an occupation and distraction while formulating Frost’s empire and waiting for the Selection to begin.

Carina’s hand settled on the Winter Rose against her chest as the humiliation of that morning returned. She stared at her reflection as she reached towards the clasp and pulled the necklace free. A rush of cold seemed to explode from her chest and spread throughout Carina’s body. She set the jewel down and watched as frost crept along the polished wood beneath her fingers.

‘Was it suppressing my magic?’ Carina wondered as she picked up the jewel and held it in her palm curiously. She regarded her shadowy reflection within the intricate depths of the diamond rose and sighed. ‘Take it off or wear it publically?’

The rumors would spread soon enough. Without Lord Percy to counter Priscilla’s story, Carina had little influence to speak in her own defense. And because of her unsavory birth and status, no one would believe her. All the previous rumors about a woman splitting up the Earl’s engagement had paved the way for this rumor to ravage her just growing reputation.

‘Even the Countess is beyond my reach.’ Carina sighed as she closed her hand around the jewel. ‘If I wear the Winter Rose publically, I confirm my relationship with the Earl. If I continue to hide it—that will only confirm that our relationship is an affair.’ She placed the Winter Rose on the desk with a groan and left it there as she pulled an ivory-cream shawl from the closet.

Carina had just finished wrapping the shawl around her shoulders when a knock came at her bedroom door. “I was just coming,” she replied and opened the door to find the maid, Tilly, waiting outside.

“His Majesty has arrived,” the maid quickly blurted out, her cheeks glowing with excitement.

“Ah,” Carina sighed. “Then I should head downstairs to greet him—” she stopped halfway through the door and stepped back. “Just a moment.”

With the door closed, Carina picked up the Winter Rose, then hurriedly tucked it inside the secret compartment of the bookshelf. ‘I’ll deal with it later. Here’s hoping dinner will be a boring but pleasant affair.’

❆❆❆❆❆

Nicholas frowned at the foreign housekeeper, who greeted him at the door. ‘I forgot Eleanora brought her palace staff from Ventrayna. Saint’s mercy, I hope dinner is edible.’

“We are honored to have you, your Majesty. Her Highness has been looking forward to sharing a meal with you since we received your notice,” the housekeeper, a Mrs. Poppy, said as she led him to the dining room off the foyer.

A pungent floral scent mixed with cedar undertones hung heavy in the air with a pleasant effect. Nicholas forgot the smell quickly as he entered the dining room and caught a glimpse of Eleanora in a stunning red evening dress.

“Your Majesty,” Eleanora murmured as she curtsied. The candlelight gleamed off the two ruby earrings that dangled beneath the gorgeous black curls that gently caressed her neck.

For a moment, Nicholas found himself reluctantly acknowledging why Tristan would have fallen in love with this foreign beauty.

‘If only she behaved more like a queen and less like—’ Nicholas shook himself and stepped forward to assist Eleanora up from her curtsey. “Thank you for agreeing to host this dinner.”

“You make it sound so formal, husband,” Eleanora replied with a teasing smile. “As your wife, I am delighted that we can finally share a private meal together.”

“Private?” Nicholas echoed as he glanced past her towards the two ladies-in-waiting who stood along the wall and noted with a frown that Lady Maura was absent.

“My attendants will be serving our meal as is custom,” Eleanora replied as she stepped closer. “I hope your Majesty has brought a hearty appetite.”

Nicholas frowned at her odd behavior. ‘Is that a threat—or is she being—friendly?’ He cleared his throat and nodded towards the table. “I admit, I’m rather curious to see what sort of dinner your chef has prepared, your Highness.”

“Oh, Nicholas, please,” Eleanora sighed as she placed a hand on his arm. “Can we not do away with titles for one evening?”

‘Well, she’s not wrong. Even Henri preferred to drop titles when dining with his wives.’

“Very well, Eleanora,” Nicholas replied graciously as he tucked her hand around his arm and led the scarlet beauty towards her seat at the end of the table. “I shall do my best, but it is only acceptable when we are alone.”

“Of course, Nicholas.”

The way she said his name and the smile that curled across her painted lips made Nicholas’s stomach turn unpleasantly. He stepped away and pulled out her chair with a polite gesture for her to be seated.

“Thank you, Nicholas.” Her hand trailed down his arm before Eleanora swept past him and settled gracefully into her chair.

Nicholas maintained a neutral smile as he moved to the opposite end of the table, where Beaumont pulled out a chair. Nicholas sat down and gripped the armrest tightly as he faced his legal wife.

‘She outright rejects me on our wedding night, is little more than a vicious, cold scorpion for the past month, and now she’s flirting with me mere days before her uncle arrives to empty the royal coffers? I’ll never understand what goes on inside this woman’s head!’

Nicholas cleared his throat and glanced towards Beaumont, who seemed oddly focused on the candles that decorated the table. “Captain?” Nicholas whispered curiously.

Beaumont stepped closer and bowed as he whispered in Nicholas's ear, “I don’t recognize this scent, but I suspect it may have a peculiar effect if inhaled for too long.”

“Is it harmful?” Nicholas hissed as he stared at the melting red wax.

“Is something wrong?” Eleanora asked as she signaled to Lady Evelynn, who picked up the bottle of wine, filled one of the crystal glasses, and brought it over to the crown prince.

“The Captain was just curious as to the herbs used in these candles,” Nicholas replied casually. “It is not a scent he is familiar with.”

“Oh my,” Eleanora laughed. “That is likely because they are herbs specially grown in Ventrayna. The candles were a wedding gift from my uncle, the Ambassador. I thought it appropriate to use them tonight to celebrate our first dinner together.”

‘Plausible deniability.’ Nicholas cracked a smile and glanced back at his captain. Beaumont shrugged, which Nicholas took to mean the candle wasn’t harmful. “While the smell is pleasant, it is a bit strong, Eleanora. I do hope it won’t conflict with dinner.”

Eleanora’s smile tightened. “We haven’t even served the first dish, and you’re already criticizing, Nicholas?” She sighed and gestured to Lady Tiffany. “Very well, blow the candles out since they displease his Majesty.”

Nicholas frowned at the apparent attempt to make him feel guilty. Lady Evelynn hesitated beside him with the glass of wine, placed it on the table, and then dropped to her knees on the dining room floor.

“Your Majesty, please don’t be upset with her Highness,” the attendant blurted out as Nicholas whirled towards her, surprised. “She has been preparing for this meal all day intending to please you. However little time you have spent together since your Majesty’s wedding, her Highness has done her utmost to understand and learn your preferences. That is why she prepared this Monvua wine, which she heard was your Majesty’s favorite. Please try to understand her feelings as a wife and a stranger to Lafera’s customs.”

“I—” Nicholas reigned in his annoyance as he clenched his jaw and stared down at the top of Evelynn’s bowed head. ‘Understand her feelings as a wife?’ He glanced towards the crown princess, who leaned against her hand in silent protest and thus kept her expression hidden. “Perhaps I was too critical,” Nicholas murmured reluctantly.

‘Anyway, Beaumont would have told me if the candles were poisonous. I’ll ignore it this time.’ He glanced at the cup of wine, picked it up, and smiled bitterly before he took a quick sip.

‘Even if this was Tristan’s favorite wine.’

“Lady Evelynn, please rise,” Nicholas instructed with a wave to the attendant. “I am grateful to see my wife has such skillful and passionate ladies who support her.” He turned his gaze towards Eleanora and smiled at her relieved expression. “I did not mean to offend you, Eleanora. But—perhaps we could blow out one of the candles? Three in such a small room is quite strong.”

Lady Maura entered the room silently as he finished speaking. She curtsied gracefully and moved behind Eleanora with a curious glance at Lady Evelynn, who was rising from the floor.

“Lady Maura,” Nicholas greeted with a raised brow. “I am pleased to see you are not too unwell to attend to your Mistress after your visit to Averly.”

Maura stiffened but avoided his gaze entirely as she curtsied again. “Forgive my late arrival, your Majesty. Rest assured, I am well enough to carry on my duties to her Highness.”

“Yes, it seems you are rather immune to most events that would devastate a more delicate lady,” Nicholas mused with a worried frown. “I do hope you took some time to rest and recover after your parent's death.”

“Lady Maura has had plenty of time to rest,” Eleanora interjected with a hint of impatience. “Though I am grateful to her for spending some of that time with Lady Hana, who has been unwell recently. My other ladies have stepped forward to fill Hana’s shoes in preparation for the Ambassador’s arrival.”

“Commendable indeed,” Nicholas replied as he turned his attention to the crown princess. “I am sorry to hear Lady Hana is ill. She was the noblewoman you brought with you from Ventrayna. Should I send over a royal physician to examine her?”

“No need,” Eleanora returned. “Hana is not comfortable around male physicians and has been recovering quite well under Lady Maura’s care.”

“Very well,” Nicholas inclined his head as he tapped the violet table cloth. “But I would like to speak to Lady Maura after supper regarding her visit to Averly. I wish to hear her own account of the witch hunter’s actions in her province.” Nicholas raised his glass towards Eleanora with a smile. “I hope that will be alright, Eleanora.”

The warmth she had displayed so readily moments ago seemed to wilt as Eleanora raised her empty glass to his. “Of course, Nicholas.”

Dinner continued as Lady Maura and Lady Tiffany brought out the prepared dishes and placed them before the royal couple. Maura remained firmly at Eleanora’s side while Tiffany nearly spilled Nicholas’s glass of wine as she placed the plate of decadently sliced boar before him.

“Forgive me, your Majesty,” Tiffany whispered fearfully as she retreated.

Nicholas steadied his almost overturned glass and moved it a safe distance to his left. “Never mind,” he murmured dismissively. “Is this another kill of yours, Eleanora? The royal forester tells me you’ve had quite the lucky streak.”

“It isn’t luck but skill,” Eleanora replied with the ghost of a smile as she nursed her wine and all but ignored the meal before her. “In Ventrayna, wildlife is much harder to find and hunt.”

“Really? I would have thought the royal forests more challenging given the denseness of the trees compared to the desert.”

“A dense forest provides for an abundance of animal life. In the desert, the prey knows how to camouflage themselves and very often won’t move until you step upon them,” Eleanora said quietly and gestured to her plate. “This boar thought it could intimidate me with its size and fierceness. It didn’t run. It welcomed death.”

“How poetic,” Nicholas murmured as he lifted a morsel of the boar to his mouth and chewed. “Mmm,” he nodded his approval and quickly finished the surprisingly delicious bite. “The rumors about your royal chef were not at all exaggerated. Exotic but quite delicious.”

“He will be pleased to hear your praise,” Eleanora murmured and set her wine aside to eat some of the boar. Instead of sharing Nicholas's enjoyment, she seemed to sigh in disappointment as she picked up her wine again and left the rest of her meal untouched.

‘Rosamund would at least pretend to enjoy it.’ Nicholas frowned and focused on his meal instead of the moody wife who sat across from him. ‘Never mind, the quicker we finish dinner, the sooner I can speak to Lady Maura and return to my own bed.’

[B2] Chapter 42: A Menu for Disaster

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Chapter 42: A Menu for Disaster

“While I have you here, Nicholas, I wanted to discuss an idea for a charity event,” Eleanora announced as her ladies cleared away the plates to prepare for dessert.

“A charity event?” Nicholas echoed in surprise as he rubbed his thumb against the smooth crystal glass in his hand. “This is the first I’ve heard of you being interested in charities, Eleanora.”

“Really? Tristan and I talked about it quite a bit,” Eleanora replied with a hint of bitterness. “But if you’d rather not—”

“No, no!” Nicholas countered quickly as he set down his glass and straightened his posture attentively. “I would very much like to hear what ideas you and Tristan had on the matter.”

‘Please, feel free to remind me of my dead brother as much as you like.’

Eleanora regarded him for a moment as if trying to determine if his words were sincere. Perhaps it was the wine, but she appeared more relaxed than when this awkward dinner had begun.

For that matter, Nicholas was feeling less opposed to her company, and—if he was being honest—it was a nice change to be able to talk about Tristan without being measured up to his brother’s shadow in the same breath.

‘I’m enjoying this—oddly enough—how strange. Maybe it is the wine—or the candles?’

“To start, I’d like to open an orphanage,” Eleanora explained with a determined glint in her amber eyes. “I think it would set a good example for the other nobles. It is our duty, after all, to care for the children of Lafeara who are endangered by sickness, starvation, sex traffickers, and often sold into slavery to pay off their parent’s debts.”

Nicholas nodded absently as Evelynn refilled his glass. ‘Was that my fourth or fifth glass? I’ve lost count.’ He resolved not to touch it and focused on responding to Eleanora instead. “While the custom of selling children to pay off debts is detestable, it is not unlawful. There are laws in place to ensure only children old enough to work are sold. They are given clothes, food, and lodgings from their employer, which is often more than their parents could provide. They also have the right to purchase their freedom once they pay off the amount of their purchaser’s fee.”

It might have been the wine, but Nicholas could have sworn he heard Maura scoff as she returned to the dining room from the kitchen holding another bottle of Monvua wine.

“I do recognize that these homeless children,” he continued, “particularly those abandoned by their parents and orphans, are at risk even here in the capital. Providing them with a stable home, food, clothing, and care would—”

“We should also provide medicine and an education,” Eleanora interjected as she raised her glass to signal another refill. “Along with a trade skill to ensure they will have a place in society when they come of age.”

‘How many glasses was that?’ Nicholas shook his head. He was confident that Eleanora was well ahead of him. “That would work for the boys, but girls cannot learn a trade.”

“Why ever not?” Eleanora retorted in annoyance. “They can become teachers, seamstresses, or even maids for nobility.”

“Servants and maids are positions often filled by slaves among lower nobility,” Nicholas explained patiently. “Why would they pay more to commoners who can quit whenever they like or demand higher wages, as opposed to buying a slave who all but works for free?” He shook his head at her naivety. “As for the upper nobility, they usually only hire from the commoner families that have earned their trust through generations of service or take in a lower noble who has been properly educated.”

“What about tailors and seamstresses then? Teachers and even midwives?”

“There is only so much use for teachers and midwives. All of Lafeara’s tailors are men who would probably not be keen on the idea of training up a female apprentice. Seamstresses are a dime a dozen as well among commoners and work for meager wages.”

“This is ridiculous,” Eleanora muttered as Evelynn filled her glass. “Boys have the option to enlist and become soldiers or pick up a trade, but all that’s left for the young women in your country is enslavement or prostitution.”

“You’re being overly dramatic. Most women don’t have to work if they marry well,” Nicholas added pointedly. “Only girls from noble families receive an education, and even then—it usually revolves around needlework, homemaking, arts, and fashion.” He gestured to the attendants around them. “And these fine ladies are a result of that education.”

“In other words, Lafearian women are trained to serve men,” Eleanora retorted flatly, followed by a derisive, mocking laugh. “No wonder you’re afraid to teach them to wield a blade.”

“Women don’t learn swordsmanship or archery because it isn’t considered a ladylike activity.”

“Yes, I’m sure if Lafeara is ever invaded, the tea making and flower arrangement skills of your womenfolk will make Lafearian’s enemies quiver in their boots.”

Nicholas drew in a slow breath as even the attendants moved stiffly about them in the tense silence.

“Perhaps—” Maura spoke up hesitantly. “We could train the children to help run and manage other orphanages. As teachers, groundsmen, cooks, and even nursemaids?”

“That’s a bit of a long term goal,” Nicholas mused as he rubbed the sore muscles in his neck. “But who better to guide and teach homeless orphans than someone who experienced the worst that life had to offer?”

“They could always become physicians,” Eleanora pressed with a determined smile. “I, for one, am not opposed to the idea of being cared for by a female doctor rather than some strange man.”

“Do you think a woman could handle the horror that comes with true medical skill?” Nicholas countered with a snort of disbelief. “A midwife is one thing, but imagine having to cut off a rotting limb or patching up a gunshot wound or even a punctured gut.” He shook his head and watched as Maura struggled to open the new bottle of wine with a corkscrew. A glance at the knight captain behind him showed that Beaumont was also focused on the silently struggling attendant.

‘If you’re going to stare, you might as well help her, you fool.’

“Lady Maura is competent enough,” Eleanora countered, observing the subject of his attention.

Nicholas refrained from rolling his eyes as he regarded his stubborn wife. “Lady Maura received exceptional training from the Countess, as I’m sure you know. But she is not capable of dealing with anything more than a mild cold or ailment. Do you honestly think she could handle a patient suffering from hysteria or even the plague?”

Eleanora laughed and finished her glass with a mocking smile. “In Ventrayna, women fight and kill men in battle. Princess Aurelia, well—” she nodded to Beaumont “—she could easily best all your knights, including your giant.”

‘Now you’re just trying to provoke me.’

“Princess Aurelia is a well-known pure-blood fire witch,” Nicholas growled as he reached for his glass—then caught himself and leaned back in his chair. “You can not compare a witch or even a half-blood to those born without magical powers. The same is true of comparing the physical and mental capabilities of a man to a woman.”

“A woman can run a shop surely,” Eleanora countered with evident frustration. “I hear this is becoming common practice in the capital.”

“There are more women in shops, certainly, but they cannot run or own a shop without a man’s co-signing signature. The physical labor aside, how would a woman protect the shop or herself in the event of a robbery?”

Eleanora laughed. “You truly believe that a woman can’t defend herself with a blade the same way a man can? Perhaps you should try dueling me on occasion.”

“I beg your pardon?” Nicholas returned through clenched teeth. He picked up his glass and took a long drink without remorse. The tangy taste mixed with honey and an earthly oak flavor helped to numb the growing headache behind his eyes as Nicholas swallowed and set the glass down with a sigh. “There were rumors that you’ve been going around dressed as a man and entertaining yourself by forcing the knights assigned to your palace to duel with you. I suppose they were true after all?”

“I did not force them,” Eleanora replied tartly. “Mostly, I train with Major Garret.”

“And where is the Major?” Nicholas shot back. “I heard he kicked out quite a few knights yesterday, yet he doesn’t seem to be here to ensure your Highness safety.”

“He spends his evenings training several new recruits in the Knights Barracks with my permission,” Eleanora answered with a mocking smile. “Since the other knights that you assigned me were incapable of stopping the Dowager’s men from breaking into the cellar to steal my wine.”

“What?”

The sudden pop of the wine cork echoed through the silence, followed by a faint mouse-like squeak from Lady Tiffany.

❆❆❆❆❆

Carina froze. She barely noticed the wine that spilled from the bottle and ran down over her hand as her gaze shot to the crown princess, who appeared to have realized her mistake. ‘A little too late. Damn it, Eleanora!’

“What did you say? Why would my grandmother need to steal your wine?” Nicholas asked sharply. Behind him, Beaumont glanced towards Carina as she hastily set down the bottle and motioned to Tiffany to start cutting the cooling cherry pie.

The knight captain had been stealing glances at her all night, but Carina was far too preoccupied in the ping-pong match between the royal couple to give him any notice.

“I meant to deal with the matter on my own,” Eleanora said with an apologetic glance at Carina. “But yes—there was an incident yesterday while I was away from the palace hunting down this boar. One of the Dowager’s attendants barged in with several knights to take the Caligo wine my father sent to me specifically for the Ambassador’s banquet.”

Nicholas shook his head, baffled. “Did you not have enough to share? I don’t understand the problem.”

Eleanora’s timid smile withered as she regarded the crown prince with an expression of disbelief. “The problem was that I wasn’t here, and her people forced their way inside. They injured two members of my staff in the process and tampered with the wine in my cellar.”

“Tampered?” Nicholas's voice raised an octave higher as he leaned upon the table towards the crown princess. “I’m not sure if I understand your Highness’s implications. Are you saying the Dowager’s servants maliciously tampered with the wine your father sent over for the Ambassador?”

‘So much for smoothing this over.’ Carina sighed as she watched Tiffany butcher the cherry pie with shaking fingers.

“Lady Maura can explain this better than I,” Eleanora deflected. “She and Lady Tiffany were the only ones here when the Dowager’s people broke in.”

‘Just great!’ Carina closed her eyes and took a quick breath before she turned to face the crown prince’s inquisitive stare.

“We discovered several suspicious rags that were carried in by the Dowager’s knights. The cloth appeared to have been soaked in some sort of—herbal component, your Majesty,” Carina explained slowly. “Several bottles including some of the Caligo wine meant for the Ambassador were suspiciously damp, and their corks had been soaked—”

“Wait!” Nicholas held up a hand quickly. “Lady Maura, are you accusing the Dowager of tampering with the crown princess’s wine just because you found a few rags and the bottles were wet?”

“As understated as you have made that sound,” Eleanora countered acidly. “What if the rags we found were soaked with poison?”

‘Damn it, Eleanora!’

“Poison?” Nicholas took in a sharp breath. “Do you still have—these rags?”

“I do,” Eleanora replied confidently. “I was going to have them inspected by an alchemist today, but—” she faltered and brushed her licorice black hair over her shoulder “—I had to prepare for your Majesty’s arrival.”

“Let me get this straight,” Nicholas scoffed softly as he lightly rubbed his temples. “You claim the Dowager forced her way into your cellar to steal—no, poison your wine. Instead of bringing the matter to my attention and having these suspicious rags analyzed by an authority—you waited a whole day and did nothing because you were focused on preparing dinner?”

‘And when he puts it like that.’ Carina cringed and glanced towards Eleanora, who looked equally embarrassed.

“You said Lady Maura was here when this happened—I thought she was in Averly yesterday morning?” Nicholas continued with a frown.

“This happened before I received Lord Acheron’s message that Averly was in danger,” Carina answered promptly.

“Nevertheless, you were here when the Dowager’s servants came. Why wouldn’t you let them have a few bottles of this Caligo wine?”

“I wasn’t at the palace when they arrived,” Carina explained as she folded her hands. “I had gone out to mail a few letters, and when I returned with Sir Jordan, the palace appeared abandoned with not a single knight in sight.”

“What?” Nicholas snapped, and this time he appeared genuinely angry. “Are you saying my knights abandoned their post, Lady Maura?”

“I am saying the gate and front palace doors were left unguarded, your Majesty,” Carina replied firmly. “When Sir Jordan and I entered, we heard a noise coming from the cellar, and by that time, two servants had already been injured and half the pantry destroyed by the Dowager’s knights.”

Nicholas sighed heavily and glared at his mostly empty glass of wine. “I admit, I am having some difficulty following this story at the moment.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as if in pain. “If the Dowager’s servants entered the palace without permission and injured your staff, Eleanora, then I cannot overlook the matter. And if the knights I assigned to this palace abandoned their post, they will be dealt with harshly.”

He drained his cup and waved Lady Evelynn aside when she stepped forward to refill it. “I will speak to the Dowager regarding the issue tomorrow. I’m certain she would not brazenly order her servants to force entry into the Crown Princess’s palace just for a few bottles of wine.”

“Lady Maura said the Dowager—” Eleanora began but was caught off by Nicholas’s sharp glare.

“Lady Maura wasn’t here when the servants arrived,” Nicholas corrected with a glower. “You also delayed reporting the matter, Eleanora, which means any evidence you may have collected could have been tampered with. I can punish the knights and ask the Dowager to reprimand her servants properly, but I would strongly suggest you drop the matter.”

Eleanora’s expression stiffened, and her nostrils flared with an angry breath before she slumped against her chair and gave an angry nod. “As you wish, your Majesty.”

“And Lady Maura—” Nicholas paused and frowned as he appeared to struggled to focus in on Carina, “—you—you should not leave the palace for the time being. In fact—I forbid it. Until the witch hunters have left—not one foot outside, is that understood?”

‘What was this about?’ Carina curled her fingers against the fabric of her dress as she offered a submissive curtsey in reply. “Yes, your Majesty.”

“Your Majesty,” Beaumont whispered as he leaned towards Nicholas, who appeared to be fighting a headache as he rubbed his temples. “Your Majesty, I believe you are overtired. Perhaps we should return?”

“Nonsense,” Eleanora replied quickly as she sat up. “If his Majesty is feeling unwell, he can stay here for the night.”

“Your Highness—” Beaumont protested.

“No!” Nicholas added loudly and cringed. “No, I have had too much to drink.” He leaned upon the table as he stood and held his head. “And those candles are too damn strong to be used at dinner.” He pushed away from the table with an awkward nod to the crown princes. “Thank you for the lovely meal, Eleanora.”

“But—” Eleanora left her chair as she rushed to cut off his escape through the dining-room door.

Nicholas sighed heavily as he regarded her for a moment between the fingers pressed to his forehead. “I thought you found the very sight of me repulsive, Princess?”

Eleanora swallowed, and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, then anger, before she stepped forward, took Nicholas’s hand, and raised it to her lips for a kiss. “I’m only asking for a chance, Nicholas. Can’t you give me that?” She raised her troubled amber eyes to his, and for a moment, Nicholas’s expression softened, and he turned her hand over and kissed the back of it.

“Good night, your Highness,” Nicholas murmured and then brushed past her towards the foyer with Beaumont close behind to steady his drunken steps.

Carina leaned against the serving table and pressed cold fingers to her flushed cheeks. She wasn’t sure if she should count the meal as a success or failure, but she was also struggling to focus underneath the heavy scent that seemed to have left them all a little flushed and muddled.

Her ice-blue eyes narrowed in on the red candles at the center of the dining room table once more.

“I’m sorry, your Highness,” Lady Evelynn said softly as she supported Eleanora gently.

“A waste,” Eleanora seethed as she reached up and pulled the pins from her hair. “This was all—one ridiculous—pathetic—humiliation.”

“Your Highness,” Carina said quickly as she circled towards the distraught crown princess. “Give it time. Tonight wasn’t a complete disaster—”

“All we did was argue and drink,” Eleanora whispered hoarsely as she wiped her cheek.

“His Majesty enjoyed the meal,” Carina pointed out. “And he didn’t leave angry.” ‘Which was a miracle in and of itself.’ “You need time to get to know each other. The charity will give you something in common to work towards.”

“He didn’t even come here to see me tonight, Maura!” Eleanora laughed as she pulled out the ruby earrings and threw them in Tiffany’s direction. “He came here to talk to you about the witch hunters—not that he managed to do that after a few cups of wine.”

“His Majesty did look unwell as he was leaving,” Carina added with a pointed look at the candles. “Perhaps next time, we should avoid unnecessary stimulants.”

“The candles were just to help set the mood,” Evelynn protested, though her own cheeks were flushed and her pupils suspiciously enlarged. “But it might have been too strong—it looked like they gave the crown prince a headache.”

“Never mind,” Eleanora sighed and almost bumped into the doorframe as she headed towards the foyer. “I’m tired—I’m going to bed. Maura—check-in on Hana for me, will you?”

“Of course, your Highness.” Carina watched Evelynn guide the stumbling, sulking crown princess up the stairs and turned to find Tiffany collapsed on the floor beside the dining room, fanning her red cheeks, still holding the cherry covered dinner knife. “Oh, for mercy’s sake,” Carina muttered as she snatched the blade from Tiffany’s hand and walked over to the dining room table to blow out the candles.

She gave Mrs. Poppy firm instructions to open the lower floor windows and air out the palace for a good two hours. Then she helped Tiffany upstairs to her room. After dumping the giggling blonde into her bed, Carina went across the hall to check on Hana.

Her patient was sleeping once more and looked remarkably improved after her bath. Carina picked up the book, which lay face down on the bed beside Hana, and slipped a ribbon inside to mark her place before returning it to the nightstand. Then she slumped down beside the sleeping woman to contemplate the night's events.

“It’s probably best you couldn’t attend. I’m sure it would have been uncomfortable for you to watch Eleanora’s failed attempts to seduce Nicholas,” Carina whispered as she brushed back the loose golden curls from Hana’s face. “If only I could convince you to leave her behind. You deserve better, Hana.”

The cool breeze from the window teased the back of Carina’s neck. She frowned and stretched her tired shoulders as she rose to shut it. When she turned back to the bed, Maura was sitting in the spot she had just left. The ghost’s pale fingers lay wrapped over Hana’s hand as the specter stared silently at the sleeping woman.

Carina left Maura to guard Hana’s dreams and returned to the hallway just as the maid, Tilly, appeared carrying a blue vase filled with white lilies.

“This arrived for you, Lady Maura,” Tilly said with a curious smile.

“Expect something blue and slightly inconspicuous.”

Carina smiled as she accepted Stitcher’s gift and dismissed the maid for the night. She returned to her room, where she pulled the lilies from the vase and found not water but a rolled stack of parchment inside.

Unable to wait, despite the heavy fatigue that weighed upon her shoulders, Carina carried the secret documents to her bed and slowly began to read. It did not take her long to understand just what sort of a detestable man Marquess Borghese was. As the night stretched longer still, Carina continued to digest each piece of information Stitcher had given her as she formulated a plan of her own to bring the Marquess and his family to ruin.

[B2] Chapter 43: The Weight of Dawn

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Chapter 43: The Weight of Dawn

The ghostly light of dawn found Carina sitting behind Eleanora’s desk, still wearing the light blue evening gown, as she stared down at the two stacks of documents she had spent all night drafting and preparing. A pot of cold black tea waited on the corner of the desk beside a few unfinished sweetened pecan cookies. Carina rubbed her somewhat shaky fingers against her tired eyes. Beneath her ink smudged hands, a triumphant smile soon emerged.

‘I can’t believe I found a way to save Eleanora’s marriage, keep Hana safe, and, if I’m lucky, provide an escape route should things continue to follow the old timeline.’ Carina exhaled again as her tired shoulders slumped. ‘Of course, this is all assuming that Nicholas can be trusted to uphold his end of the deal. Still, no one can say I didn’t try.’

After three weeks of palace life, primarily spent attending to Hana’s recovering health, Carina had realized that protecting the attendant and securing their future did not necessarily require that they remain inside the palace. While convincing Hana to leave Eleanora’s side still remained a problem—for now, the other major obstacle in Carina’s path was getting royal permission to depart from service, or more specifically, permission from the ruling Monarch.

‘I just have to turn an old enemy—into an ally. That shouldn’t be too complicated—right?’

Carina stood on unsteady legs as she gathered the discarded drafts that had since been revised. She carried the original documents to the library where the maid, Tilly, had lit a fire at Carina’s request. After tossing the scrawl of notes and lists provided by Stitcher into the flame, Carina pulled the rope cord outside the office door and then returned to Eleanora’s desk.

She wrapped the two stacks of edited documents in parchment and tied the first with a purple bow from the desk drawer. The second stack Carina bound with a blue ribbon she had brought down from her room. Then she sealed both ribbons with melted wax and the crown princess’s royal seal.

“Purple for Eleanora and blue for Nicholas.”

Mrs. Poppy appeared in the open doorway with a startled expression. “Oh, Lady Maura? I thought—did you need something?”

“Please see that Eleanora gets these documents immediately,” Carina requested as she lifted the stack with its purple ribbon and carried it over to the housekeeper. “Tell her this is the Earl’s plan for the Charity event and that she should read it in private before deciding who to share it with.”

Mrs. Poppy accepted the sealed documents with an uneasy expression but quickly nodded. “I’ll take it up to her Highness with the morning tray then.”

“Thank you. And please have the Chef prepare a breakfast tray for me as well. I’ll drop by the kitchen after I run a quick errand,” Carina explained as she picked up the ivory-cream shawl from the desk’s chair and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“Lady Maura—the sun isn’t even fully awake—and it looks as if you’ve been up all night. Perhaps you should get some sleep?” Mrs. Poppy suggested with what might have been a hint of concern.

“Sleep can wait a little bit longer. I have to drop these documents off at Peony Palace,” Carina replied as she picked up the second batch with its blue ribbon and made her way past the housekeeper and through the library.

The morning air greeted her cheeks with a cold kiss that snapped Carina fully awake as two tired, surprised knights turned and greeted her with a formal bow. Carina counted herself lucky that Sir Jordan was not among them, or at least, had not yet arrived for his day shift. The last thing she needed was someone tailing behind her, asking questions. She continued out through the palace gate uncontested and headed northwest towards the king’s palace.

Truth be told, Percy’s suggestion for the orphanage had provided Carina with the perfect opening to bring Marquess Borghese's detestable actions before the public eye. The Marquess could be linked to several of the nobles caught up in Knight Commander Quentin’s investigation. As Carina was already well aware, scandal was the one weakness all nobles were equally susceptible to.

While Knight Commander Quentin might not be fully aware of the Marquess’s involvement, he was a sharp and diligent man. Tristan had been feeding him information over the years but incriminating the Marquess directly had proven difficult. The only person in Lafeara who could convict a man of Borghese’s rank without the burden of proof or a court’s verdict was the king.

The documents which Stitcher had provided showed a clear connection between the growth of Borghese’s private army and the illegal trading of children both within Lafeara and across the border to her neighboring kingdoms.

Even more horrifying were the sales records Ghost had recovered, which indicated the slave merchants had priced these children based on their blood heritage. Half-witches were sold in secret to the church for a thousand crescents, while suspected witches were sold to Ventrayna’s Emperor for five thousand crescents. Meanwhile, children born without a drop of witch blood were sold as sex slaves at a sickeningly reduced price of one hundred crescents each to those nobles who had an appetite for such detestable lechery.

Ghost had succeeded in crippling the Marquess’s slave trade by targeting the nobles who held the slaves until they were set to be shipped. However, Tristan had yet to discover how Borghese moved his more lucrative cargo throughout the capital unnoticed and even across the border.

‘The best way to go unnoticed would be to move underground, but I doubt Borghese has access to Anthraticus—unless he was given access by one of the covens Percy mentioned.’

Despite the setback of losing a few nobles and several dozen slave children, Borghese’s underground operations continued to thrive. The man was like a reptile, capable of regrowing lost limbs, and there never seemed to be a lack of unwanted children.

All the children Ghost had helped the capital knights recover were being housed amongst at chapels located in the provinces connected to the capital. The same chapels, Carina quickly realized, that were likely now under the control of witch hunters. Unfortunately, that meant these children were at even greater risk of returning to the street while the church continued its inquisition.

There was a clear demand for permanent, safe housing that an orphanage established by the royal family would provide. Carina had outlined both the need and benefits in the brief she now carried to Rose Palace. Her determination to resolve the precarious situation and ensure the safety of these children was more than a match for the numb fatigue that clung to her stumbling limbs as she marched determinedly forward through the faint morning fog.

‘No matter what it takes, I must make Nicholas acknowledge the risk he unwittingly put these children in and take responsibility as their king.’

The golden gates of Peony Palace came into view as the sun breached the distant fortress walls. Three knights stood before the entrance, the tallest of which wasn’t difficult to recognize as Beaumont turned in Carina’s direction with an expression of surprise.

The knight captain left the gate and approached her with a quizzical stare at her dress. “Lady Maura, good morning. Is everything all right?”

“Yes. Perfectly,” Carina replied, somewhat breathless from her journey. “I just—have something to deliver to his Majesty—on the Crown Princess’s behalf.” She held up the packet of documents with Eleanora’s seal and extended it to him. “I had meant to leave it at the gate—but if I could beg a favor of you, Captain. Could you deliver them to the Crown Prince personally?”

“I—” Beaumont glanced from the package to Carina’s face and accepted it with an uncertain smile. “This is rather irregular, Lady Maura, but as it appears to be important, I will present it to his Majesty first thing.”

“Thank you,” Carina smiled with relief as she pushed back the strands of her hair and suddenly aware of the ink stains on her palms and what a mess she must look. She tucked her hands behind her skirt and offered him a quick curtsey. “Thank you. Then I shall return and deliver the good news to her Highness.”

“Lady Maura,” Beaumont stepped towards her quickly as he held the documents against his chest. “You should take care. It is probably best not to leave Rose Palace for the next few days. There are—rather unkind rumors circulating—regarding you and the Earl of Hawthorne.”

‘I had almost forgotten about that.’ Carina sighed loudly and offered a single nod. “Thank you, Captain. I am aware of the rumors.”

“I’m sure the Earl will put this misunderstanding to bed upon his return,” Beaumont added with an edged tone that conflicted with the concern in his eyes as he studied her. “Forgive me for overstepping—but you should be wary of him, Lady Maura.”

“Funny, that’s what my dreams tell me about you,” Carina muttered defensively as she rubbed her temple to stem the headache forming behind her tired eyes. Her fingers froze, and her chest tightened as Carina realized what she had just spoken aloud.

“Your dreams—Lady Maura?” Beaumont stared at her, his violet eyes widening with evident surprise while his cheeks flushed a cherry-pink hue.

“Nightmares. Not dreams. Not the way you’re thinking—wait, not that I mean—” Carina blurted out incoherently. “You kill me in them. And I—” She clasped her throat as if to choke off the words betraying her. “Forgive me. Ignore everything I just said. Please. I haven’t slept—I should go.” She glanced up at his face once more, and the visible pain in Beaumont’s shadowed eyes only made her feel more guilty. Carina turned hastily and walked briskly towards the Rose Palace, hoping to sleep, and wake, and find this was all just another horrible dream.

❆❆❆❆❆

Nicholas and his attendant jumped as the bedroom door banged open, and Beaumont stomped in, looking flushed and altogether not himself.

“Good morning, Captain?” Nicholas greeted with a scowl. “Do mind the noise—my head is still a bit of a mess from drinking last night.”

“Your Highness,” the attendant murmured as he held out Nicholas’s dress jacket.

Nicholas slid his arm through the sleeves and straightened his posture as the attendant adjusted the tassels and pins. The crown prince glanced over at the silent giant, who had not moved since entering the room but stared at a thick bundle of documents in his hand.

“What is that?” Nicholas asked curiously, noting the blue ribbon.

“A delivery from Rose Palace,” Beaumont answered through clenched teeth.

“Oh,” Nicholas muttered dully and immediately lost interest.

“You should read it before your morning appointments, your Majesty.”

“Should I?” Nicholas replied with a sarcastic smirk. “Is it something that can’t wait?”

“It’s something Lady Maura spent the entire night preparing—to avoid dreaming about me killing her.”

The frustration and even more worrying the hint of rage in his Captain’s voice did not escape Nicholas’s notice.

“Charles, we’ll finish up later. I need a moment,” Nicholas said dismissively. “Have the chef send breakfast on ahead to my study.”

“Yes, your Majesty.” The attendant bowed and gave Beaumont a wide birth as he left the room and shut the door behind him.

“Alright, what’s this nonsense about you killing Lady Maura in her dreams?” Nicholas demanded as he approached Beaumont and looked up into the knight’s stormy expression. “Did she tell you that?”

Beaumont pushed the parcel of documents against Nicholas’s chest, nearly knocking the crown prince off his feet, and shook his head. “Just read this.”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on,” Nicholas growled as he steadied himself.

“I don’t know!” Beaumont strangled shout rippled through the room. “When I know—I’ll tell you then, so please.”

Nicholas sighed in exasperation and glanced from the parcel of documents to the captain’s flushed face. “I don’t like that she’s messing with your head.”

“I’m more worried that someone else is—” Beaumont clenched his jaw and shook his head. “Your Majesty, can I have the morning off? There’s someone I need to speak to.”

“You’re asking for time off!?” Nicholas repeated incredulously, then sighed again as he dragged a hand through his hair. “Alright, but when will you be back?”

“It shouldn’t take more than a day,” Beaumont returned dully with evident distaste.

“Go, just go.” Nicholas waved towards the door. “Check in with me the moment you get back. I’ll have your usual replacement stand-in until then.” The crown prince raised the packet with a wry smile. “I’ll let you know what I find when you return.”

“Thank you, your Majesty.” Beaumont bowed and turned hastily to the bedroom door that he opened and closed with a bit more restraint.

“Damn it,” Nicholas hissed as he turned towards his office and yanked the bell-rope on his way through. “Fucking women.” He dropped the packet on his desk, removed his jacket, and set about breaking the seal with a small dagger that served as a letter opener.

A cover letter with the Rose Palace emblem and Eleanora’s seal waited for him. He noted the lack of Eleanora’s signature with a scoff and quickly flipped to the first page. The next document titled ‘Endangered Children’ contained a list of over thirty names, each marked with an age ranging from fourteen to six-years-old.

Nicholas sat up in his chair as he recalled the sex slave ring the Knight Commander Quentin had discovered after the murder of a minor noble and the burning of his estate. He quickly flipped to the next page, which confirmed his suspicions as the names of the nobles involved were listed out along with the alias they had used to operate.

The following page included the locations the recovered children had been sent to—all chapels located in provinces that connected to the capital.

‘All places currently under inquisition lockdown—Damn it!’

“Your Majesty,” the attendant Charles called out as he entered with the royal breakfast tray.

Nicholas gestured sharply to his desk as he continued to read. A blueprint of a modest size house had been notated with red ink to mark adjustments and modifications to accommodate all thirty children. Each renovation was meticulously accounted for with an estimated cost for materials and labor fees.

A roster followed that outlined the necessary staff required to run the orphanage, each position's title, their estimated wages were listed beside a few blanks for names. Some blanks had already been filled in, including a Miss Ivy Koresh, who had been recommended to run the establishment as its matron.

As Charles poured the tea and prepared the crown prince’s plate of food, Nicholas was reading individual files on the nobles arrested or murdered, all of which could be connected back to the Royal Party led by the Dowager and Marquess Borghese.

‘Where the hell did Lady Maura get this information?’

By the time the crown prince finished reading the packet, his barely touched breakfast still lay before him. Nicholas reorganized the documents as he lifted his gaze to Charles, who waited patiently and silently by the study door.

“Send word to Knight Commander Quentin,” Nicholas ordered. “I want to speak to him immediately.”

The attendant bowed and departed.

Nicholas clasped his hands behind his neck and stared down at the document containing the list of names for these thirty children. His attention was drawn to the bottom of the page, where a curious impression stood out against the otherwise unblemished and high-quality material. Narrowing his eyes, Nicholas stood and carried the document over to the study window. There against the rays of the morning sun, the ghostly form of the letter F surrounded by snowflakes woven into a familiar wreath came fully into view.

“But this is—” Nicholas returned to his desk and tested a few more pages from the packet, but none of the others contained the secret letter. “Ha!” Nicholas sat down and stared at the page in his hand as he rubbed his unshaven jawline. “That girl continues to surprise me.” He set the page down and traced the already fading outline of the letter F. “Just what is her connection to you, Frost? And why are you both so determined to help Eleanora?”

[B2] Chapter 44: A Wrinkle of Truth

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Chapter 44: A Wrinkle of Truth

Titan, the pale speckled gelding, was more than pleased at the prospect of a long ride. Beaumont let the horse set its own pace as they left the capital far behind and headed south-east towards the territories that belonged to Lord General Commander Stryker Hargreve. Beaumont bypassed the main road that would lead him to the fortress-like castle of Hargreve, choosing instead to take a less-traveled road that led to a small chapel and private cemetery where many generations of Hargreve lords and ladies now rested beneath the earth.

His mother, Lady Jasmine, was not among them.

Beaumont continued past the cemetery and bowed beneath the branches of evergreens that grew tightly compressed against each other, obscuring the church's backyard from the quiet forested field behind it.

Beaumont left Titan to graze beside a small creek as he continued through the rustling forest to where a separate gated plot of land with a single black marble sepulcher rested, surrounded by dancing jasmine flowers. The scent of the small white flowers made him pause for a long moment outside the gated grave plot. He brushed his fingers across the latch, rusted by the passing years, and felt a wave of grief and anger return.

The gate creaked as Beaumont pushed it open, but otherwise, the servants had maintained the property well enough. He focused his attention on the gravestone where the words, ‘Here lies Lady Jasmine Treowe, High Priestess of Minerva,’ were etched into the marble stone surface. Beaumont placed his hand beneath them and sighed. “Mother, your wretched son has come to visit.”

The stone hummed beneath his hand as the wind stirred in the trees around them. The scent of jasmine vanished, and Beaumont narrowed his gaze as he stepped back, loosened the strap on his long sword, and pulled the blade free.

“Is that really necessary?” The old man in a tattered black robe asked with a hint of amusement as he wandered through the trees to stand outside the iron gate. “And here I thought you came all this way to see me.”

Beaumont twirled the blade carefully and pierced it into the mossy earth beside his mother’s grave. “That depends on your answer, old man.”

The dry, cracked lips visible against the old man’s pale skin stretched into a smile. “My answer would depend on your question, my son.”

“I would choose your words with more care. I am no son to you,” Beaumont growled as he tightened his fingers around the sword's hilt.

“You’re as much a son to me as you were to the Priestess,” the old man replied with a nod to Lady Jasmine’s sepulcher.

Beaumont inhaled slowly through his nose as the iron gate between them creaked and trembled faintly.

“You’ve begun to remember, haven’t you?” the old man pressed with a curious smile. “That’s why you came seeking me.”

“Partly,” Beaumont admitted through clenched teeth.

“This is because of Kirsi—” the old man chuckled “—that’s why your memories have returned quicker this time.”

“She seems to remember—something I do not.”

The smile on those sinister dry lips faded for a moment. “What does she remember?”

“That I killed her—in one of her past lives,” Beaumont answered with heavy frustration.

“Ah.”

“Is it true?”

The old man crossed his arms and glanced towards Lady Jasmine’s final resting place.

“Why would I—” Beaumont broke off.

“Because your king ordered you to,” the old man replied softly.

“Impossible,” Beaumont snapped. “I would never—”

“You did not remember as quickly that time,” the old man explained patiently.

“Even if that were true—I would have recognized Vicktor’s magic.”

“Ah but—” the old man smiled triumphantly “—that is a new development.”

Beaumont sighed in exasperation. “You gods and your games.”

“You have no right to complain as I see it,” the old man replied with a hint of cynicism. “Unless—your position has changed.”

Beaumont scoffed. “Why would it.” He yanked the long blade free and turned towards the open gate.

“Because Kirsi has changed.” The old man smiled as the giant halted. “You’ve realized that too, haven’t you?”

“Does it matter?” Beaumont asked tensely as he wiped the blade clean and returned it to its sheath. “I’ll forget her and everything else again when your plans fail and you send us back to the beginning.”

“It is not that simple anymore,” the old man said wearily. “I am running out of time. We are running out of time.”

“So be it,” Beaumont whispered. “I am tired of being pulled along by the whims of such fickle fools.”

“You may be willing to remain as you are—but what if I fail to turn back time—who will stop Kritanta then?”

Beaumont shut the gate and turned towards the robed stranger. “Isn’t that the job of the Saint?”

“It seems you still don’t remember,” the old man lamented with a sigh. “Why do you imagine I have become this weak? The Saint has not returned—in any of these timelines.”

Beaumont scoffed and shrugged. “You broke the system, Veles. You should have known there would be consequences.”

The old man’s lips twisted into a sinister smile. “Remain indifferent as long as you like—things have already changed to this extent—even you, my son.”

“Leave me out of it, old man.” Beaumont turned and trudged briskly back towards the creek.

“But she has already drawn you back in.”

The old man’s cackle followed Beaumont's heavy footsteps as he walked back towards the gelding and knelt to splash the cool, clear creek water against his face. He heaved a heavy sigh and frowned as his reflection in the rippling water changed into the familiar visage that only belonged in his nightmares.

“Arachne.” Beaumont splashed the water’s surface quickly and withdrew.

The gelding finished chewing the bundle of clovers it had discovered as Beaumont led it back towards the road. He frowned at the three horses tied up beside the chapel, their saddles adorned by scarlet trappings and the symbol of the church.

‘Witch hunters?’

Beaumont stilled and listened to the breeze. Detecting nothing, he knelt and placed his hand upon the ground. The tremors were faint, but he could feel the presence of six individuals inside the old chapel.

‘What are they doing here?’

The knight captain double-checked that the strap on his long sword remained loose, then left the gelding beside the other horses as he strode towards the chapel. He knocked on the door loudly. Silence answered, but beneath his steady heartbeat Beaumont could feel footsteps approaching on the other side of the door then pause. Just as the knight captain contemplated breaking the door down, it opened, and the Pope’s Emissary appeared, his albino red eyes narrowing above a fiendish grin.

“Well, well,” Ripper murmured as he pushed the door open further and gestured for Beaumont to enter. “I was wondering when we’d have another chance to meet, Captain.”

“I don’t believe this chapel falls under the Pope’s jurisdiction,” Beaumont said bluntly as he stepped across the threshold. “This is the Hargreve family’s private church. You and your friends should leave.”

“Ahh haha!” Ripper chuckled as he released the door and gestured to the statue of Saint Harmonia behind him. “You are mistaken, Captain. All houses of faith belong to the Pope and the church.”

“Not this one,” Beaumont repeated with a growl.

“Oh!” Ripper raised a brow as he examined the knight before him. “And if I refuse to leave, Captain?”

“That would be regrettable—for you,” Beaumont answered with the hint of a smile.

Behind the confident witch hunter, the muffled sounds of a struggle reached him. Beaumont narrowed his gaze and stepped forward.

The chapel door slammed shut with a bang behind the knight captain as a circle of purple powder glowed upon the floor around him. Ripper’s fanged smile widened as two witch hunters appeared through the sanctuary door with blades drawn.

“That was your second mistake,” Ripper observed as he drew two sickle-like blades from his sword belt.

“And my first?” Beaumont asked calmly as he flexed his gloved hands.

“Coming here alone.”

Beaumont laughed softly. His violet eyes flashed as he pulled his long sword free. “You should have brought more,” he replied with a casual nod to the two witch hunters. “Then again—even all of you wouldn’t be enough.”

“Captain Beaumont!” A woman’s shrill voice echoed against the chapel windows as Lady Verity Hargreve stepped through the sanctuary door with a glare of disapproval. “Who gave you permission to be here?”

Beaumont blinked and tilted his head. “Do I need permission to visit my mother’s grave?”

Although pale and trembling, Lady Verity managed to look even more offended as she strode towards him. “That woman is not buried here—and for good reason. Now leave!” She pointed past him towards the door expectantly.

Beaumont clenched the sword in his hand tightly and glanced at Ripper. The witch hunter looked equally annoyed, but he lowered his weapons and, with a whisper, deactivated the magic circle.

“I said, get out!” Lady Verity repeated shrilly.

“And the two lads tied up in the back?” Beaumont asked grimly.

Her steel-blue eyes flickered with surprise as Verity’s gaze faltered for a moment towards Ripper. Then her attention snapped back to Beaumont as she straightened her spine and tried, foolishly, to look down at him. “Those slaves are my property and no concern of yours. Now leave—or do I need to use force?”

“I’ll leave,” Beaumont growled and sheathed his sword. “And I’ll report this to his Majesty. He should know which houses are selling half-witches to the church.”

“It is none of your concern—or the crown prince's. Those boys are slaves!” Verity rebuked with evident rage. “Now get out of my sight before I have your whore mother’s remains dug up and thrown into the Serpentine River—or better yet—burned.”

Beaumont’s hand froze on the hilt of his blade and slowly lowered. His violet eyes focused dispassionately on the woman who had scorned the foreign war priestess and infant brought back from Tharyn by her husband over twenty years ago.

Ripper scoffed lightly as he brushed pale white hair over his shoulder and tapped the sickle-blades against his armor. “Best do as she says, bastard.”

Beaumont clenched his jaw and took a step back. “Don’t get comfortable, witch hunter. I don’t imagine your stay in Lafeara will continue for much longer.”

“I’ll be here as long as it takes to find the priest’s killer and the little ice witch hiding in Lafeara,” Ripper replied as Beaumont turned. “Do let me know if you’ve seen her.”

Beaumont yanked the door open and whistled sharply to the gelding, who pranced over with its ears pricked warily. The knight captain settled into the saddle and cast one look back at the chapel, where Ripper stood with a troubled frown, staring after him.

‘I’ll kill you all before I let you lay a finger on Lady Maura.’ Beaumont kicked his heels lightly against the gelding’s flank and headed back towards the palace and the troublesome ice witch hidden behind its fortress walls.

From beneath the shadows of the birch trees, the hooded old man watched the knight’s departure with a crooked smile before he vanished into the shadows, and a crow with blood-red eyes climbed above the forest towards the clear blue skies.

[B2] Chapter 45: A Testament of Humanity

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Chapter 45: A Testament of Humanity

“Lord Commander,” Nicholas greeted warmly as Knight Commander Quentin entered his office and knelt before the crown prince’s desk. Nichols stood and quickly gestured for the Knight Commander to rise. “Thank you for coming.”

“I am at your service, your Majesty,” Quentin replied as he straightened. “How can I be of assistance?”

“Your investigation into the deaths of the Turnbells, Lord Josiah and Lady Helena, how is it faring?” Nicholas gestured to an open seat that faced his desk out of habit.

“I have not yet concluded that investigation, your Majesty.” Quentin glanced at the offered chair as he stepped closer but remained standing. “There are a few more loose ends that need to be tied up.”

“Do explain,” Nicholas urged as he leaned back in his chair.

“By all accounts, the nobles' deaths were unfortunate but not deliberate.”

“Unfortunate, you mean they were not the witch’s target?”

“It would appear the fire witch was after the witch hunter, your Majesty. Lady Helena died because she fell upon a large shard of glass while trying to escape the flames. The glass pierced her lungs, and regrettably, there were no capable physicians nearby to tend to the injury before she bled out. The witch may have caused the chapel windows to explode, but according to one of the holy sisters I interrogated—it was Lady Helena’s late husband who caused her to fall when he pushed her out of his path.”

“Lord Turnbell?” Nicholas raised a brow and scoffed. “And his death?”

“Lord Josiah Turnbell died well away from the chapel. Abbess Mercy's testimony indicates that the noble was drunk when he arrived at his son’s funeral. After the fire, Lord Josiah and Lord Asher Winslet fought over the recent engagement of Lady Sophya. By all accounts, Lord Josiah appears to have tripped over his own feet and fallen upon a pitchfork because he was too drunk to maintain his balance.”

“So,” Nicholas murmured in disbelief. “Neither of them burned to death?”

‘So much for the initial report of a fire witch attacking nobles.’

“That is my findings thus far,” Quentin continued. “The Earl of Hawthorne has already stepped forward to testify to Lord Asher’s innocence. Lord Percy claims it was Lord Josiah who provoked the fight by being rough and abusive to his own daughter, Lady Sophya.”

“I see,” Nicholas slumped back with a puzzled expression. “That does rather change things.” ‘Not that it would have stopped the Inquisition given a priest still died on Lafearian soil.’

“There was—one unexpected piece of testimony during my investigation,” Quentin continued hesitantly. “I interviewed Lady Sophya Turnbell a few days after the fire, and she—”

Nicholas leaned forward quickly. “Did she offer a contradictive statement?”

“About the chapel burning, no, your Majesty. But she—implied that her sister, Lady Maura, was responsible for the death of her brother, Lincoln Turnbell.”

Nicholas’s expression shifted from surprise to uncertainty. “I don’t follow, Lord Commander. How did this brother die? I was unaware of a third noble victim.”

“It is another investigation that your Majesty asked me to look into regarding the ice witch that brought the priest, Father Alden, to Lafeara after a young noble was murdered in the slums. That noble was the eldest of the Turnbell children.”

‘So the Turnbells are connected to two witch attacks? That can’t be a mere coincidence.’

“Do we have any evidence to suggest Lady Sophya’s claims are true?” Nicholas asked tensely.

Quentin glanced away for a moment as he seemed to debate his answer. “There was a witness testimony which mentioned Lincoln was in the slums looking for a sister. At the time, we assumed this was in reference to a prostitute, who are commonly found in that area—not someone of blood relation.”

“Indeed, the slums would be a strange place to seek out one of his sisters,” Nicholas murmured as he tapped his lips and tilted his head. “So then why would Lady Sophya think Lady Maura was involved in her brother’s death?”

‘That girl never struck me as a person capable of murder.’

“I am uncertain as Lady Sophya was rather emotional at the time, your Majesty,” Quentin replied calmly as he shifted his feet. “As part of my investigation into the Turnbell family, I interviewed a few members of their household staff. The butler, in particular, painted a rather grim picture of the treatment Lady Maura received while living with her family.”

“What sort of treatment?”

Quentin raised a brow and shrugged. “The usual treatment for a half-blood. Lord Josiah took no notice of Lady Maura unless he was punishing her for a mistake. Lady Helen also neglected her, to the extent that Lady Maura was forced to skip meals and hide in her room because she didn’t have the appropriate clothes to dine with the family when she was but eight years old. Lady Maura’s health declined as a result, and she nearly died. I’m told a family relative stepped in at that point and later provided Lady Maura with a maid to look after her. Lady Maura recovered but estranged herself from the family as much as possible especially the brother—”

“That’s enough,” Nicholas held up a hand and dropped it to the desk with a sigh. “Wouldn’t that sort of background suggest that Lady Maura had a motive to harm the brother?”

“Motive, perhaps. Opportunity? That would appear to be less likely.” Quentin cleared his throat and continued. “At the time of Lincoln’s death, Lady Maura would have been recovering from another injury. According to the butler, Maura was whipped while defending her maid from Lincoln. Neither she nor the maid was capable of leaving their room without a great deal of pain. For a young woman of that age and upbringing to sneak about the slums at night while seriously injured—it is rather hard to imagine, your Majesty.”

“I see your point,” Nicholas conceded softly. “But then why would her sister suggest such a horrible thing?”

“I believe Lady Sophya’s testimony to be motivated by grief and jealousy, more than truth.”

“Jealousy,” Nicholas echoed with a frown. “Of her half-blood sister?”

The knight commander raised a brow. “Their circumstances have certainly changed in the last several days, your Majesty. Lady Maura was recommended for the Selection over the eldest daughter, Lady Sophya. That is unusual for most noble families, let alone when the youngest is also a half-blood.”

‘I suppose jealousy between siblings is not all that unreasonable.’

Nicholas grunted as he glanced towards the stack of documents from Rose Palace. The list of names with Frost’s insignia still rested on top. “I would like you to look further into Lady Maura’s background, Lord Commander.”

“Your Majesty?” Quentin’s silver-tinged brows narrowed.

“Lady Maura is a person of interest to the Crown. I want to know more about her upbringing, her father’s background, and her tutelage under Countess Hawthorne.”

Quentin masked his confusion as he adjusted his cloak. “I had intended to interview Lady Maura in the next few days, but—may I ask—why, your Majesty is so interested?”

Nicholas smiled tightly and rose from his seat. “I would first like your word that this matter will remain between us and no one else—” He held up his hand as Quentin moved to speak “—no one, Commander. That includes the Prime Minister, the House of Lords, and the Dowager.”

“You are my King, your Majesty. My services and discretion are yours to command.”

Nicholas nodded, satisfied. “I suspect Lady Maura has another benefactor who supported her entrance into the palace,” he explained with a wry grin. “If this is true, I want you to seek out this benefactor’s identity and their motives.”

“If the lady herself is not forthcoming, that may prove difficult, your Majesty. Most of the Turnbell family’s servants were sold off after the Earl of Hawthorne acquired Lord Josiah’s debt. The manor itself was auctioned off just recently, and only the two estranged daughters remain.”

“What about the maid you mentioned, the one that looked after Lady Maura after her illness.”

“Miss Ivy was sold by Lady Maura to the Countess before she entered the palace for the Selection. I would need the Earl’s permission to interrogate one of his servants,” Quentin explained hesitantly.

‘Lady Maura must have really cared about that maid to go through the trouble of removing her from the Turnbell house.’

“I have given you control of the Silver Wolves. Use them to uncover the truth—discreetly. As for the maid, I will speak to the Earl regarding her another time. Lord Percy is already handling a dangerous mission on behalf of Lafeara. I won’t offend him by abusing his absence to interview a servant.”

Knight Commander Quentin nodded as he pressed a closed fist to the Lafearian wolf sigil on his chest plate. “I shall inform the Silver Wolves of your request, your Majesty. We should be able to track down the other servants and slaves within a week.”

“You may go, Commander.”

Quentin bowed once more and exited through the office door. Beaumont entered not long after and bowed before the crown prince.

“You’ve returned,” Nicholas observed as he studied the silent giant. There was a trace of mud along the captain’s boots and a twig of evergreen snagged against the edge of his cloak; both told Nicholas the knight captain had probably ridden out to the Hargreve estates and his mother’s grave. “You are better now?”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“Good.” Nicholas flipped through the documents on his desk. “Shut the door then, if you would, Captain.”

Beaumont obeyed the command and then approached the desk with a stone-like expression.

“Captain?” Nicholas murmured as he scribbled out a note beside the list of chapels where the orphaned children now resided. ‘I need to send some knights to recover these children and bring them back to the capital as soon as possible.’

“Your Majesty, I have something to report.”

Nicholas paused, returned the eagle-feather quill to its ink well, and then lifted his gaze to the brooding knight. “Tell me then.”

“I believe the church has a dual purpose for this inquisition,” Beaumont said grimly as he stepped closer. “I observed them purchasing two half-witch slaves from a noble.”

Nicholas sighed and interlaced his fingers together. “The selling of slaves to a foreign nation is not a crime, Captain. You know that”

“They were boys, your Majesty. The oldest was only twelve.”

Nicholas felt a stab of guilt as the list of names with Frost’s emblem burned in the corner of his vision. “Never-the-less, a noble is entitled to sell their property. The law only prevents the selling of child slaves for immoral purposes.”

“These boys belong to the caretaker who has been tending to my mother’s grave since she died!”

Nicholas exhaled sharply at the anger in the Captain’s voice as his hands tensed. “Who was selling them?”

“Lady Variety Hargreve.”

Nicholas grimaced as he met the captain’s gaze and shook his head. “All the more reason I cannot help you. Beaumont, you can’t accuse your step-mother—”

“Lady Hargreve is not my step-mother—”

“Be that as it may, she is Lord General Commander Stryker’s wife!” Nicholas stood and crossed to the window beside his desk. “The Hargreve family have been my greatest supporters. Borghese and his followers support the Dowager and their own interests. Winslet and Hawthorne support the interest of the older noble houses.” Nicholas turned slowly and spread his hands helplessly. “I can’t abolish slavery without making enemies of the entire House of Lords, and if I did that—”

‘The nobles won’t take such a move sitting down. Not when it alters their control over the commoners. This would leave us to civil-war. And if the Hargreve family abandoned me—I would lose the throne before I’m ever coronated as King.’

“I can’t give special favor to half-witch slaves either without alienating more than half of Lafearian’s citizens.” Nicholas raised his gaze, hating that he had to turn down a rare request from his trusted captain and friend, but he saw no alternative. “I cannot help you. Take comfort in knowing those boys will have a better life in Zarus.”

“They were taken from their grandfather and sold—they didn’t have a choice,” Beaumont growled, unmasked anger and frustration drawing his silver-blonde brows closer together.

“Slaves don’t have a choice! Under the law, they are property.” Nicholas sighed as he stepped towards the desk and rubbed his neck. “I may disagree with that, but I cannot interfere. Not until I have the power to weaken the hold the nobles have over this country. I am sorry!”

A flicker of something passed across the knight’s face. Resignation or perhaps disappointment, before it resumed the stone-like expression Beaumont so often wore.

“I understand why you’re upset,” Nicholas said sympathetically as he leaned against his desk. “Your mother was considered a slave when General Stryker brought her back as a war prisoner from Tharyn. But he freed Lady Jasmine, my father gave her a title, and Stryker named you his son.”

“Bastard son,” Beaumont muttered through clenched teeth.

“I know,” Nicholas sighed. “My point being—you relate to these boys. How could you not? You’re a half-witch too.”

Beaumont flexed his shoulders and shifted his gaze from Nicholas to the stack of documents on his desk. “It’s getting late, your Majesty. Should I have the cook send up dinner?”

Nicholas accepted the change in conversation and leaned against the window frame for a moment as he cleared his thoughts. “I was thinking of visiting Rose Palace for dinner again.”

Beaumont’s stone mask slipped for a moment into a surprised frown.

“But you’re right, it has gotten late,” Nicholas amended quickly, “And I still have work to do. We’ll go tomorrow.”

“I’ll send word, your Majesty.”

[B2] Chapter 46: A Questionable Alliance

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Chapter 46: A Questionable Alliance

The incessant knocking at her bedroom door tore Carina from the heavy blankets of sleep. She groaned past a parched throat as she detangled herself from the covers and rolled over to sit on the edge of the bed. Harsh daylight awaited her through the glass windowpane.

‘Did I even sleep?’ Carina wondered as she found her feet and stumbled towards the noise at her door.

Tilly waited outside with a pitcher of water. “Ah—sorry to wake you, my Lady, but you have a visitor? She is waiting for you downstairs.”

“She?” Carina echoed groggily as she rubbed her neck and stared at the water meant to wash her face, feeling a bit thirsty.

“The Marchioness Serilda of Berxely,” Tilly recited with a note of awe as she dug into her apron and pulled out a small greeting card, which she handed to Carina. “Should I—tell her to come back later?”

“No, I—” Carina took the card, read Lady Serilda’s name, and sighed as she pressed it against her forehead. “Please, prepare the Marchioness some tea and tell her I’ll be a moment.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“Wait—” Carina dropped her hand and frowned as she studied the silent hallway. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon, Lady Maura,” Tilly replied with a bemused smile. “Just an hour till lunch.”

“Her Highness?”

“Still out riding. The Crown Princess took Lady Tiffany with her this morning since Lady Evelynn wasn’t feeling well.”

Carina raised a brow. “Lady Tiffany? How long have I been asleep?”

“Since you returned yesterday, my Lady. Her Highness gave strict instructions you were not to be disturbed, but—”

‘A Baroness can’t refuse the visit of a Marchioness.’

Carina smiled and nodded as she took the pitcher from Tilly’s hands. “You did the right thing. Thank you, Tilly. Please let my guest know that I’ll be down in five minutes.”

“Better make it ten, my Lady,” Tilly whispered urgently before she turned and scampered towards the stairs.

Somewhat confused, Carina shut the door and carried the pitcher over to the vanity desk's water basin. One look at the dark circles under her eyes was all it took to understand the maid’s comment. “Shit—I look awful,” Carina mumbled as she sank into the chair.

A ghostly chuckle filled the room and set Carina’s teeth on edge. She scanned the empty walls and furniture behind her, then dismissed her still invisible stalker and set about washing her face. Once refreshed, Carina changed from her nightgown to a day dress and brushed out her hair. She was far too tired to bother with hairpins and settled for a twisted braid instead with a few scattered ornaments to compliment the simple look.

A quick dusting of rouge hid the paleness of her cheeks, while a thicker dab of powder covered the shadows under her eyes and a bit of makeup helped to blend the foundation against her skin. A thin layer of lip balm returned her lips to their rosy hue, and Carina gave her reflection a satisfied nod of approval. She picked up a shawl and the bedroom key then headed out to meet her guest.

❆❆❆❆❆

Carina found Lady Serilda in the waiting room, enjoying a cup of tea with Lady Evelynn.

‘I thought she wasn’t feeling well?’ Carina pondered as she approached them.

“Lady Maura,” Serilda greeted as she set down her drink and stood. “I do hope you don’t mind the sudden visit.” Despite the outdated look of her dress, Serilda’s every movement commanded attention with its graceful elegance. They may have shared the same mentor in Countess Constance, but Serilda possessed a dignified grace that Carina could only hope to match.

‘There are a few dress designs I have yet to use that would look amazing with her figure. Serilda is what you’d expect a princess to look and behave like.’

“You are far too gracious, Marchioness,” Carina replied as she dipped a curtsey. “This is not my home. Though I am delighted to see you again.”

“Oh, but you are too humble, my dear.” Serilda’s smile widened as she circled the tea table and grasped Carina’s hands affectionately. “And do call me Seri. My cousin is so fond of you. I want us to be friends, Lady Maura.”

‘Friends?’ Carina forced a smile. ‘I’m still not sure how much I should trust someone who used something like a sleep spell on me. But I suspect Serilda’s intentions were good, even if her actions were questionable.’

Carina glanced over to where Evelynn set her trembling cup down on its saucer with the expression of someone who had tasted bitter milk. “If you wish—Seri,” Carina replied. “I would be honored.”

“Excellent! Then may I call you Maura?”

“It would only be fair and right that you did,” Carina replied with a nod. “But please, Seri, do sit down and get comfortable.”

“Only if you join me, Maura. Lady Evelynn and I were just discussing my cousin’s unexpected trip to the border,” Serilda explained as she sat down on the couch and gestured to the cushioned seat beside her.

Carina obliged her guest’s request and glanced towards Lady Evelynn, who seemed in no particular hurry to leave them alone.

“The Earl is most courageous,” Evelynn gushed as if their conversation hadn’t been interrupted by Carina’s arrival. “I am certain he will return with good news.”

“My cousin is brave, talented, ambitious, and handsome,” Serilda agreed with a knowing smile as she glanced between them. “Though I hardly need to tell you ladies that.”

“He will make a fine Earl,” Evelynn replied eagerly.

“And an excellent husband, when the time comes,” Serilda smirked over her drink as Evelynn blushed and picked up her tea.

Carina folded her hands and raised a brow discreetly at Serilda, curious as to the real purpose behind the marchioness’s visit.

“Oh dear, we need another cup, Lady Evelynn,” Serilda gasped suddenly. “Forgive me, Maura. I did not expect Lady Evelynn to join us, so I only asked the maid for two cups.”

Evelynn glanced from the marchioness to Carina and offered a hesitant smile. “I’ll ring the servants to fetch another—”

“Oh, but you should go yourself,” Serilda replied quickly. “I’m sure the servants are busy preparing for lunch right now.”

“But I—”

“It’s just a cup of tea.” Serilda's voice deepened, and beneath its husky, rich texture, Evelynn’s expression relaxed as she stared blankly back into the marchioness’s moss-green eyes. “You can make it yourself.”

“Yes, I—” Evelynn stood slowly with her teacup in hand “—I’ll make another cup myself.”

Carina watched in bewildered silence as the dazed attendant left the waiting room and disappeared down the hall.

“There, now we have a moment to speak,” Serilda said with a sigh as she set down her drink.

“What—was that?” Carina whispered anxiously. “Did you—”

“I learned this sort of trick when I was sixteen,” Serilda replied with a dismissive shrug. “A young girl must know how to bend others to her will if she does not wish to be forced onto her knees. Shallow mortals like Lady Evelynn are simple enough to nudge in the right direction.” She inflected the word with a raised brow and a playful smile.

Carina scoffed, equally mystified and more than a little bit concerned. ‘Just how easy is it to use magic to convince others to do what you want? Would I even notice if you tried that on me?’

“Not to worry, my dear, she is unharmed,” Serilda reassured with a mocking chuckle and a dismissive wave. “By the time Lady Evelynn reaches the kitchen, she will have forgotten why she left us.”

“Then, won’t she return?” Carina pressed, confused.

“Mmm, though I expect it will take her a moment to remember that I am here. So, I will say what I came to say quickly,” Serilda interjected as she leaned towards Carina. “I need you to return to Hawthorne Manor as soon as possible.”

“Is something wrong?” Carina whispered as she leaned closer.

“Is something wrong?” Serilda echoed in a flat tone. “You and my dear, beloved cousin left that shabby foreigner and her shrieking babe for me to look after.”

Carina blinked for a moment before realizing her meaning. “Jade and Benjamin?”

“Is that the wretched thing's name?” Serilda’s mouth twisted with displeasure. “I’m not good with children, Maura. I can’t stand the sight, sound, or smell of them. That woman and her brat smell to high heaven no matter how many baths they take. And the constant crying—” Serilda drew in a slow breath as she reached reflexively for her temples “—its enough to drive a Saint to murder.”

Carina thought back to the calm, cute infant who had blown bubbles in Jade’s arm and wondered how much of this was an exaggeration. ‘Then again, what do I know about babies?’

“Something must be done,” Serilda continued firmly as she lowered her hands. “I have no interest in looking after some wild woman and her possessed child, and as you know, my Cousin is rather busy elsewhere. Since you are the reason Percy brought them to Hawthorne Manor in the first place, it seems only fair that you provide me with a solution to this—inconvenience.”

“I—I’m sorry,” Carina apologized quickly. “I didn’t think they—”

“Oh, of course,” Serilda’s annoyed expression melted away. “I don’t blame you either, my dear. It was quite courageous of you to stand up to those witch hunters. And charitable of you to take in two strangers off the street—even if you passed that responsibility off on my cousin.”

Carina did not miss the hint of accusation in the marchioness’s words. “But the thing is—” she explained hesitantly. “The Crown Prince has forbidden me from leaving the palace.”

“Well,” Serilda’s tone flickered with surprise as she brushed back her chestnut hair and leaned in closer. “Then it’s a good thing I know of more than one way to get in and out of the palace, my dear.”

Carina blinked in surprise. ‘Was it possible Serilda knew about the secret tunnels? She had been the king’s mistress, after all.’

Serilda glanced towards the door as she tucked a strand of Carina’s hair behind her ear and whispered, “Wait for me at midnight.”

“What? Where?” Carina whispered back, just as the crown princess entered the room, still wearing her riding attire.

“Oh. So it is true,” Eleanora remarked coldly as she folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe with an expression of displeasure. “You’re back.”

Confused, Carina rose from her seat while the marchioness stood gracefully beside her. “Your Highness, Lady Serilda was just—”

“Are you not going to welcome me home, dear cousin?” Serilda interrupted as she stepped past Carina towards the crown princess.

“That would depend on the reason for your return?” Eleanora answered cynically. “Does the Dowager know you’ve left your confinement?”

Serilda’s smile faltered as she tilted her head and studied Eleanora’s dusty apparel of a jacket, pants, and muddy boots. “Your tone is most unkind, cousin. I should think you’d be happy to have someone else in your corner who wishes to see the Dowager fall.”

“I’d rather not have such an unstable ally anywhere near my corner,” Eleanora said scornfully as she narrowed her amber eyes. “I think it best you return to whatever shelter the family has provided you with and stayed out of my affairs.”

Serilda lifted a sculpted auburn brow and shook her head. “Very well, I’ll leave if you like. My business here is concluded in any case. But my dear cousin, your apparel—is it not rather undignified for a queen to walk about trailing mud through the palace—not that you are a queen yet.”

Carina could practically feel the blades hidden behind their words as the two women smiled at each other. Not knowing what history there was between them, she decided it best to remain silent.

“Spare me your lessons in fashion,” Eleanora snorted with a confident grin. “I think you’ll find that I set the trends these days as Crown Princess and the Royal Patron of the Holy Maiden Boutique.”

“Then I suppose I am rather fortunate to have become friends with one of Lafeara’s leading fashion designers,” Serilda fired back with a familiar devilish grin. She stepped back and slid her arm around Carina’s before adding with a cunning smile, “Isn’t that right, Lady Aconitum?”

Carina’s mouth dropped as she stared from Serilda’s victorious moss agate eyes to the crown princess’s confused and stunned expression.

“Lady Maura?” Eleanora’s tone rippled with anger. “You—Is this true?”

“Your Highness, before I entered your service—” Carina explained hesitantly “—I did make a living by selling designs under the name Lady Aconitum.”

‘This is not how I wanted you to find out, but it is my fault for delaying it this long.’

“Oh, dear!” Serilda raised a hand to her lips as her eyes rounded innocently. “Oh, forgive me, Maura. I assumed her Highness already knew.”

Carina pressed her lips into a thin smile as she refrained from countering the obvious lie. ‘I should have realized Percy would tell her. For cousins who have been separated for six years, they are certainly very close.’

Eleanora’s gaze narrowed as she glanced sharply between them. “You should see your guest off, Lady Maura, and then return to your room to rest. His Majesty will be dining with me again this evening, so I will need you at your best.” The crown princess spun sharply and left the room; her riding boots thudded softly down the hall, leaving flakes of dried mud in their wake.

“What a little tyrant she has become,” Serilda chuckled as she smoothed out the laces of her dress. “But still as malleable as ever.”

“Did you have to provoke her?” Carina demanded as she moved to the doorway to ensure they were alone. ‘Did you have to use me to do it?’

“You saw how she treated me,” Serilda replied with a note of skepticism. “I won’t tolerate a half-witch looking down on me—just because she imagines herself a queen.”

“What do you mean?” Carina turned as Serilda draped a shawl over her shoulder. ‘Isn’t it in the Hawthorne family’s best interest if Eleanora becomes queen?’

“Oh, only that it is a long road from Crown Princess to Queen.” Serilda gently wrapped her arms around Carina for a quick embrace as she whispered, “Remember—midnight.”

[B2] Chapter 47: The Spoils of Matrimony

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Chapter 47: The Spoils of Matrimony

“My Lady!” Tilly whispered urgently as she slid past the kitchen staff, who were hurriedly preparing the final touches for dinner. Eleanora had brought back three quails and a rabbit from her hunt that morning, and the chef had been rather excited to present a dish of quail. The rabbit he would use for a stew later.

“Has his Majesty arrived?” Carina asked, still focused on draining the leaves from the pitcher of peppermint apple tea. She was determined to keep wine off the menu as much as possible tonight, though that wouldn’t stop Eleanora.

“Yes! His Majesty went to the Crown Princess’s study to discuss something.”

Carina frowned as she set the strainer down. ‘They’re probably discussing the charity for orphans. In any case, the fact that Nicholas came early is a good sight. As long as they can avoid arguing tonight.’ She sighed and then turned carefully as she extended her arms to the side. Tilly skillfully untied the apron’s string, pulled the cover’s straps from Carina’s shoulders.

“Dinner will be ready to be served at any minute,” Mrs. Poppy observed as Carina joined her in the hallway with Tilly close behind.

“Yes, I was just on my way to tell their majesties,” Carina explained as she motioned for Tilly to follow. Once out of the housekeeper’s hearing, Carina leaned closer to the maid and inquired, “How did they seem?”

“The royal couple? They were—polite,” Tilly whispered with an anxious look about the library as she folded the apron over her arm. “And Lady Hana is with them.”

“Lady Hana?” Carina paused as she caught sight of Evelynn pacing outside the study door. “I wasn’t aware she had gotten out of bed. Stay here a moment. I’ll let them know dinner is ready and see if they would like the chef to keep it warm a bit longer.”

“Yes, my Lady.” Tilly moved to the nearest wall and bowed her head as if the gesture would somehow make her less noticeable.

Carina moved towards the study door determinedly, and Lady Evelynn turned at her approach. Evelynn didn’t say a word, but her light hazel-brown eyes flickered from Carina to Tilly with visible annoyance as Carina brushed past her to knock on the study door.

It was only after the door opened and Carina met the knight captain’s violet eyes—that she realized she had forgotten one rather embarrassing element.

Beaumont stared down at her with an expressionless mask for a long awkward moment before he stepped back to allow her entrance.

Carina entered the study and was careful to avoid looking in the knight’s direction as she moved past him. Nicholas sat behind the crown princess’s desk and appeared quite comfortable in the seat. At the same time, Eleanora leaned against the corner of the desk beside him as she gestured to something on the documents separated in three stacks on the desk. Hana sat in a chair further away, where she appeared to be taking notes on their conversation with a charcoal pencil and rolled notebook.

“I still think we should apply as much emphasis on education for girls whether they become teachers or maids. They shouldn’t have to rely on marriage and a husband to keep food on the table and a roof over their head. We should also give the children a finance class so they will be better able to calculate the cost of living and use that to determine what amount of pay should be exchanged for their work,” Eleanora argued confidently. “When I was out riding today, we stopped by the trading market on our way back where I discovered a rather absurd practice that was forcing several commoners out of business.”

‘Ah, so she did end up taking my advice.’ Carina smiled and patiently maintained a respectful curtsy before them.

“Did you know that nobles are allowed to promise payment instead of paying upfront for work?” Eleanora continued passionately. “Even when the commoner needs that money to provide supper for their family, it is a noble's right to delay payment if it is inconvenient.”

“It is rather standard practice when dealing with nobles,” Nicholas replied with a distracted glance towards Carina as he motioned for her to stand. “But these shops are well within their right to decline if such deferments put them in a difficult position.”

“Even when declining a noble’s request could see them blacklisted by all other nobles?” Carina inquired as she stood.

Eleanora frowned and crossed her arms as she faced Carina. “Was there a reason for your interruption, Lady Maura?”

“The chef—was wondering if dinner should be postponed?” Carina replied hesitantly, detecting a hint of annoyance in Eleanora’s words. ‘Perhaps I should have waited outside.’

“No, no reason to put the chef out trying to keep our meal warm,” Nicholas said as he rose from his seat. “Besides, I’m rather looking forward to what meal has been prepared this time.”

“But we were making such progress,” Eleanora murmured with a hint of sarcasm as the crown prince circled past her.

“No need to rush these things,” Nicholas said with a patient smile as he extended his arm politely. “Allow me to escort you to dinner, Eleanora. We can continue this discussion later. In any case, I should thank you for bringing this practice of delayed payment to my attention. If it is forcing commoners to give up their business and livelihood then it is a privilege easily revoked by the House of Lords.”

“Of course,” Eleanora replied softly as she accepted his arm. “I am happy to be of help.”

Hana’s scribbles stopped as she glanced up from her notes towards them with a conflicted expression. She quickly looked down and shut the pencil inside the notebook to mark her place.

‘I should be relieved that Eleanora and Nicholas are getting along so well,’ Carina thought as she retreated towards the door, still avoiding Beaumont. ‘But why must Hana watch this? She should be upstairs resting.’

“I’ll let the staff know that your Majesties are on their way,” Carina announced hastily as she spun around the knight captain and left the office.

❆❆❆❆❆

Carina wasn’t the only one to notice the sudden calm between the royal couple. Even Mrs. Poppy looked hopeful as she peeked in from the hall before slipping back to the kitchen. With Hana back on her feet, the attendants split themselves evenly to serve the couples dinner. Evelynn and Tiffany attended to Nicholas’s side of the table while Hana and Carina saw to Eleanora’s meal.

The iced tea Carina prepared was brought out and served, though the crown princess declined the offer in favor of her usual wine, which Hana poured.

“I trust you are looking forward to the Royal Hunt this year,” Nicholas said after quenching his thirst on a cup of cool minty tea. “I remember you did rather well at last year's event.”

“Yes, I am,” Eleanora replied with a smile. “In fact, I’m rather confident about winning this year.”

“Bold words.” Nicholas cut into his quail thoughtfully. “There are quite a few experienced and skilled hunters amongst my nobles.”

“So I have observed.” Eleanora tilted her head with a smile. “But I’ve spent the last year growing comfortable and familiar with the forests around the capital.”

“You should go out less,” Nicholas observed with a sigh. “You are meant to be a queen, not a huntress, Eleanora.”

Eleanora laughed as she traded her cup for silverware. “In Ventrayna, those occupations complement each other quite well. A noblewoman must know how to fight and defend herself in the event of a slave revolt.”

Nicholas paused with a fork of meat half-way to his mouth, then resumed eating without comment.

“Do you know where this year’s hunting festivities will be held?” Eleanora pressed in an attempt to continue the conversation.

“Viscount Gilwren has been preparing all year,” Nicholas answered promptly. “Though with his daughter’s recent death—” His fork scraped against the plate as he paused and glanced towards Carina “—but Rykard has expressed his fervent wish to continue the tradition.”

Eleanora nodded thoughtfully as she chewed her food then swallowed. “I would like to bring my attendants as well.”

“Naturally,” Nicholas conceded, then frowned as he lowered his knife. “Do you mean for them to take part in the hunt?”

“Why not?” Eleanora raised her brow. “Lafearian noblewomen are allowed to hunt, as I recall.”

Nicholas tilted his head with a wry smile. “As long as they are appropriately dressed.”

Eleanora scoffed. “It is ridiculous to expect women to compete with men while hampered by skirts, frills, and those absurd corsets.”

“You are allowed to participate—no one expects you to compete,” Nicholas corrected with a hint of restraint. “Keep in mind, Eleanora, you are Lafeara’s future queen. Behaving like a savage in public will only harm your image further. I know you think rumors and such beneath you, but you need to win the support of the people and above all the nobles.”

“I find Lafearian’s laws on propriety rather one-sided,” Eleanora commented as she lifted her glass with a cynical smile. “You express such concern about my image because I like to hunt and duel, yet a king is allowed to keep a public mistress without either of them being shamed or rebuked?”

The sound of staff closing the stove door in the kitchen echoed through the suddenly silent dining room. Carina raised her gaze to the ceiling in quiet prayer. ‘Please, Eleanora, don’t blow your chances again.’

“I have done no such thing,” Nicholas replied with uneasy calm. “For the sake of your reputation, I have kept Lady Rosamund out of the public eye.”

Eleanora scoffed as she stabbed her fork into a piece of quail. “Let us not pretend that you haven’t kept that woman anonymous as much for your sake as mine. In any case, I was referring to Lady Serilda, your father’s mistress.”

Nicholas blinked in surprise, then exhaled slowly. “It is not uncommon for a king to have mistresses, Eleanora. Marchioness Serilda was a comfort to my father after the death of the two queens.” He leaned back in his chair slowly and studied her. “And I seem to recall Lady Serilda was an excellent huntress who could easily keep up with my father—while wearing a dress.”

Eleanora glared at her wine and remained silent.

“Since we need more funds to open additional orphanages under this charity,” Nicholas continued as he returned to his meal. “Perhaps you should make use of the Royal Hunt.”

“To raise funds?” Eleanora queried with a frown.

“And gather nobles to your cause. If you want the charity to succeed and outlive you, then you must rally their support.” Nicholas motioned his fork towards her with a tense smile. “You could give a speech, Eleanora. After all, the charity will be operated under your name. Appeal to them as a noble and their future queen.” He lifted the bit of quail to his mouth and chewed it meticulously.

“I see,” Eleanora murmured as she set down her glass. “But how would a public speech work with the hunting event?”

“We always hold a ball after the hunt. This time it will be at the Viscount’s estate. The manor is large enough, and only the most powerful and influential families of Lafeara have been invited to the hunt,” Nicholas answered confidently. “We’ll hold the ball on the final night, serve the winning stag to our guests, and then you can present a speech to the nobles over supper.”

‘It’s not a bad idea,’ Carina reluctantly admitted as she shifted her attention to Eleanora. ‘Though it puts a lot of pressure on her Highness, if she succeeds, the charity will be viewed as her first achievement as crown princess. And if the royal couple are seen working together on this charity, that will help mitigate the damaging rumors about their marriage.’

Eleanora appeared to reach the same conclusion as she lifted her glass with a crooked smile. “I must thank my husband for his thoughtfulness and advice.”

Nicholas scoffed and waved his hand dismissively. “Happy to help. It is a good charity and a good opportunity for the nobles to see you act like a queen. Actions speak louder than words to our people.”

“Indeed, they do.” Eleanora lowered her glass. “Though I can’t help but wonder whether your sudden change in behavior towards me is motivated by your desire to help orphans—or my uncle’s presence at the border with five-thousand Ventrayna soldiers?”

‘By all the Saints—Eleanora—why?’

Carina sucked in a quiet breath as she resisted the urge to bury her face in the platter of chocolate custard pie before her on the serving table. Beside her, Tiffany stared gloomily at the two cut pieces of dessert that would likely never be eaten.

Nicholas laughed abruptly as he lowered his silverware, pulled the napkin from his lap, and tossed it on his plate. “You really do have a remarkable talent for chasing me away,” he commented dryly.

Eleanora’s expression hardened as she continued to stare into her wine. “Run away then—if you’re scared,” she mocked softly.

Carina pressed a trembling fist to her lips and shook her head at Tiffany as the sound of Nicholas’s chair scraping against the floor signaled the end of the dinner. The attendants turned and curtsied as the future king left his seat and, instead of heading to the door, circled the table slowly towards Eleanora.

“If I were your Highness,” Nicholas said coldly. “I would take great care to see the ball is a resounding success. Consider it a final test to prove you are worthy of being Lafeara’s queen.”

Eleanora met his gaze with an indifferent expression as she raised a single brow. “Worthy?”

“I’ve already explained the charity is an opportunity for you to show the nobles and the kingdom your capabilities as queen. If you cannot rally the nobles behind this cause, your lack of political power will be dangerously visible. And if you cannot put aside your pride to support me as a wife and queen, then you will be judged by all the nobles as unfit to hold that place and title.”

“So rather than an opportunity, this is an ultimatum—one you intend to impose on me after my uncle has granted your tax reprieve and all other benefits that came with my marriage,” Eleanora countered with a bitter smile. “But your Majesty should remember, those benefits are also conditional on my becoming queen.”

“And I see no reason why you should not succeed,” Nicholas replied with an impatient sigh. “The Royal Hunt does come after your uncle’s visit, but before Holy Saints day. If you wish to be by my side when the Pope coronates me as King, then you must conduct yourself appropriately during the Ambassador’s visit and rally the nobles behind you and this charity.” He stepped closer and leaned against her chair as he whispered. “That is the least you can do since you refuse to act as my wife.”

Eleanora’s cheeks turned cherry red as she rose from her chair and faced him with burning amber eyes. “And if I don’t? What will you do? Get rid of me and make that little whore your queen?”

Nicholas released the chair and stepped back with a scornful laugh. “At least Lady Rosamund has an interest in providing me with heirs.”

Eleanora inhaled sharply as she pressed a trembling hand against her chest. “Get out!”

Nicholas raised a brow but nodded and even bowed before he swiftly exited the dining room with Captain Beaumont close behind.

“Your Highness,” Hana whispered worriedly as the sound of the palace door closing behind the crown prince echoed throughout the palace.

With a single, violent push, Eleanora sent her chair crashing to the floor before she turned and swept out of the room towards the stairs. Hana and Evelynn followed her swiftly while Carina abandoned the chocolate custard pie and sat down in her chair beneath the windows.

“Another disaster,” Tiffany lamented as she too took a seat beside Carina with an expression of defeat.

Carina stood and poured herself a glass of Eleanora’s wine. The rustic flavor swirled around her tongue and eased her dry throat but offered little respite to the situation that had played out before her very eyes.

‘At this rate—how long will it take Nicholas to seek a divorce? If Eleanora keeps burning bridges—Rosamund won’t have to do anything to knock her down.’

“Well, I’m going to have some pie,” Tiffany announced with an attempt at levity. “I’ll ask the servants to prepare trays for the other ladies.”

“Thank you,” Carina murmured absently. “Tell the servants to eat whatever’s left. No point in letting a good meal go to waste.”

Carina remained where she was until her glass was empty, and the sun had faded from view behind her. By then, the servants had cleared the table, and Carina had turned down the offered tray of food.

Her thoughts returned to the events of the last disastrous meal the royal couple had shared—and Vicktor’s words.

“Become what you were destined to be. Daughter of Frost. Queen of Winter. Ruler of Lafeara.”

Carina left her empty glass on the table and headed up the stairs towards her room. The idea of taking Lafeara’s throne held no appeal to her. The list of people between her and such a lofty endeavor included not just Lafeara’s royalty and nobility but the Emperor of Ventrayna.

‘No monarch is overthrown without a high cost, and I do not have the power to face down the Witch Emperor and his army of witches.’

[B2] Chapter 48: The Fate of a Queen

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Chapter 48: The Fate of a Queen

“Elly,” Hana whispered as she followed the fuming crown princess into her bedroom.

Eleanora didn’t respond as she paced the lush purple carpet and frantically pulled the jeweled hairpins from her hair. Her expression darkened even as the tightly, erratic sounds of her restrained breathing seemed to reach a breaking point.

“Let me help,” Hana said quickly as she grasped Eleanora’s arm.

“I know what I’m doing,” Eleanora snapped as she flung Hana’s arm off and continued to hurl the emerald pins to the floor, followed by the matching earrings and necklace. “I know—I just can’t—"

Hana folded her hands against her waist and remained patiently still. She was surprisingly tired after only being on her feet since lunchtime. Still, she was relieved to be here for Eleanora, who appeared to be struggling.

“I can’t do this,” Eleanora whispered hoarsely as she turned back to her silent attendant. “Why did I think I could do this?”

Hana smiled sympathetically. She understood better than anyone Eleanora’s rather destructive behavior. “Because they didn’t give you a choice.”

Eleanora shook her head as she sank slowly onto the edge of the bed.

“‘If I didn’t need you to become Queen of Lafeara, why would I require a second princess.’ Those were the Emperor's words,” Hana reminded her gently as she drew closer and knelt beside Eleanora on the floor. “We do what we must to survive.”

“But it—It should have been Tristan!” Eleanora exhaled sharply even as she reached down towards Hana, who grasped the crown princess’s trembling hand and held on silently.

“I know.”

“What do I do now? I keep—driving him away—”

There was a note of desperation in Eleanora’s voice that was not unfamiliar to Hana. She lifted her hands to her mistress’s face and cupped Eleanora’s cheeks tenderly. “Tell Lady Maura.”

Eleanora expression tensed for a moment before she laughed weakly. “You trust her that much?”

“Don’t you?” Hana countered as she tilted her head. She couldn’t explain why she trusted the young attendant so readily. There was just something about Maura that felt familiar and reassuring. “You trusted her to take care of me, knowing it could expose my secret,” Hana reminded gently.

“But she hid the fact that she and Lady Aconitum are the same person!” Eleanora hissed bitterly.

“And yet, no matter which name she used, Maura has always supported you, Elly.”

Eleanora grimaced and bowed her head. “I suppose it is only fair that we all know each other secrets.”

Hana smiled and remained by Eleanora’s side until the crown princess lifted her gaze once more.

“Send her to me.”

Hana nodded, kissed Eleanora’s forehead gently, and left the room.

❆❆❆❆❆

Carina took in the mess of jewels scattered across the floor and silently repressed her frustration. ‘How can Eleanora expect to be treated like a queen when she throws a tantrum like a child?’

Crown Princess Eleanora sat by the bedroom window, still in her evening gown. Her undone hair curled around her shoulders in dark tresses that reflected the light of the fading sun and revealed traces of tears on her cheeks.

“You sent for me, your Highness,” Carina greeted with a curtsey.

“I am aware that I have disappointed—all of you—tonight,” Eleanora said quietly, her tone weary and deflated.

Carina sighed as she glanced to where Hana waited in the bedroom doorway. The older attendant nodded encouragingly before she retreated to the hall and shut them in together.

Still not entirely sure why she had been summoned, Carina straightened and took a few steps towards the crown princess. “May I help you change for bed, your Highness?”

Eleanora brushed a hand against her cheek and then turned to face Carina with a conflicted expression. “Before that—there is something I would like to confess, Lady Maura.”

“Confess?” Carina raised her brows in confusion.

“The truth is I had the opportunity to sleep with Nicholas on our wedding night, but I—” Eleanora’s voice trembled for a moment as she smoothed out the sleeve of her dark green gown “—I was too proud and—too ashamed to go through with it.”

“Your Highness?” Carina stepped closer as the crown princess’s voice dipped into a whisper.

Eleanora sighed. “I told Nicholas that if he wanted to sleep with me—he could not—keep his commoner mistress.” She laughed mockingly as she raised her gaze to Carina’s. “I made him choose between us—knowing he would refuse to leave her.”

‘Where is she going with this?’ Carina wondered as she sat down on the window seat beside Eleanora and offered the crown princess a handkerchief. Eleanora stared at the pale blue cloth for a moment, then accepted it with trembling fingers.

“It doesn’t matter that he chose her—I’m the one that drove him away, and I knew what I was doing,” Eleanora continued bitterly. “I didn’t—I couldn’t—” she twisted the handkerchief in her hand as she fought for the words “—do that—to Tristan. With his brother—I just—”

‘Right. She doesn’t know that Tristan is still alive.’ Carina felt a prickle of guilt as she took Eleanora’s hand, pulled the handkerchief free, and used it to wipe the tears glistening down the crown princess’s face. “It’s alright. I understand—”

“You don’t,” Eleanora cut in angrily. “If my uncle finds out—if the Emperor believes I am at fault—” her voice pitched frantically as she pressed a hand against her stomach. “If I fail to become Lafeara’s queen—they will have—no use for me. They will kill me, Maura—and my parents—even Hana!”

“Lord Alastair Kensington is Lafeara’s ambassador and brother to the Countess of Hawthorne,” Carina protested. “If the Emperor killed your father, he would unify all the noble families under Nicholas, and we would be at war.”

Eleanora shook her head. “Do you know why Lafeara and Ventrayna became allies, to begin with?”

“Be-cause of the marriage between King Henri and Queen Catalina?” Carina answered hesitantly.

“Lady Catalina Karmine, the Burning Phoenix. The second most powerful pure-blood in Ventrayna,” Eleanora muttered with a note of awe and bitterness. “And why would the Emperor offer his most prized general to the King of Lafeara as a common queen?”

Carina remained silent for a long moment before admitting, “I don’t know.”

‘There are many pieces of Tristan’s history that Maura and I could only guess, which is why I’ve avoided anything connected to Ventrayna as much as possible.’

Eleanora pulled her hand free and folded her arms as she leaned back against the window frame and stared at the rising moon. “The covens unified under the Emperor because they believed that he gained his destructive powers from the Goddess Kritanta herself. Before Arius received the Goddess’s Blessing, he was little more than a mid-tier pure-blood witch.”

‘There are tiers?’ Carina frowned.

“Although Catalina had no such blessing, her family, the Karmines, can trace their bloodline back to Kritanta’s last witch consort, so one could say the blood of a goddess runs in her veins. In any case, the Karmines were the strongest, purest witches ever to walk the desert.” Eleanora’s expression grew distant as she drew in a breath and continued her story. “To witches, bloodlines are more important than individual power—even power granted by a Goddess. Catalina served under Arius in his battle against the church, but among the witch covens, she was considered more deserving to rule.”

“Then—why didn’t Arius make Catalina his Empress?”

“Oh, he offered,” Eleanora replied with a dark chuckle. “And Catalina turned him down—twice.”

Carina stared back for a moment in stunned silence before croaking out softly, “Why?”

Eleanora shrugged. “Perhaps she considered Arius’s bloodline beneath her. Perhaps she didn’t like him as a person. No one knows the reason, only that Arius loved her. They were cousins, albeit very distant ones, but after her rejection—they became enemies.”

Carina tucked her knees beneath her and leaned in, “Then what happened?”

“When Arius sacked old Zarus and killed Pope Ivan, he obtained an ancient artifact forged by the Second Saint. An artifact that witches both fear and desire because it can strip any witch of their magic and reduce them to living corpses.” Eleanora shivered and wrapped her hands around her bare shoulders. “Arius used this artifact to punish Catalina. He nearly drained her dry but—spared her, if you can call it that. Catalina was reduced to the level of a low-tier coven witch and offered to King Henri as a concubine. For a descendant of the Karmine family, it was a fate worse than death. The blood of a mortal would forever taint any offspring of such a union.”

“Then, Tristan?” Carina said hesitantly.

“If Catalina had not been weakened by the Witch Star, Tristan would have become a powerful coven witch at minimum,” Eleanora explained with a note of pity. “Instead, the descendant of the Burning Phoenix was cursed with the fate of a half-witch.” She shook her head with a sad smile. “It didn’t take long for the Emperor to feel remorseful for what he had done, but by then, he had already married Catalina’s cousin, Empress Alexandria Zenon.”

Carina frowned as she thought of the scabbard Master Iker had revealed to her. ‘This doesn’t make sense. If the purpose behind the dagger means what I think it means—then Tristan is Arius’s son. That would make both of his parents pure-blood witches. How could he be just a half-witch? Did Tristan also hide his powers?’

“If Catalina’s marriage to King Henri was a punishment—why did Ventrayna and Lafeara become allies?” Carina asked after a moment of silence.

“Arius swore that as long as Catalina and her descendants lived, Ventrayna would not break peace with Lafeara.”

‘That makes sense—especially if the Emperor realized that Tristan was his son.’

“But—the death of the First Prince?” Carina pressed hesitantly.

“Perhaps the Emperor has become sentimental, or perhaps he is just waiting for the right moment to send Princess Aurelia to invade and conquer Lafeara.” Eleanora shook her head. “My uncle said that my marriage was but a means for a peaceful annexation. But after Tristan’s death—I’m no longer sure those words hold any truth.”

‘So it was never the Emperor’s intent to remain peaceful allies. He did double Lafeara’s taxes after Queen Catalina’s death, which crippled any attempt by King Henri to sustain or expand his military force. But why force Eleanora to get married after Tristan’s presumed demise? Was that just to buy time while Arius dealt with the church, or—’ Carina's fingers tightened against the fabric of her dress as Eleanora rose from the window-seat and wandered towards the bed ‘—does the Emperor know that Tristan is still alive.’

“In any case, I’ve decided to give up on—having Nicholas’s child,” Eleanora said with a shaky laugh. “What point is there to bring a child into this destructive world? Who knows what sort of fate the Emperor would impose upon any heir I conceived.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Carina admitted with a sense of relief. “But, your Highness. Forgive me for asking this so bluntly—but why did you insist on using drugs?”

“Ah, that.” Eleanora’s expression sobered as she turned back towards Carina. “If Nicholas were sober, then he might notice that I—"

‘Notice?’ Carina rose from her seat slowly as a ripple of fear and understanding ran through her. “You’re not—”

“A virgin? No,” Eleanora admitted with a twisted smile. “I gave my maidenhead to my future husband and my first love.”

“Tristan?” Carina whispered, disbelief and understanding uniting as she shook her head.

“Tristan,” Eleanora echoed as she offered a sad smile. “And Nicholas can never know of this.”

Carina nodded and rubbed her neck as a cold chill slid down her spine. ‘But what would Eleanora do if she knew Tristan was still alive?’ She shook her head and sighed.

“Eleanora—if anyone finds out—you could be deposed and executed for treason,” Carina whispered urgently as she stepped closer to the crown princess. “Who knows of this?”

Eleanora sank onto the edge of her bed with a distant gaze as another tear fell down her cheek. “My uncle knows. It happened at his palace—when Tristan came to visit me on my birthday. Lord Haemish—encouraged it.” She shook her head and wiped her cheeks impatiently. “I was drunk on love, wine, and dreams of our future together. I was—stupid and foolish.”

Carina heaved a heavy sigh as she crossed to the bed and grasped the post. “Does anyone else know?”

“Hana, but—she will keep my secret.”

‘Just like you have kept hers.’

“Your parents?” Carina pressed gently.

“No, after I sobered up—I was too ashamed to tell anyone. My father, Lord Alastair, is very Lafearian when it comes to the sanctity of marriage. If he knew—he would have risked his own life to stop me from marrying Nicholas.”

“That’s why your uncle gave you those candles,” Carina murmured.

“Yes,” Eleanora laughed. “Not that they did much good. They only gave me a headache. I had hoped to try a more subtle method, but Nicholas always has his guard up around me.”

‘Who can blame him? Nicholas grew up in a palace where kings and queens tend to die from unnatural deaths.’ Carina crossed her arms and turned to face the crown princess. “No more drugs Eleanora,” she said firmly.

Eleanora stared back for a moment, then nodded.

“Of any kind!”

The crown princess sighed and nodded once more. “But—what do I do now?”

“You can still become queen. Nicholas has given you a way.”

“But without an heir—”

“The queen can adopt an heir from among the king’s concubines,” Carina interjected forcefully. “Dowager Octavia reigned through Henri using that method.”

“But—his mother died during childbirth.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Carina interrupted impatiently. “Prove to Nicholas that you can be a good queen. Use the Ambassador’s Banquet, the Royal Hunt, the Ball, this charity—all of it. Win the nobles to your side first. When the time is right, I will help you become a mother.”

Eleanora shook her head quickly. “If Lady Rosamund has a child before I do, I will lose whatever political power I gain here. And there is no way Nicholas would let me take her child either.”

“Any child born of a commoner would only be a bastard,” Carina replied as she sat on the bed beside Eleanora. “In the end, it's probably best you don’t love Nicholas. There will be other mistresses after Lady Rosamund. Women of noble blood Nicholas will take if only to ensure he has a legitimate heir to appease the House of Lords and the nobles. One of those women will bear him a son, and you will adopt that son as your prince and heir.”

“What a charming thought,” Eleanora murmured with an empty smile.

Carina gently touched the crown princess’s cheek and turned Eleanora’s gaze towards her. “A king can have many concubines but only one queen. So take the crown, Eleanora—or someone else will.”

[B2] Chapter 49: The Fragrance of Treachery

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Chapter 49: The Fragrance of Treachery

A simple white envelope was waiting on Carina’s bed when she returned. The note itself had been left unsealed and blank. ‘This is the second time someone has slipped past a locked door into my room,’ Carina observed as she secured the bolt once more, picked up the note, and read the elegantly scribbled instructions.

[The Forbidden Garden. Midnight. Seri.]

‘Serilda wants to meet at the forbidden garden—at midnight?’ Carina exhaled as she slumped down upon the bed and rolled towards the window. Her discussion with Eleanora about the events that had pushed the crown princess into her marriage had drained Carina. She was also confused as to whether to tell Eleanora that Tristan was still alive or not.

‘No. Tristan should be the one to tell her and explain why he’s done nothing over the past two years to reach out and notify her.’

Surely the assassin who had slipped inside the royal palace when Eleanora’s life had been in danger in the past could do the same thing again now—if he wanted to.

‘Even if the Emperor had a reason to keep Eleanora in the dark—what reason does Tristan have for keeping his survival a secret from the girl he supposedly loved.’

Carina sighed, rubbed her closed eyes, and shook her head. “It’s not my place to interfere.”

She opened her eyes and stared out the window at the waxing moon, which offered little light behind a sea of clouds. ‘I suppose sneaking into the garden this late at night wouldn’t be impossible.’ Carina tugged the pendant watch from her dress, confirmed that she had barely ten minutes to spare, and sat up frantically. She used a lit candle to burn the note and then retrieved her cloak from the closet.

The secret exit behind the room's false east wall concealed a hidden narrow staircase that led to the dining room below. It was undoubtedly Carina’s best option for slipping downstairs unnoticed. The real problem was getting outside of Rose Palace without being spotted by the knights on patrol. The secret tunnel in the servant’s passageway, which led outside the fortress walls, offered no alternate exits inside the palace grounds.

‘I suppose that means Serilda doesn’t know about the tunnel, or she would have asked to meet me outside by the cherry trees?’ Carina mused, somewhat relieved that her secret exit would remain a secret. ‘I could always try going out the servant’s door, which is normally left unguarded since it's always locked after sundown.’

Her concern for Jade and Benjamin won out against instinctual caution as Carina slipped past the tapestry and quietly entered the dining room. Her empty wine glass had been cleared away, and all the lights long extinguished.

Carina circled the table towards the kitchen, which showed signs of a hasty but thorough cleanup. Only the dying glow of the coals in the kitchen stove illuminated the still drying counters and neatly stacked pots and pans that filled the air with the mingled scent of lemon and burnt wood.

The dinner dishes had all been cleaned, dried, and returned to their respective cupboards. A basket of apples lay on the counter covered by a thin linen cloth in preparations for tomorrow's breakfast menu. After such a stressful afternoon, Carina did not doubt that most of the staff were fast asleep in the servant's quarters located behind the palace.

Continuing into the pantry, Carina tested the cellar door and confirmed it was secured. She then moved on to the back-pantry door, which was also locked, but a spare key, tucked inside a crack behind a shelf in the pantry, turned the creaking spring bolts, which released with a dull click. Carina held her breath and listened intently for any sound of disturbance in the palace around her. The buzz of silence filled her ears as she relaxed then pushed the heavy door open.

The palace grounds were draped in long shadows. A narrow patch of grass stretched between the palace garden and perimeter walls. The servants used this obscure space to enter and exit the palace and hang out the washing. Six vacant posts, their clotheslines all but invisible in the dark, marked the path towards the servant’s side door in the palace’s perimeter wall.

Carina shut the pantry door carefully behind her. She pulled up her hood and darted past the first post and then behind the nearest bush as voices approached from around the west corner.

“How long do you reckon the peace will last if things don’t work out between the royal couple?” one of the palace knights muttered grimly as the pair approached the servant's door and walked on by with only a passing glance.

“About as long as it takes the crown princess to pack up her things and run home to the Emperor,” his comrade replied gruffly.

“What a bloody mess.”

“Aye, and it will be the common folk and soldiers who pay the price if this marriage ends in war.”

“Let’s hope for a miracle then, I suppose.”

“It will take nothing less. I feel sorry for his Majesty, though.”

“An unfortunate match, to be sure. If only the First Prince were still alive, he’d have put that Ventrayna princess in her place by now.”

Carina exhaled softly as the gossipy guards rounded the next corner and headed back to the front of the palace. With swift, silent steps, she slipped back through the bushes and flew across the grounds like a ghost, mindful of the palace windows above her.

She dropped down behind another bush by the side door in the perimeter wall to catch her breath and listen once more for movement. Once confident the knights were well on their way around the front of the palace, Carina pulled out the key she had borrowed from the pantry.

It had long come to Carina’s attention that the palace used duplicate keys for many of the palace doors. For example, all the ladies-in-waiting shared the same door lock and key model, which granted access to their rooms. Another happy coincidence happened to be that the key that unlocked the back pantry-door also opened the side perimeter door. It was an outrageous oversight as far as palace security, but one that presently worked in her favor.

Outside the Rose Palace's permitter walls, the decorative landscaping between palaces provided more than enough cover for Carina to make her way to the central gardens unseen.

The groomed shrubs and cobble street provided a clear and mostly unobstructed path until a stray cat leaped out from beneath a pear-shaped shrub and nearly gave Carina a heart attack. She clutched her chest and sucked in an angry breath as the yellow creature hissed in her direction before it loped off to continue its nightly hunt.

‘Good to know I’m not the only one sneaking about. Still, this feels a little too easy,’ Carina reflected as she continued towards her destination. ‘And why does Serilda want me to meet her there of all places? Is there another hidden tunnel inside the Dowager’s garden?’

The forbidden garden was the subject of many ghost stories amongst the palace staff. While it was not an uncommon occurrence for a palace maid to run off or disappear with no explanation, over the years, these disappearances—likely the result of some romantic tryst or the guilty fleeing from their misdeeds—had taken on a darker form as these superstitious rumors spread.

The palace gardens were said to be haunted at night by ghosts, and these lost, cursed spirits were rumored to have been witnessed near the forbidden iron door, usually under a full moon.

‘The real question is, who would be out in the garden to see them under a full moon with the palace’s strict curfew?’

Still, as someone who practically lived with a ghost, Carina was less inclined to dismiss such superstitious gossip outright. There was also the unexplained ghost Carina had seen herself the last time when she stood in front of the forbidden garden’s door beside Lady Delphine. A memory that caused Carina to shiver as she wandered through the royal garden’s arched entrance.

A quiet landscape infused with the lingering scent of flowers that swayed and danced beneath the dimly lit night sky greeted her silent approach. No ghosts, eerie wails, or furry bandits leapt out to make her acquaintance, yet a feeling of apprehension soon coated Carina’s skin as she approached the path that led to the gloomy iron gate.

The sensation of being observed by unfriendly eyes made Carina turn sharply, but only the garden, momentarily illuminated beneath the grinning moon, awaited her gaze.

‘Mental note. Tell Serilda to pick a less haunted meeting place in the future.’

With a slow, steady breath to calm her nerves, Carina continued forward and whispered anxiously, “Seri.”

There was no reply, which only made Carina more anxious as she squinted at her pendant watch once more. ‘Only a few minutes late. Did she leave already? Was Serilda spotted by one of the knights?’ Annoyed and just a little bit anxious, Carina continued down the path reluctantly as she searched for the Marchioness, who did not appear behind any of the looming shrubs.

“Seri!” Carina repeated for the fifth time, but no answer came. ‘Well, that’s that. What a waste of effort. Hopefully, I won’t get caught on my way back.’

A soft creak stiffened her spine as Carina’s turned slowly towards the iron door which opened before her. A pair of icy hands wrapped around her fingers and Carina gasped at the small girl who materialized suddenly beside her. A glittering crown of frost adorned the ghostly child’s midnight black hair, which haloed two glowing icy-blue eyes.

“Run,” the specter pleaded as her small blue lips trembled with fear. “It’s not safe here!”

The thud of footsteps closing in confirmed the trap Carina had fallen into as she watched the child’s specter fade away with the breeze.

Captain Leo’s smirking face greeted her as the knight pushed through the hedges to block off her escape. “Bit late for an evening stroll, Lady Maura,” he observed with a hint of malice and shook off a few clinging leaves. “Curfew was several hours ago.”

“You were expecting me,” Carina replied as her fingers curled around the edge of her cloak. “How peculiar.”

“We were expecting you, child.”

Carina inhaled sharply and turned towards the iron door where the Dowager's shadowed face awaited her with a sinister smile.

“So pleased you could accept my invitation.” Octavia extended her hand and beckoned patiently. “It's such a beautiful night tonight, wouldn’t you agree. Why don’t you join me for a stroll, Lady Maura.”

It was not a request. Carina took in another steadying breath and then moved obediently to the Dowager’s side. “Queen Regent,” she greeted with a curtsey.

“You should take care of who you trust your secrets to, sweet child,” Octavia admonished as she stepped forward and lifted Carina to her feet. “Come, it has been some time since I’ve shown my garden to anyone. I think you’ll find it—enlightening.”

Carina could only nod stiffly as she accepted the Dowager’s offered arm.

“Captain Leo, you will await us out here.”

“Yes, your Grace,” Leo responded with a hint of relief.

‘Even the captain knows better than to enter here.’ Carina swallowed and closed her eyes briefly as she followed the Dowager through the foreboding chill of the iron door.

Fear heightened each of her senses as the gate slammed shut. In the comfortless darkness, scent and sound gained sharp supremacy, and yet it was the emptiness of silence that disturbed Carina most. There were no crickets, no birds, barely even the whisper of wind slipped across the vine-covered stone walls that closed in around them.

The heavy scent of roses filled each shallow breath as Carina’s vision adjusted to the darkness. The source of the intense floral fragrance presented itself as the Dowager led Carina around the corner of a hedge wall. Rows of meticulously groomed bushes of violet roses stretched out beneath the midnight sky. Their blooms barely disturbed beneath the hesitant breeze that whispered across the gravel path.

“The Lafearian Rose,” Octavia murmured with the hint of a sneer. “The flower of the monarchy. The forbidden bloom.” She chuckled as she snapped a rose from its stem and turned once more to place it in Carina’s hair. “Do you know what my ancestors called it?”

Carina shook her head silently.

“The Rose of the Usurper.” The Dowager’s voice coiled with contempt as something far sharper than hatred seemed to fill the air between them. Then Octavia laughed so suddenly; Carina flinched. “My child, I don’t know what to do when you stare at me like that.” The Dowager continued to chuckle as she moved forward, pulling Carina along beside her. “I hear things are not going well between my grandson and your mistress.”

Carina didn’t find this hard to believe. The spectacle at dinner was already common gossip among the knights. ‘But how did she know about Serilda’s plans to visit me at midnight?’ Carina had already conceived the possibility that the Dowager had planted that note and not the Marchioness, but—how?

‘Someone, the Dowager’s spy, must have overheard my conversation with Serilda earlier today.’

“It’s not too late for you to reconsider my proposal, my dear,” Octavia said patiently as they approached another archway of stone and vines.

“Your Grace is generous, but surely you already have sufficient eyes and ears inside Rose Palace,” Carina remarked tensely.

The Dowager chuckled and nodded. “But you are unique, are you not, Lady Maura?”

Carina did not know how to respond to that question and so kept silent.

“I remember your skill with flowers in the selection,” the Dowager continued in a casual tone. “But the true flower of Lafeara is not some pretty rose.” She turned and regarded Carina with a knowing smile. “I thought you might appreciate the history of this plant, which crippled a dynasty of kings. Seeing as you took its name for your own.”

Carina glanced sharply from the dowager to the circular garden bed ahead. Even in the darkness, a soft blue glow illuminated the small blooms, which seemed to coat the air in sorrow.

“The Aconitum flower,” Carina whispered. ‘So, Octavia’s spy also heard Serilda drop my alias. But why would the Dowager grow these here?’

“One of this garden’s many secrets,” Octavia replied as she released Carina’s arm, then picked up a woven basket from a stone bench and knelt over the glowing blooms. “A single petal can kill a man or cripple a witch’s power. My garden—” the Dowager smiled as she plucked a bud from its stem “—could cripple all the covens within Lafeara.”

Carina shivered as she glanced towards the path behind her.

“But no power is gained without sacrifice.” Octavia stood and held out the bloom as she turned towards Carina. “Look, the flower's potency fades quickly once it has been harvested.”

Carina watched as the bud bloomed, its petals trembling as the flickering unnatural glow slowly dimmed. The wind picked up as the vine leaves rustled around them in a frantic whisper of caution. Carina swallowed nervously as the Dowager stepped closer.

“It is an expensive plant to nurture,” Octavia remarked as she offered the bloom to the silent girl.

“It is poison,” Carina whispered as she took a step back.

“Only if eaten,” Octavia corrected with a small laugh. She offered the aconitum once more, and this time, Carina reluctantly accepted it.

Dread pierced through her chest, and the wind died with the sound of a thousand wailing voices as Carina’s fingers wrapped tightly around the blue flower. She shivered violently, then cleared her throat, and asked hesitantly, “Why show me this?”

“Do you know why the palace only accepts pure maidens into court?” Octavia asked as she returned to the flower bed and plucked a few more blooms.

“Because all ladies of the court must be nobles as they can be chosen as concubines by the king,” Carina answered stiffly, still focused on the curious feeling of helplessness that seemed to radiate from the flower.

“But even commoner maids must go through a similar examination,” Octavia replied with an arched brow as she lifted her basket and moved to sit on the bench. “Their virtue is used to determine what jobs they receive.”

Carina frowned as she searched Maura’s memories. “Not all of them.”

Octavia studied her curiously and chuckled. “Ah, I suppose that is true, although the lower-ranked cleaning maids rarely prove virtuous.”

Carina’s jaw stiffened. Then she opened her hand to stare at the curious flower. “It was your spy that left that note on my bed, wasn’t it. But why bring me here?”

Octavia studied her silently as she wiped her fingers with a handkerchief. “Do you know why the Countess suddenly left Hawthorne for the countryside, Lady Maura?”

Carina blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “The Countess was feeling unwell. I believe that her family doctor recommended rest in the countryside.”

“Yes, a sick noblewoman ought to be resting comfortably with a physician at her side and a dozen maids attending to her every need. Yet the poor Countess finds herself locked away without a servant to care for her, barred from receiving any visitors, and unable to communicate with the outside world.”

Carina scoffed in disbelief, then frowned as she drew in a shaky breath. “Why are you telling me this?”

“As I’ve mentioned already, you are unique,” Octavia replied with a secretive smile. “I have an interest in seeing how far you will go.”

Carina nodded, resigned to the vagueness of that answer, and glanced from the aconitum flowers towards the path behind them. “Then, if that is all—may I leave, your Grace.”

Octavia’s smile twisted in amusement as she rose from her seat and took the flower from Carina’s hand. “Yes. Though I do hope we will speak again, Lady Maura, and soon.”

“Yes—Queen Regent.” Carina curtsied and, with no small amount of relief, turned back the way they had come.

“The body of a virgin,” Octavia called after her. “That is the cost of nurturing these rare, special flowers. Once every full moon, a suitable candidate is chosen. She is given the petal of the aconitum and buried here beneath the flower bed.”

Carina clenched the fabric of her cloak as her feet froze upon the path. Dread filled her stomach as she thought of the two ghosts she had seen before this garden’s door—and wondered if their presence was related to the Dowager’s terrible secret.

“Strangely enough, no matter how many bodies we bury here, even the bones are gone by the time new fertilizer is needed.”

‘Fertilizer?’ Carina half-turned to stare back at the innocent-looking blue flowers. Never before had she been so repulsed by a single plant.

“While palace maids are easy enough to use—” Octavia continued as she twirled the bloom in her fingers “—it is not uncommon for a noble attendant to fall from grace, prove disloyal, or otherwise foolishly interfere in a game that is far above her station, to find her way into my garden.”

‘So—this is a warning?’ Carina exhaled as she turned back and forced her right foot to take a step forward.

“Take care, my child. Lady Serilda is not the harmless, crippled raven she pretends to be. And those who align themselves with my enemies—do not outlive them for very long.”

[B2] Chapter 50: The Prodigal Son Returns

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Chapter 50: The Prodigal Son Returns

Lady Maura quickly disappeared around the corner of the hedge, and soon after, the creak of the iron door that opened and then shut followed. Octavia smiled and shook her head as she turned back towards the stone garden bench. The smile quickly faded as she set the basket down on the bench and took a seat.

“I suppose I should be grateful for the Lafearian Rose’s strong scent,” she muttered as a shadow dropped down over the vine-covered iron wall behind her. “To think you would slither back here after creating yet another disaster.”

Her nose recoiled at the putrid scent that grew stronger as the man approached, his ragged breathing and heavy footsteps drawing closer as the Dowager sighed and rubbed her delicate pale fingers between her brows.

“Why have you come back, Nero?” She growled impatiently as he gripped the back of the bench behind her.

“Mother,” Nero whispered hoarsely as he knelt on the ground behind the bench. “I—”

“You have been to those bog wretches,” Octavia interrupted with a snort of disdain. “How surprising that they were not able to help you?” She turned her cold ice-blue eyes to his disheveled state and sniffed in disdain. “A fine mess you’ve made of everything, Nero. As if killing Catalina and nearly bringing the Emperor’s wrath down upon us wasn’t enough, now you’ve dragged the church into my affairs. And yet still—you dare to appear before me and beg for my help?”

“I have nowhere else to turn,” Nero whispered as he hung his head. “The price the bog witches asked—”

“You gave them the Witch Star, did you not?” Octavia asked sharply. Nero flinched and nodded. “And what did they offer you in return.”

Nero’s gaze turned down the path Lady Maura had just taken. With a seething hiss, Octavia stood, swept around the bench, and slapped the disgraced witch hunter soundly across his cheek. Nero stumbled onto his side and coughed up black blood.

“How wretched my fate must be to have sired such an ungrateful turncoat!” Octavia retracted her hand and stared from the reddened palm to her cowering son with frigid disgust. “Are you so blinded by this obsession for power that you cannot see what it has cost you already? Now you even dare to kill what few ice witches remain!” She grabbed Nero’s shoulder and yanked her bastard son back to his knees as she leaned in closer. “I warned you what the Witch Star would do to you, but did you listen? No. Your foolish greed to have more than what the gods bestowed upon you has sealed your miserable fate?”

“I am not the only one who has made rash decisions for power,” Nero snapped as he shook off her grip. A painful cough doubled him over at her feet, yet still, Octavia felt not a morsel of pity. “Also—Catalina’s bastard son still lives. I thought I should warn you.”

Octavia pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it against her nose delicately. “Tristan is alive? How can you be sure?”

“He was the fire witch I—fought near the chapel. He—recognized me.”

Octavia closed her eyes for a brief moment as her jaw trembled behind the handkerchief pressed firmly to her lips. “I swear you leave more havoc in your wake than a witch’s plague, Nero.” She scoffed and turned away from him to stare at the glowing blue flowerbed. “I wonder which god I should thank for this fortuitous turn of events.”

“Mother—can’t you—help me? The pain—” Nero rasped, still hunched over against the ground.

Octavia glared at him with irritation, then grabbed a fistful of the aconitum blossoms and scattered them before his quivering hands. “Just kill yourself and rid me of your insufferable disappointment.”

His ice-blue eyes, now reddened with pain and the corruption that spread within, lifted towards her with unmasked hatred.

“No?” Octavia mocked. “Then get out of my sight and never step foot inside these palace walls again.”

“Are you heartless, Mother?” Nero asked as he stumbled to his feet.

Octavia smiled benevolently as she stepped closer and wiped her handkerchief against the foul, black blood on his lips. “No more than you, my son.”

Nero’s expression hardened as he stepped back, then retreated to scale the garden wall and vanish into the night.

Octavia dropped the soiled handkerchief on the ground beside the scattered blossoms. With a distracted scowl, the Dowager turned—then stopped as she focused on the flowers, counted their number, and realized one was missing.

‘It was greed that crippled the Goddess of Death, my son. You will fare no better than Kritanta in the end.’ She chuckled, lifted the basket with its few remaining aconitum flowers from the bench, and headed towards the iron gate, blissfully ignorant of the ghostly king that trailed behind her with sunken red eyes and a patient, malevolent smile.

❆❆❆❆❆

Beneath the watchful eye of the slum’s feral dogs, Samantha sent her latest client off with a satisfied walk and a lighter pocket. She checked the four shiny crescents between her teeth to confirm their value and grinned. The wind swept trash and dust along the empty streets while the streetwalker adjusted her stockings and the patched skirts of her dress before leaving the dark shadows of the alleyway to drift back towards her current residence on Pimp Street.

As Samantha waited for her next client, she counted the earnings for the day beneath the light of a street lamp. Knowing that the Madam of Lark and Lollis would take half, she tucked a few crescents inside her corset for safekeeping. What Madam Tillsmen didn’t know would fill another stomach among Samantha’s four younger siblings.

Samantha whistled softly as she paced beneath the street lamps that did little to complement her heavy makeup and the vibrantly colored garments that had seen far better days than this common street prostitute.

She heard the man's footsteps before he stepped into the pale light of a streetlamp behind her. He walked with a faint limp, and upon closer inspection, appeared to slouch quite heavily beneath his dark cloak. Samantha turned towards the stranger, careful to avoid directly meeting his gaze as she tugged the sleeve off her left shoulder and waited to see if he’d call out to her.

But the stranger continued past her with barely more than a glance.

As he passed, Samantha examined his garments. His cloak was of fine material, and his black leather boots shined beneath the street lamp that glittered off the shiny buttons from his jacket.

‘A noble perhaps?’

Samantha recalled with a chill the last young nobleman who had caused quite a stir in Madam Tillsman’s district. But that cowardly animal was dead according to the Foxes, and this man had a bit of a lost, relatively innocent countenance.

Samantha trailed after the stranger, being sure to tread loudly so as not to spook the timid-looking potential customer.

“What’s a smartly dressed lad like you doing all the way down here?” she called out and flashed a lured smile as he turned towards her.

The stranger studied her speculatively for a moment, then replied hesitantly, “I’m looking for the Fox Den.”

“Fox Den is it?” Samantha relaxed her shoulders with practiced ease so that the fabric dipped lower around her womanly charms as she crossed her arms thoughtfully. “Well, you are headed in the right direction—though I wouldn’t get any closer, dearie.”

“Why not?” His dark eyes held all the naivety of a frightened, lost puppy.

“They’ve gone a bit rabid if you take my meaning,” Samantha replied honestly with a shrug. “The old Fox Master who used to run the place died, you see. Killed by a witch, or so it is rumored.”

“I see.” The young man pondered this for a moment beneath the shadows of his hood; then continued towards his destination.

“I’m saying now isn’t a good time for new clients to be showing up,” Samantha grumbled as she followed after him. “Least of all, a sweet little lamb like you.” She took his arm gently and smiled as she caught a glimpse of his boyish face and painfully clean dark skin. The young man grimaced with a hiss of pain as his posture stiffened against her arm. “I’m sorry love, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” the stranger hissed as he pulled away. “And this is something I must do—to protect her.”

“Her?” Samantha echoed with a coy smile. “Is your lover in some sort of peril.”

“The worst kind,” the young man answered with such gravity that Samantha felt a chill run down her spine. “A witch threatens her life.”

The moment passed as Samantha let out a nervous laugh. “A witch? Well then, you’d better be speaking to the church—not the Foxes.”

“They won’t listen to me—I’m—just a slave.”

“A slave?” Samantha laughed as she gestured to his fine clothes. “Go on, tell another one then. What sort of slave would be dressed up as pretty as a picture?”

“I have the scars on my back to prove it,” he snarled with sudden viciousness that contorted his handsome face quite terribly.

“Alright, alright,” Samantha raised her hands submissively. “If you want to throw your life away on a fool’s errand—slave or not—then allow me to offer a few words of advice, free of charge.”

His dark ebony eyes studied her with an expression of distrust and a sort of cold disinterest that made Samantha take a step or two back. “Ask for Troy. He’s acting as leader until the Fox Master’s old brother returns.”

His brows relaxed and he nodded with an apologetic smile, “I will. Thank you.” The stranger paused then reached awkwardly into his pocket for a crescent, which he offered her hesitantly.

“A slave?” Samantha scoffed and shook her head. “Keep it, slave boy. Just pray you brought enough to make it worth their while. Also—don’t mention you’re a slave. They won’t take you seriously if you do.”

The stranger nodded stiffly, pocketed the coin, and then continued on his way.

“Poor boy,” Samantha muttered as she hugged her bare arms and turned back towards Madam Tillsman’s brothel house. “He’d have been better off spending that coin on me.” She scoffed and hummed softly under her breath as she circled a pile of excrement with little notice and sped towards the safety of her rooms—before the sun climbed back to its throne to judge her many sins.

[B2] Chapter 51: The Spice of Discord

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Chapter 51: The Spice of Discord

The arrival of a crow letter, promising the imminent return of Lord Percy along with his esteemed guest, Ambassador Haemish, and only two thousand out of the five thousand Ventrayna troops as the Ambassador’s escort, prompted a stir of mixed relief and panic throughout the royal palaces.

Each time Carina found the opportunity to leave Rose Palace with her usual escort, Sir Jordan, it seemed the palace streets were awash with new carts of flowers, provisions, decoration, furnishings, and carts stacked with barrels of wine. Tailors and perfumers were pressured to meet the suddenly rushed demands for products from every attendant, lord and lady, within the palace.

Even the palace knights showed noticeable polishing as they strutted about in their new armor and uniform. Their increased numbers could be noted and found on every street and corner within the fortress.

Additional knights had also added to both the Rose Palace’s main gate and the servant’s side door. They kept a ledger on them in which they noted each time Carina and Sir Jordan left, along with their destination and purpose.

“This is rather excessive, isn’t it?” Carina murmured to Jordan, inwardly frustrated by the heightened security. “It’s starting to feel like we’re living in a prison.”

“A well-fortified and luxurious prison,” Jordan replied jokingly. “The Ambassador will be arriving and residing in Lilly Palace in three days,” he added with a note of unease. “With witch hunters still lurking throughout the capital—his Majesty probably just wants to be extra vigilant against any unexpected altercations between the church and Ventrayna.”

Carina scoffed as she entered the palace postal office. The natural enmity between the church and Ventrayna’s Ambassador did not explain the sudden increase in security and vigilance around Rose Palace. ‘It’s almost like they’re afraid Eleanora will do something—like run away.’

She also found it highly suspicious that this sudden change occurred after Percy’s letter arrived from the border.

‘Perhaps this was part of Percy’s negotiation? To increase security around Eleanora, but—why now and who are they protecting her from?’

A certain illusive individual with a blue ghoul mask came to mind, but a long-awaited distraction presented itself when the mail clerk handed over a letter from Madam Maylea. Carina quickly shoved the letter from her favorite dance instructor inside her sleeve, then collected a letter addressed to Eleanora from Lady Isabella, the crown princess’s esteemed mother. The latter resided outside the palace-fortress at Lord Alastair Kensington’s estate.

Having no other tasks to prolong her return Carina hastened back to Rose Palace, where she placed Eleanora’s letter in the office as the crown princess was still out riding as usual. The rest of the palace staff was far too preoccupied with cleaning the outside grounds and the chessboard courtyard for the Crown Princess’s banquet to pay the attendant much notice as she slipped upstairs to read Madam Maylea’s reply in the privacy of her room.

‘Baroness Maura,

Belated congratulations on your promotion. As to your request, I believe I have the perfect candidates that will suit your needs perfectly. They will be arriving at the palace with the letter of recommendation you sent me shortly after this letter reaches you. I highly recommend both their skill and discretion, but you may trust them with your commission's details after meeting them personally. I wish I could come myself, but I am presently tied up with a prior engagement in Strugna.

Rest assured, my ladies are quite capable of ensuring their own safety. Should the commission prove successful, I trust you to hold up your end of the deal and provide them with both the financial and physical means to take an extended vacation far from Lafearian borders.

Should you wish to handle the matter personally yourself, do let them know in advance. My girls can advise and prepare you appropriately. It goes without saying that I hope you understand what you are doing, Maura. The Ambassador may have many enemies, but he also has many powerful and influential friends.

I look forward to hearing your good news and shall send word next time I happen to be visiting Lafeara.

Many blessings,

Madame Maylea.’

Carina exhaled in relief, then promptly lit a candle and burnt the letter.

If Madame Maylea’s dancers arrived before Evelynn found suitable entertainment, then Carina’s plans to liberate Hana from her past and permanently remove a threat from the board were set.

‘But I still need the Crown Prince to take the bait.’ Carina fretted silently over this unexpected delay and watched the blackened parchment crumple upon the metal plate as she contemplated her next move. She jumped slightly as a knock came at the bedroom door. Silently cursing her frayed nerves, Carina rubbed her throbbing chest. Her encounter with the Dowager last night and the frequent lack of proper sleep had weakened her naturally impervious heart.

“Lady Maura,” Tilly whispered frantically through the keyhole.

Carina rose from her seat with a steadying breath, then slid back the inner bolt and opened the door. “Yes, Tilly, what is it?”

Tilly stepped back, her shoulders hunched and expression timid as she focused on the floor. “I think you had better go downstairs, my Lady,” she whispered nervously.

Carina narrowed her eyes as she stepped out and turned to lock her door. “What’s happened?”

A crash below silenced Tilly’s relatively slow response. Carina turned towards the unusually quiet servant and raised a sharp brow.

“Kitchen!” Tilly whispered. “They are fighting in the kitchen.”

Deciding she would get a more straightforward answer quicker by heading to the source of the problem, Carina dashed down the steps and then squeezed past a line of rather inquisitive servants who lingered near the kitchen, listening to the furious shouts that came from within.

“Lady Hana—this is beyond unreasonable!” Evelynn shouted with evident frustration and shock.

“Unreasonable?” Hana shot back. “You had no business interfering with my work—”

“I was simply trying to help—”

“I was placed in charge of the banquet’s menu by her Highness because I know the preferences of all the Ventrayna guests, the Ambassador's family, along with Lord Alistair and Lady Isabella.”

“I simply offered some suggestions and made a few changes more suited to the majority of our guests who are Lafearian!” Evelynn rushed out defensively. “You do realize that his Majesty, the Dowager, and many other esteemed nobles will be dining with her Highness and the Ambassador.”

“The chef and I have already made adjustments to the second dish, which was to be served to these Lafearian nobles, but the theme of this banquet is classical Ventrayna dishes,” Hana replied coldly. “If the nobles do not care to try something different, they need not bother coming to a banquet meant to celebrate the unity between Ventrayna and Lafeara!”

“That is ridiculous! Her Highness needs the support of these nobles! To drive them away because you’re sensitive about the food is—”

“Sensitive!” Hana’s voice rose shrilly.

Carina rounded through the kitchen door and took in the broken crate of spices, which lay in a heap between the two fuming noblewomen.

“Need I remind you,” Hana carried on furiously, “that her Highness was also forced to adjust to a completely different culture of food. How is it that your nobles can’t be bothered to respect her origins and appreciate some of Ventrayna’s culinary history for one night?”

“Please, those chefs were all nomads until the Emperor founded Ventrayna barely three decades ago,” Evelynn responded with a snort. “Which would explain why they bury every bite of food in a bucket of seasoning to hide the poor quality of their cooking.”

“What is going on?” Carina asked wearily as Chef Robbi shot her a pleading glance from behind the reddening Hana, who quickly responded to her question.

“Lady Evelynn decided to make changes to the banquet without checking—”

“Lady Hana is overreacting—” Evelynn interrupted, only to be cut off herself.

“She changed the supply order I had prepared for the banquet’s menu!” Hana cried, looking more flushed and furious than Carina had ever seen her before.

“You changed the order?” Carina snapped with a sudden feeling of dread as she rushed to the documents on the counter beside Robbi.

“It’s not a big deal—we have everything we need,” Evelynn retorted with a note of smug victory.

“Where is the original menu?” Carina demanded, and Robbi hastily slid both Hana’s menu and the amended menu from Evelynn onto the counter beside her. “This—” Carina stared in disbelief at the two completely different menus “—did you run this past Eleanora?” She whirled around on Evelynn, who blinked at her in surprise.

“I—mentioned it to her,” Evelynn said hesitantly. “They are all dishes made by the best chefs in Lafeara—”

“But did you get her Highness’s approval?” No response as Evelynn seemed suddenly intrigued by the mess on the floor that had covered the hem of her blue dress with a muddy clay powder. “Did you at least run them past Chef Robbi?” A glance at the chef, who raised his hands as he stepped back and shook his head firmly, answered this. “You—” Carina turned back to the menu and leaned against the counter “—I assume then that you hired a chef or two with experience making these dishes?”

“No. Why would I need to hire more chefs?” Evelynn protested with a scoff. “We have enough staff here to prepare everything we need—and all the necessary ingredients!”

The urge to fling a handful of spices in Evelynn’s smug face swept through Carina as she turned to Robbi. “Have you made any of the dishes on Evelynn’s menu before?”

“Other than the items previously approved by Lady Hana—No.” Robbi crossed his arms and glared pointedly at Evelynn.

“So, you expect a chef with limited experience in Lafearian culinary taste and no experience at making these dishes to prepare a meal suitable for the royal family—without even verifying that they are something the ambassador could eat!?” Carina demanded with rising impatience as she turned to face Evelynn.

Evelynn looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“Ventraynians do not eat fish!” Hana snapped and then smothered a dark laugh behind her hand.

“What?” Evelynn turned towards the laughing attendant with a suspicious frown. “Why wouldn’t they—”

“Because most Ventraynians are fire witches, and fish contain heavy water essence,” Hana retorted as if this were basic common knowledge. “Fire witches don’t eat anything that comes from the ocean, rivers, or other water sources.”

Carina raised a brow but said nothing. As far as she knew, the Ventrayna royal family was allergic to practically anything that lived in the water. The connection to the witch’s elemental affinity—she hadn’t thought of that. ‘Perhaps that’s why I don’t like spicy food? The heat?’

For once, the overconfident Evelynn had no response to give. Instead, she nervously brushed her fingers through the curls of coffee brown hair that fell over her left shoulder.

“You stupid girl,” Hana remarked bluntly and then turned to Carina. “What do we do now?”

“We—can’t we just—hire a chef?” Evelynn suggested. “We can still serve the fish to the Lafearian nobles—and the royal family.”

“And force their most important guest to eat food that could make him seriously ill?” Carina shot back incredulously.

“We can follow the original menu for the Ambassador and his family—” Evelynn suggested hastily “—this way, we only have to replace half of the ingredients.”

“Does your family have such a capable chef available?” When Evelynn shook her head and shrugged, Carina closed her eyes and sighed. “The best chefs in Lafeara all belong to the highest noble families. The same families we need to win to the Crown Princess’s side. How do you propose we ask them to hand over their highly valued chefs at the very last minute to handle a task entrusted to her Highness without embarrassing the Crown Princess?”

Evelynn grimaced and twisted the ends of her braid. “We could ask the Dowager—”

“No!” Hana and Carina responded sharply.

“Well then—I don’t know!” Evelynn snapped angrily. “Just follow the original menu and order—”

“It would take a week for the herbs we need from Ventrayna to reach here!” Carina snapped. “That’s why the order was sent out weeks ago to ensure its early delivery—and that was before the Ambassador arrived early!” She stared at the floundering girl incredulously. ‘Was it really worth the effort to snatch this responsibility from Hana’s grasp while she was unwell, only to fail so spectacularly and jeopardize everything?’

“We will have to adjust the menu based on the ingredients and what we have,” Hana stated with a note of resignation. “Robbi, here’s the inventory of the supplies received for the order. Check it against our stocks and see what you can come up with.”

“If there are ingredients you know of that can be substituted for what’s missing, please let me know,” Carina suggested quickly. “I’ll send someone to scour the markets for whatever supplies we lack.”

Robbi’s head pivoted between them. With a heavy sigh, the chef collected the menus from the counter, the inventory roster from Hana, and then headed for the pantry, already looking haggard and understandably stressed.

“Have you even finished selecting and preparing the entertainment for the banquet?” Hana asked Evelynn pointedly as she crossed her arms. “I’d assume so since you have enough free time on your hands to take over my responsibilities.”

“No—but that’s not my fault!” Evelynn protested. “Two of the musicians I had lined up suddenly canceled due to the Ambassador’s change in schedule, then the singer, Sir Lorenzo, fell ill, and the stage actors are rushing back from Strugna but have been delayed.”

Carina hid a smirk. ‘That would be Madam Maylea’s doing, no doubt.’

“So we have no food and no entertainment,” Hana said incredulously and rubbed her fingertips against her forehead. “Just perfect.”

“Let’s go talk to Eleanora,” Carina urged as she took Hana’s arm. “I need her permission to leave the palace anyway and scavenge for whatever ingredients we lack.”

“Wait—do we have to?” Evelynn pleaded with a note of fear.

“You would prefer that her Highness was blindsided and publicly humiliated instead?” Carina demanded incredulously.

“I think Lady Evelynn wants to delay the inevitable so that we can share some of the blame and responsibility,” Hana remarked with an unusual amount of cynicism.

“That’s not fair!” Evelynn shot back with what looked like tears forming in her eyes.

Hana scoffed and advanced upon the emotional attendant. “If we were in Ventrayna, trust me when I say you would have been whipped for undermining my authority. If being forced to hear the truth is all you face here, then count yourself extremely fortunate, Lady Evelynn.”

Evelynn blanched but raised her chin haughtily. “Well, thank goodness this isn’t Ventrayna—and you have no authority over me!”

“But I do,” Eleanora responded calmly from the kitchen doorway.

They all turned, Evelynn’s face going a sickly gray hue, as the crown princess entered the kitchen with a timid Tilly and an annoyed looking Mrs. Poppy behind her.

“I made it clear very early on that Hana has the highest authority in this palace under me,” Eleanora continued as her long legs, clad in dusty riding trousers, moved past Carina and Hana and brought her before the trembling Lady Evelynn. “You should have brought your suggestions to Hana or myself before making any changes to such an important order!”

“Your Highness, I’m sorry—I didn’t think it through—I only wanted to help!”

“And yet what you have done has disastrously affected my ability to host a banquet for the Ambassador and our other guests in a manner befitting a crown princess,” Eleanora reflected coldly.

Evelynn nodded glumly and hung her head. “That was not my intention. I am very sorry, your Highness.”

“Lady Hana, work with Robbi to resolve the issue with the menu. Lady Maura, since we still lack entertainment for the banquet—see what you can do there over the next few days.”

“Yes, your Highness,” Carina and Hana replied in unison.

“Lady Evelynn,” Eleanora turned her gaze back to the wilting noblewoman. “Pack your belongings. I will have a carriage prepared to return you to your family within the hour.”

“What? No!” Evelynn’s light-hazel eyes snapped up quickly. “Your Highness, please!” She crumpled to her knees and clutched Eleanora’s somewhat dusty hand imploringly. “Please give me another chance! I can’t return to my family like this—it would be a disgrace! Please—reconsider! If I lose face now—my engagement!” She sobbed incoherently as she bowed her forehead and pressed it against the back of Eleanora’s hand. “My life will be over—”

Eleanora closed her eyes as a grimace of pain crossed her face. She drew in a breath, opened her amber eyes once more, stared down at the weeping Lady Evelynn, and then sighed. “You may remain if you choose—”

“Thank you! Oh, thank you, your Highness!” Evelynn gasped quickly.

“But you will have no authority over my staff and must follow all instructions given to you by Lady Hana and Lady Maura as if they were my own.”

Evelynn’s ecstatic expression faltered, but she swallowed her protest and masked her emotions with a grateful smile. “As you wish, your Highness!”

Eleanora pulled her hand free and wiped the back of it against her riding jacket. “This is your last chance, Lady Evelynn. The next time you disobey either myself or your betters—” she gestured to Carina and Hana “—not only will I kick you out of the palace for good, but I will have your family stripped of their noble title as well.”

Carina’s eyes widened even as Evelynn’s face grew deathly pale. For the first time since she had met the overconfident noblewoman, Carina felt a moment's sympathy for the fear etched into Evelynn’s face. The loss of a title was as good as a death sentence for a family as impoverished as Viscount Hendrix.

Eleanora considered Evelynn’s reaction coldly as she leaned closer to the still kneeling noblewoman. “The choice to stay or leave is yours, Lady Evelynn. But do not disappoint me again.”

[B2] Chapter 52: A Conflict of Interests

❖❖❖❖❖❖❖❖❖❖

Chapter 52: A Conflict of Interests

After Mrs. Poppy escorted the deflated Lady Evelynn up to her room to contemplate her choices, Carina followed Hana and Eleanora back to the crown princess’s office. Carina couldn’t help but wonder what choice the distraught noblewoman would make. To be kicked out of a position at the palace would leave a noticeable stain on any noble’s reputation, but if the alternative was to risk her family losing their status as nobles—it hardly seemed a difficult choice to make.

‘Then again, it would take more power than the crown princess currently possesses to strip an entire noble family of their title, status, and wealth.’

Hana's soft laugh pulled Carina’s attention, and she was surprised by the smugly satisfied expression on the older attendant’s face.

‘Well, I suppose as far as payback goes—seeing Evelynn demoted and publicly reprimanded does help make up for the mess we now have to clean up.’

Hana was still smiling as she opened the office door for Eleanora. The crown princess chuckled as she sank into the chair behind the desk, looking far too composed and relaxed considering the predicament they faced.

“Hana, you look like a cat that finally ate the mouse,” Eleanora pointed out as she scratched a bit of mud off the sleeve of her riding jacket.

“And I would be enjoying my catch thoroughly if you had kicked her out as planned,” Hana responded with a sudden frown as she took one of the empty chairs that faced Eleanora’s desk.

“Wait—” Carina paused behind the second chair as she looked between them sharply. “You planned this?”

A knock at the door followed as Eleanora and Hana exchanged smug glances.

‘Oh, wow, okay,’ Carina shook her head in astonishment.

“Come in,” Eleanora commanded as she straightened her spine.

Chef Robbi entered with a perplexed expression on his face, still holding the inventory roster and the menus. “Your Highness?” he greeted with a deep, quizzical bow.

“Did you find everything in order?” Eleanora asked with a coy smile.

“Ah, yes—all the necessary ingredients are there—but—,” Robbi looked from Eleanora to Hana as he lowered the paperwork to his side with a resigned sigh. “I see. Yes, everything is in order, your Highness. I’ll tell the staff to proceed as originally planned.”

“Just keep this under wraps until tomorrow morning,” Eleanora cautioned as the chef turned towards the office door. “There’s no reason for Lady Evelynn to relax just yet.”

“As you wish, your Highness.” Robbi bowed once more and then departed.

“You—both of you set her up,” Carina whispered in stunned realization as she sank into the chair beside Hana. “When did you know?”

“The moment that arrogant girl tried to bribe one of the kitchen staff while I was confined to bed,” Hana replied with a delicate snort.

“The staff here have little respect for Lafearian nobles,” Eleanora explained casually as she loosened the buttons of her riding jacket. “Least of all a noblewoman who treats them like ignorant conmen. Their loyalty lies with me as long as I can provide them with security.”

‘In other words, as long as you remain the crown princess and become queen?’ Carina laughed softly as she rubbed her temple tiredly. ‘Then again, I hold the same amount of loyalty. The moment Eleanora loses her power here, I will be forced to abandon her to save Hana and avoid following Maura to the executioner’s block.’

“I still don’t know why you allowed her to stay,” Hana grumbled, appearing more unsatisfied by the minute. “Who is to say Evelynn won’t do something like this again or outright betray you next time?”

Eleanora sighed, rose from her seat, and circled the desk to kiss Hana’s forehead affectionately. “I gave her a choice, that’s all. If she stays—we will cross that bridge when we have to. But I can’t completely burn bridges with Viscount Hendrix, not yet anyway. I need to retain what little support I have to secure my future.”

“So if she leaves, that will be her choice—and in a way—she would be admitting she was at fault if she left,” Carina reasoned aloud thoughtfully. “But if Lady Evelynn chooses to stay—”

“She will think twice before disobeying or undermining me a second time,” Eleanora interjected confidently. “Or Hana.” She leaned towards the still pouting attendant and kissed her.

‘I didn’t know Eleanora had this kind of cunning and foresight in her,’ Carina admitted ruefully as she averted her gaze from the affectionate couple. The sound of their intimate kiss was a little too audible inside the small office.

Carina cleared her throat awkwardly and rose from her seat. “Well, I suppose I should start looking for some suitable entertainers for the banquet then.

“Ah yes,” Eleanora finally pulled away from Hana’s flushed face. “There isn’t a lot of time to find anything too extravagant, but a banquet without entertainment would be a disaster.” She straightened, moved behind Hana’s chair, and played with the attendant’s golden curls. “In retrospect, I should have assigned this task to you to begin with since you're more familiar with Ventrayna’s customs.”

‘Well, lucky for me, I already have Madame Maylea’s dancers on standby. Still—’

“Might I have permission to leave the palace, your Highness?” Carina requested hopefully. “There are a few local performers that have worked with the Countess before that I’d like to reach out to personally.”

“I can’t get you a pass,” Eleanora reminded her with an annoyed grimace. “But—if I explained the situation to the Prime Minister, perhaps he might be persuaded to arrange for an official palace pass for me—finally.” She continued to tug playfully at Hana’s hair until the blonde attendant swatted at her hand and rose to lean against the crown princess’s desk.

“You should be able to obtain one certainly, given you are already a member of the royal family,” Carina remarked thoughtfully. “And given the present situation and the importance of this banquet, the Prime Minister may be more agreeable to the request.

Eleanora scoffed and crossed her arms. “Well, if Nicholas hears that the pass is for you, he may veto it on the spot—he doesn’t want you leaving the palace for some strange reason, Lady Maura.”

There was something in the arch of her brow and the sarcastic tone of the crown princess’s voice that suggested Eleanora knew exactly why Nicholas didn’t want Carina going outside the palace.

Carina opened her mouth to ask why but then thought better of it and remained silent.

“I’ll send a messenger over to the Prime Minister right away,” Eleanora said with a dismissive wave, “but your trip outside the palace will likely have to wait till tomorrow.”

“At first light then,” Carina responded hopefully, and with a quick curtsey, she left the two love birds to celebrate their small victory away from prying eyes.

❆❆❆❆❆

The Prime Minister was surprisingly sympathetic to their plight. Still, he could only loan them one of his passes, but he also provided a letter of approval to hire the entertainers on behalf of the crown and grant them entry. He sent the pass and letter over by messenger shortly after dinner and promised to discuss a more permanent solution with the crown prince as soon as possible.

As per Eleanora’s instructions, Carina waited until the following morning to leave the palace—with Sir Jordan once more in tow.

“Let’s try not to run into any witch hunters today,” Jordan suggested with a hint of nervous humor as he climbed into the palace carriage behind Carina.

“We are headed to the Hawthorne family estate,” Carina reminded him as she settled into her seat. “Somehow, I doubt the witch hunters would dare trespass on the Earl’s estate.”

“Even while the Earl is away at the border?” Jordan pressed with a doubtful frown.

Carina shook her head at his unnecessary concern and turned her attention to the window as the carriage pulled away.

The Prime Minister’s pass got them through the Fortress gate quickly, though their identities, purpose for leaving the palace, and date of expected return were all noted by the knights just as they had been when they left Rose Palace.

‘A record of who enters and leaves will prove troublesome in the future,’ Carina mused. ‘Thankfully, I have my own way to leave and return to the palace without being documented.’

Like the palace, the number of knights in the capital streets had doubled—perhaps even tripled in size. About two-thirds of their number were dressed in the military uniforms of soldiers.

“They recalled a few battalions from the borders in case of an invasion,” Jordan explained when Carina questioned the increased presence of soldiers. “Of course, the soldiers have been instructed to say they’ve returned for the celebration of peace that is to follow these negotiations, rather than for defensive purposes.”

“As long as their commanders can keep them in line and ensure they don’t provoke the Ventrayna soldiers,” Carina murmured worriedly.

“I don’t think any man here wants to provoke a war with a country of witches or the Emperor,” Jordan replied with a reassuring grin.

Carina glanced out the window, filled with a sudden surge of unease. ‘I suppose I’m far more likely to create a rift between Lafeara and Ventrayna than a few drunk soldiers.’ She sighed and checked her pendant watch for the third time since departing, the increased number of pedestrians on the street slowing their progress.

“Why are we headed to the Hawthorne Estate?” Jordan pressed with an inquisitive stare, noting her anxious behavior.

Carina frowned at his tone. “Lady Serilda requested that I pay her a visit, and I want to check in on that mother and child we rescued in Averly,” she explained. “Also, the staff should be able to help me find the references Countess Constance kept of local entertainers she’s used in the past. They should be suitable for the Crown Princess’s banquet.”

Jordan raised a brow and appeared unconvinced.

“Is there some other reason I would be visiting?” Carina challenged with her own raised brow.

“I suppose not—seeing as the Earl isn’t home,” Jordan muttered as he leaned back and crossed his arms.

‘What?’ Carina flushed and whipped her head towards the carriage window. ‘Damn it. I had almost forgotten about those annoying rumors.’ She reached absently for the Winter Rose—then remembered the necklace was still tucked away in the hidden drawer of her bookshelf.

‘I hope the Earl is well. As strong as Percy is—he is still only a new political power in Lafeara. Still, Lord Haemish is known to hold a great deal of respect for pure-blood witches. I suppose even the Ambassador would consider the influence of the Hawthorne family before carelessly offending them. I just don’t know if that influence will be enough to convince Haemish to leave most of his troops at the border.’

She frowned and studied the approaching countryside with growing impatience.

‘I’ve spent eight years preparing for this visit and everything that is to follow—but I know nothing about the hierarchy of witches or their covens. It would be unreasonable to assume they hold no influence inside the current government, but who and how are they wielding this influence?’ Carina pressed her lips together determinedly as she straightened her spine. ‘Lady Serilda is my best source of information while Percy is gone, but first, I need to find out what happened the night Serilda promised to meet me.’

❆❆❆❆❆

Apparently, Lady Serilda was just as eager to consult Carina about the failed meeting. The Marchioness dismissed Sir Jordan with barely more than a nod of acknowledgment as she pulled Carina into Percy’s office.

“Where were you last night? I sent a crow to your room, and you were gone!” Serilda whispered anxiously as she shut the office door.

“It would appear the Dowager has one or two spies inside Rose Palace. One of them must have overheard our conversation,” Carina answered with some amount of relief. “She left a note, addressed it from you, and had me meet her near the forbidden garden.”

Serilda turned a bit pale upon hearing this news. “The forbidden garden? Tell me you didn’t go inside! Did she make you drink anything?”

Somehow, the fact that the Marchioness was so terrified of the garden and appeared to know about the aconitum flowers which grew there only made the event more harrowing in Carina’s memory.

“The Dowager showed me her secret garden. There must have been thousands of aconitum flowers there—but no, she did not offer me anything to eat or drink,” Carina replied with forced calm. “She—wanted me to reconsider joining her side.”

Serilda exhaled with relief as she pressed her fingertips between her furrowed brows. “That is—good. I’m glad you got away unharmed.” She shook her head and stepped closer to Carina before whispering viciously. “Don’t trust a thing the Dowager tells you. She is no better than the Countess when it comes to—”

Carina narrowed her eyes as the Marchioness cut off abruptly. “What do you mean? What has the Countess done?”

A flash of pain mixed with anger surged behind Serilda’s moss agate eyes, but she only closed them and shook her head with a sigh. “Nevermind that, with the way things are—it will be difficult for us to meet again—” she paused and glanced up at Carina. “So, how did you manage to get away from the palace? I thought Nicholas had forbidden you from leaving.”

Carina frowned at Serilda’s casual use of the crown prince’s name. She explained her cover story with regards to needed entertainment for Eleanora’s banquet and added that Russell, the butler, should know where the Countess kept records of suitable performers that would more than supplement their needs.

“Ahh, I’ll ask Russell to look into that immediately,” Serilda said quickly. “But—may I see the pass the Prime Minister gave you?”

Carina handed over the bronze tablet with the Prime Minister's engraved golden seal and watched curiously as Serilda carried the pass to Percy’s desk, rummaged through the Earl's drawers, and then pulled out an odd box along with two small blocks of clay.

“I can make a duplicate of this,” Serilda explained as she unwrapped the clay and pressed each block into the lid and bottom of the box.

‘That’s not a bad idea,’ Carina admitted though she quickly shook her head. “They document everyone entering and leaving the palace, even those with official passes. It would be the end of my career if I got caught with a duplicate.”

Serilda nodded but made a press of the pass anyway. “Just in case then, you never know when you might need a quick escape.”

Carina raised her brows but said nothing as Serilda brought the Prime Minster’s pass back over to her. “It might come in handy,” she admitted, though she couldn’t help but wonder if Serilda had some ulterior purpose for obtaining a copy of the Prime Minster’s pass.

Serilda patted Carina’s cheek affectionately and led her back towards the door. “Why don’t you take a moment to drop in on your real purpose for being here. And if you wouldn’t mind, Maura dear, remind that woman that she is here because of my cousin's charity, not because she is entitled to the clothes, food, and roof we have given her and that bastard child. For some reason, Miss Jade appears to be under the delusion that I am obligated to look after her needs now that Percy is gone.”

Carina frowned as she followed Serilda from the study. ‘Surely Jade hadn’t behaved that badly.’

❆❆❆❆❆

The muted sounds of another tense argument awaited Carina as she followed the maid towards one of the guest’s rooms along the back of the Hawthorne house. She recognized both voices involved and dismissed the maid quickly.

“I don’t care who you used to serve, Miss Ivy. I am not a slave or a servant, and I refuse to be treated like one!” Jade’s voice cut through the air sharply. “If the Marchioness is going to continue these threats, then I demand to see the Baroness. Lady Maura promised to set us up with a house of our own. Why hasn’t she come back?”

“Lady Maura is busy with her obligations at the palace,” Ivy replied with restrained impatience. “In the meantime, Lady Serilda is only asking that you help around the house—”

“And is Lady Serilda going to pay me for my work?” Jade retorted. “No? Then how is that any different than treating me like a servant? And who will watch Benjamin while she has me cleaning this enormous house?”

“The other servants' children are looked after in the servant's quarters. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind looking after Benjamin for a few hours while—”

“Absolutely not!” Jade’s voice rose with incredulity. “How do I know they won’t ignore or abuse him? And why should Benjamin be raised with a bunch of servant children while I’m forced to do hard labor?”

Carina held back a snort of disbelief. ‘Honestly, how many times did Jade have me running errands and cleaning up the house while she gave me a free place to stay? How is her current situation now any different from then? Does she expect strangers to give her a free room and board for nothing?’

“I may not have been here for very long,” Jade continued in a superior tone, “but I can see quite clearly the difference between you and me, Miss Ivy. I am not a slave or a servant, and I will not be dressed, spoken to, or treated like one!”

“And there is no reason you should be,” Carina interrupted as she entered the room with a calm smile.

Jade spun towards her. The anger quickly withered from her old friend’s face as she burst into tears. “Baroness! Oh, thank god! I thought you had forgotten about us. Do you know how we have been treated in your absence?”

As if on cue, Benjamin, who was resting on the bed, suddenly dropped the toy he had been playing with and shrieked his grief to the world.

Carina cringed at the unexpected vocal assault and turned to Ivy as Jade rushed to her child. “Are you alright?” she mouthed softly.

Ivy smiled and nodded, although her expression looked troubled as she folded a gray dress and placed it on a chair beside the bedroom door. The garment’s style was the same as the one Ivy wore, which marked her as a member of the household staff.

“I’ll leave you to speak with Miss Jade,” Ivy murmured as she moved to exit.

“No, stay,” Carina caught her wrist quickly. “I would like to hear why Jade was shouting at you like that.” She turned her sharp gaze on Jade, who was bouncing the mollified Benjamin against her hip.

“I didn’t mean to shout,” Jade protested quickly as she glanced between them. “I’m just exhausted. Taking care of Benjamin keeps me up all night. Now I’m also expected to do hard labor during the day while worrying about his wellbeing—it’s just too much!”

“Lady Serilda only asked that Miss Jade help clean around the Manor a few hours each day to help cover her expenses,” Ivy explained with a tired sigh as she placed a hand over Carina’s grip and squeezed it gently.

Jade snorted, “For a woman who is another guest in this house, Lady Serilda certainly acts like the Manor is hers.” She appeared to think better of her comment when neither Ivy nor Carina voiced their agreement. “Anyway, have you come to take us away, Baroness? Did you find a suitable house?”

‘Do you also expect me to house you for free while providing all your needs?’ Carina felt a moment of troubled unease as she tried to reconcile this new side of Jade with the friend she remembered. ‘I understand her concern for Benjamin, but even in our previous world, single and married mothers had to put their children in daycare centers while they worked forty-hour weeks to pay mortgage or rent.’

“Jade, perhaps you were not aware of this fact, but the Marchioness was placed in charge of Hawthorne estate while her cousin, the Earl, is away,” Carina explained patiently as she released Ivy’s arm and stepped closer to the frowning mother. “Surely asking for a bit of help as a means of repayment isn’t too unreasonable.”

“But why must I learn a servant’s work? I will soon have a house of my own after all.” Jade demanded bluntly. “If I must work—then I can be an accountant or a teacher. I taught pre-school in my old w—” she cut off abruptly, and Benjamin piped in with a delighted squeal as he pulled at the necklace chain around Jade's neck. The small rare pink diamond caught Carina’s attention. The necklace was of Lafearian design, and the chain appeared to be made of expensive silver. She was reasonably certain that Jade hadn’t been wearing it the day they brought her to the Manor.

‘Oh, please don’t tell me—’

Carina drew in a deep breath. “Getting you a small house to live in is one thing. But you will have to earn a living to pay for food, firewood, and other necessities, Jade.”

While it was true, she could easily set Jade up with a comfortable life—that care would only last as long as Carina remained alive. ‘And in any case, for her to already assume I will take care of everything just because I saved her—what else will she expect from me when she finds out that I am Carina?’

The hopeful urge to be reunited with her old friend faded as Carina studied the grumpy woman before her, trying to remain sympathetic but annoyed at the entitlement which did not belong in this world.

“How familiar are you with the education system here in Lafeara?” Carina inflected their current location pointedly. She knew from personal experience that the language, social studies, what passed for science, and even mathematics differed from their original world.

Carina frowned, suddenly curious as to how Jade could speak the local language so naturally. ‘I always assumed I could because I inherited Maura’s memories. But Jade arrived here as herself. It doesn’t make sense.’

“I—” Jade trailed off miserably “—but that doesn’t mean I have to become a servant—does it?” Her confidence faltered as a bleak expression covered her face.

“No, no,” Carina replied quickly. “You could certainly become a teacher with time and training—”

“Really? That would be wonderful! Perhaps I could even be a governess—those positions exist here, don’t they?”

“A governess requires special training, education, experience, and recommendations from schools and other teachers,” Ivy replied with a dubious glance at Jade.

“What would you know?” Jade snorted. “If it is working with kids, I can do that. But I will not have myself—or my child—treated like a servant or vagabond!”

Ivy sucked in a breath and turned to Carina as if to signal the end of her patience.

“For now—” Carina replied calmly as she glanced between them “—Jade and Benjamin still need time to recover. Once you are well enough and I’ve had time to locate a suitable house, I will send a tutor there to help you prepare to become a teacher, Jade. When you have enough experience and the right recommendations, then we can talk about a governess position.”

“Of course,” Jade seemed satisfied. “I will do whatever is necessary to prove myself to you, Baroness.”

“Please address me as Lady Maura,” Carina corrected with a patient smile as she glanced at the silver chain now wrapped around Benjamin’s fist. “That’s a pretty necklace,” she said, happy to shift the conversation.

“Oh, this?” Jade’s lips twitched curiously as she tugged the necklace free. “It was a present from the Earl before he left.” Carina watched the smug expression Jade threw at Ivy, who turned promptly and left the room.

‘Had Jade—really always been like this?’

Carina shook the confusing thought from her head and focused on the necklace. It was far too expensive for Percy to gift to a stranger.

‘And it honestly looks like something Serilda would wear. It certainly looks as dated as the rest of the Marchioness’s wardrobe.’

A shiver of unease and apprehension filled Carina as she studied the young mother and her child, followed quickly by guilt and confusion.

[B2] Chapter 53: The Fangs of Winter

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Chapter 53: The Fangs of Winter

After reassuring Jade that she would return to Hawthorne Manor to visit, Carina left the young mother to feed her fussy, hungry boy in privacy.

‘It’s strange to think she’s changed this much, but—’ Carina shook her head as she wandered down the halls of the Manor until she spotted Ivy seated at a table inside the library.

Ivy was engrossed in a conversation about Lafeara’s history with an unfamiliar man. Carina glanced curiously at the sandy blonde-haired noble, who appeared to be presenting Ivy with a small stack of books. There was something in the tone of their conversation that conveyed a closeness Ivy had never shown with anyone outside of Maura before.

Not wanting to intrude, Carina backed away from the library door, only for Ivy to notice her appearance and rise quickly to her feet.

“Lady Maura! This-this is Lord Barclay!” Ivy hastily explained as she introduced the stranger. “He is my tutor.”

“Ah, the little lady I’ve heard so much about.” Barclay’s pale azure eyes surveyed Carina with a hint of surprise as he offered her a courteous bow. “Greetings, Baroness.”

“Tutor?” Carina echoed as she glanced between them. ‘That would explain why they were discussing history but not the way Ivy was looking at him. No, wait a minute—' she cringed ‘—I’m the last person who should be jumping to conclusions.’

“Yes,” Barclay nodded as he leaned against the table beside the stack of books and offered Ivy a smile. “The Earl hired me to prepare Miss Ivy for her future position as Matron of an orphanage he recently purchased.”

‘He’s referring to Turnbell Manor. Come to think of it, Percy did list Ivy for that position. It’s good to see he’s been preparing her for that.’

Carina smiled as she stepped forward into the library. “Yes. I think Ivy will make an excellent Matron. She will certainly place the interest of those children above all else.”

“The Baroness before us stands as an impeccable representation of that fact,” Barclay observed with another smile directed at Ivy.

“Oh, no!” Ivy raised her hands in protest, aghast. “It was the Countess who taught Maura everything she knows—Lady Maura, I mean.”

“But it was Ivy who kept me alive, grounded, and hopeful,” Carina pointed out as she moved to stand beside the taller girl and squeezed Ivy’s hand tightly.

“A glowing recommendation if ever I heard one,” Barclay pronounced with an affirming nod. “However, Miss Ivy and I go back much further than lessons at Hawthorne Manor. My father served with her father, Lord Koresh, as a royal scribe and historian in the royal palace.”

“Oh?” Carina attempted to contain her surprise. Ivy had never revealed much about her family before, aside from her father’s death resulting in her mother selling Ivy into slavery. ‘So he was a historian? That would make him a noble at least—'

“That was—a long time ago,” Ivy whispered as she returned to her chair.

Barclay appeared to notice Ivy’s change in mood. His brows drew together briefly in a troubled expression as he offered Carina an apologetic smile. “I hope you ladies will excuse me then. I would hate to intrude any further on your time together. In any case, I have other tasks to perform for the Earl while I’m here.” He offered Maura another formal bow, then whisked himself through the library doors and shut them discreetly as he left.

“Lord Barclay seems—nice,” Carina commented casually as Ivy picked up one of the books her tutor had given her. “Does he treat you well?”

“Very well,” Ivy answered warmly and then blushed. “Lord Barclay is highly educated and doesn’t mind my background in the least. He is also very fair in his compliments and criticism.”

Carina narrowed her eyes at the praise. “Perhaps that is because he knew you before—”

“We only met once or twice before my father’s fall from grace—” Ivy drew in a sharp breath as she reorganized the books before her. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter who my father was. I am still a slave.

“Ivy,” Carina murmured as she took Barclay’s empty chair. “You won’t always be a slave. Aren’t you about to be the Matron of an orphanage sponsored by royalty?”

“A position I cannot hold while I’m still a slave,” Ivy corrected solemnly.

“I will speak to Lord Percy when he returns. The Earl believes you are ready to take up such a position, and so do I. If a piece of paper is all that’s standing in your way, then I will ensure he burns it.”

Ivy exhaled and turned to Carina with a faint smile. “Thank you, I—as much as Barclay tells me I am ready—I think I needed to hear it from you.”

“I’m so pleased you value my opinion above others,” Carina replied with a hint of smugness as she clasped Ivy’s hand. “But you should not discount your tutor's opinion. Anyway, it is good to hear that Barclay doesn’t mistreat you.”

“Oh, he would never,” Ivy hastily protested. “The idea of violence is abhorrent to him.”

“Oh?” Carina raised a brow as she tried to keep her smile from widening suspiciously.

“We were discussing the war between the church and the Emperor before you came in. That is why he brought over these books. Barclay believes that the current conflict between the Pope and witches is due to the mismanagement of history.”

“Mismanagement of—history?” Carina echoed as her smile dimmed. “Your tutor believes that thousands of witches have been burned over the years because of improperly recorded history?”

“If you think about it, history is like a double-edged blade,” Ivy replied with a note of firm confidence. “Depending on the recorder's intentions, it can be used to guide and warn; or mislead and manipulate.”

Carina considered the notion and dismissed it with a shrug. “Who would even have the foresight to pull off something like that?”

“Well—” Ivy hesitated as she glanced towards the library door “—aside from—Frost, the Saints were also able to predict the future.”

Carina frowned. “But unless they controlled every possible means of recording history, other accounts would differ. Why would one perspective be given more credibility than another? Especially if a conflicting view could be proven.”

“Part of the church's efforts to eradicate witches in the past included burning any secret libraries kept by the covens,” Ivy explained practically.

‘How ironic that Ivy is learning more about the church's history with the covens than me.’

“But even mortals outside the church would record history diff—” Carina hesitated. “No, I suppose if the church really wanted to erase certain aspects of history, they would only have to accuse someone of being a witch to discredit them.”

A sudden cold chill washed over Carina as she studied Ivy, whose father had been a royal historian. ‘Is that what happened—is that why you became a slave?’ She curled her fingers into a fist as Ivy replied.

“Exactly, the church believes that witches are innately evil because their bloodline is cursed,” Ivy explained. “That’s why a witch can’t be saved by faith. Even after death, a witch’s body must be burned to prevent their soul from returning to torment the living.”

Carina thought of Maura and sighed.

“Furthermore,” Ivy continued passionately, “The church believes that witches are the source of great calamities that will unleash a destructive force upon the world. They’ve linked dozens of natural disasters to witches over the years: plagues, famines, floods, wars, and even the lost continent of Esyllt.”

‘Esyllt? I’ve never heard of a continent by that name.’

“Alright,” Carina shrugged amicably. “I won’t argue that most of the church’s teachings sound like mere superstition and manipulation. But Lafearians have blindly followed those teachings for centuries—I’m not sure a history lesson is going to change their faith in the Saints.”

“That’s—true,” Ivy admitted reluctantly.

‘Nevermind the rest of Lafeara, why are you so quick to believe a history that paints witches as victims and the church as villains?’

Carina shook her head ruefully and studied the book in front of the passionate student. “The History of the Warring Kingdoms,” she read aloud with a raised brow. This book had certainly not been among the mountain of books the Countess had her study before entering the palace. “It is rather terrifying to think that, just because one of the church’s faithful miswrote history, intentionally or otherwise, thousands of innocent people have been tortured and killed over the years.”

“What if it wasn’t either of those reasons,” Ivy replied with a note of trepidation. “What if someone is misleading the church to create chaos and division?”

Carina studied her with a frown. ‘What sort of nonsense was this Lord Barclay putting into Ivy’s head? This sort of radical thinking could get her branded as a heretic.’

“Ivy, who would have the power to mislead the church? The Pope?”

Something akin to madness blazed behind Ivy’s jade green eyes. “No, not a mortal, but what if—”

Before Ivy could finish her answer, the library doors swung open, and Lady Serilda walked in with a triumphant, “Ah! There you are, Maura.” The marchioness gestured towards her hurriedly.

Carina squeezed Ivy’s hand again and glanced at the book in her friend's hand worriedly before she followed her host out of the library. ‘I’m not sure if I should object. Ivy’s old enough to know her own mind and wise enough to know who she can discuss such a dangerous subject with—although, I wonder what Lord Barclay’s motives for teaching her this version of history is?’

“Sorry to cut your little reunion short,” Serilda said with a quick smile as she turned down the hall. “But you will be expected back at the palace before the day is through, so I want to make the most of the time we have.” She leaned in closer as they continued towards the side door that led to the bathhouse. “It’s time we returned to Anthraticus.”

❆❆❆❆❆

The wide circular earthen room that connected to one of Anthraticus’s tunnels was dark and oppressive. Serilda walked confidently through the entryway. Her candle created a dim circle of light around them.

“Please don’t ask questions until I’ve finished my explanation,” Serilda said, all business-like, as she waved her hand. Two chairs appeared out of the shadows and scrapped across the ground towards them. “Please, have a seat, Maura.”

Carina entered and complied, folding her hands nervously across her lap. She wondered for a moment about the Winter Rose she had left in her palace bedroom but quickly focused on Serilda.

The marchioness spoke rapidly as she moved about the room, lighting a few candles notched inside the wall with a matchstick she pulled from a small cubby hole. “Most witches require at least three months of training to find and connect with their element. Pure-bloods, however, are born with a strong connection to a distinct element that they can control from an early age. For the Hawthorne family and many other noble witch families in Lafeara, that element is air.

“We’ve already discussed the different gods and the respective domains of their covens. Lafeara, as you may presume, belongs to the coven witches who serve Veles, the god of air.”

Serilda settled into the chair opposite Carina. The marchioness closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and then sighed softly. A rush of warm air filled the room as the candles danced. It teased the fabric of Carina’s dress and tossed her hair before it faded and disappeared. Serilda repeated her simple breathing exercise once more, but this time as her sigh filled the room, a rush of voices whispered back, their reverberation as painful as a choir of dull knives being scrapped across granite.

Carina cringed and covered her ears reflexively.

“Not all magic is visible,” Serilda intoned in a melodic voice. “Not all magic is destructive. An air witch can make a king kneel at her feet with but a few—pretty words.”

Carina nodded slowly, though she wasn’t sure why. The room's oppressive feeling seemed to fade as the marchioness sighed again, and a soothing breeze tickled across Carina’s skin like the warmth of the sun.

“You’re—” Serilda blinked as her voice returned to normal “—not wearing the Winter Rose?” The marchioness’s tone was an odd mix of anger and delight.

“I—must have forgotten to wear it today.” Carina blinked sluggishly as a yawn crept up the back of her throat. ‘Crap, she’s not going to make me fall asleep again, is she?’

“You’re lying!” Serilda’s scarlet lips twitched as laughter danced behind her moss green eyes. “One thing you should know about air witches, particularly us pure-bloods, is that we can always tell when someone is lying.” She scoffed lightly. “So my cousin’s affections are one-sided, what a shame.”

“You’re referring to the rumors?” Carina shook her head quickly. “I wouldn’t put too much weight behind empty gossip.”

“Even gossip can hold a spark of truth sometimes?” Serilda tapped her manicured fingernail against the chair’s arm as her smile turned almost playful. “If you were to ask me if my cousin's affection was genuine, I would say that he values you above all others.”

Carina blinked, then half-coughed, half-choked, unable to think of a response.

“However,” Serilda continued with a bemused smile. “I am well versed in the inconsistency of mortal affection. The more you love someone, the closer to paradise you feel, but then a week, a month, a year later, that paradise has dried up, and only a wilderness of tears remain.”

‘Is she talking about King Henri?’ Carina wondered silently as she studied the marchioness’s composed face.

“You are wondering if I am telling the truth?” Serilda queried with another quick smile. “Were you an air witch instead of an ice witch, you would be able to tell.”

“I—thought only pure-bloods could—”

“Well, normally, that would be the case,” Serilda grumbled with a raised brow. “But, despite your mother’s tainted blood, you have more magic than the average coven witch.”

‘That’s probably because of Viktor’s magic.’ Carina shifted, somewhat unnerved that Serilda could sense that much about her despite never seeing Carina use magic.

“Hmm,” the marchioness murmured as a mischievous smile crossed her face. “Shall I demonstrate what the Winter Rose can do and why it is so valuable?”

“If you like,” Carina replied with a small sense of trepidation. The predator-like smile that flashed across Serilda’s pretty face did not make her feel any better.

“As we discussed, pureblood air witches can detect a lie easily,” Serilda explained calmly as she closed her eyes and drew in another deep breath. “But we can also compel others to obey our will, whether that is something as complex as murder or as simple as telling us their deepest secret.”

‘Oh no—’

“When and why did you approach the Hawthorne family? And how did you win over the Countess’s favor?”

Carina felt a wave of magic push through her skin, trickle through her ears, and sink into her bones. Her folded hands relaxed their grip as her shoulders sagged, and her mind seemed to drift on an invisible breeze.

“I needed a powerful backer who could help me obtain my freedom from the Turnbell family and secure a position in the palace beside the Crown Princess. The Countess was Eleanora’s aunt, held the greatest power out of any noblewoman in Lafeara, and I happened to have valuable information that could place me in her good graces.”

Carina blinked as the answer rolled effortlessly off her tongue. ‘Not good, I have to stop—but—' As if sensing her resistance, another wave of magic pushed through her as a soft buzz filled Carina’s ears.

“Six years ago, on Holy Saint’s day, there was an attempt set to assassinate the Countess on her way back from the capital,” Carina explained through gritted teeth. “I was able to slip a warning about the ambush to the Countess the day before. I told her what road to avoid and where the assassins were hiding. The Countess investigated the matter and afterward took me in as her protégée.”

“Six—years ago?” Serilda appeared shocked by Carina’s answer.

‘No—not just shocked—she looks furious?’

Carina watched as the marchioness's nails tore into the wooden armrest of her chair in a visible attempt to restrain herself as the witch’s fierce, blazing green eyes jerked suddenly away from Carina into the darkness around the room.

“I can’t believe it—” Serilda hissed, “All these years I wondered how she avoided it—you were the one who warned her?”

Carina couldn’t speak—and was glad of it. The sudden hatred in Serilda’s voice told her that saying the wrong thing—or pretty much anything in this moment—might send the trembling marchioness over the edge.

Serilda sucked in one deep breath after another. As her breathing calmed, the marchioness plucked her nails free from the chair’s splintered arms and let out a hallow, empty laugh. “How could you have possibly learned about the ambush? You were all of what—ten years old back then?” Outrage trembled beneath Serilda’s forced calm.

Carina swallowed, unclenched her cold hands, but remained silent.

“I asked you!” Serilda shot up from her seat with bloodthirsty eyes. “How did you know the Countess would be ambushed on her way back from the capital six years ago!”

A riptide of magic rammed into Carina once more, bending and snapping her futile resistance with ferocious efficiency.

“I knew because—I have seen the future—” Carina panted as her lungs tightened and a high-pitched whine filled her ears. Something warm dripped down her cheeks, and she reached up in surprise to find her ears were bleeding.

“How long are you going to let her toy with you, little ice witch?” Viktor’s voice roared in outrage. “What is one pure-blood compared to the magic of a god?”

Carina’s vision blurred as Serilda stepped closer. The high-pitched ringing that filled the room seemed to rip through her skull. Following the instinct of a cornered prey, Carina stretched out her bloody fingers towards the dangerous air witch and unleashed the frantic claws of winter that howled within her chest.

A flash of white knocked Serilda from her vision as Carina collapsed against the chair, panting, trembling, but alive. Only the sight of the giant white beast that crushed Serilda beneath its massive paws as its frozen fangs glimmered a hairsbreadth from the petrified marchioness’s face kept Carina from celebrating her good fortune.

Serilda whimpered and closed her eyes as the winter wolf spread its jaws open and growled out a gust of cold air.

[B2] Chapter 54: The Consequences of Fate

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Chapter 54: The Consequences of Fate

Carina’s vision was still blurring in and out as she stared past her blood-stained fingers at the elemental monstrosity that appeared determined to bite Serilda’s face off. For a moment, something sinister stirred inside her chest—a cold, foreign feeling that reveled as a pinned Serilda let out a panicked whimper of fear.

Carina gasped and clutched her chest as the malevolent darkness that filled the earthen room around her trembled and faded. The wolf before her hesitated, its giant jaws of glistening teeth positioned around Serilda’s vulnerable head stiffened and then withdrew as the wolf stepped back and glanced towards Carina as if seeking confirmation.

‘I. Eat. Witch?’

Carina’s eyes widened as another startled gasp slipped past her lips. ‘Is it—talking to me?’

‘No. Eat?’ The wolf closed its mouth with a faint huff and seemed—disappointed.

Carina shook her head firmly, and the elemental monster took another step back from the fallen air witch, to whom he offered a low rumbling growl as if to say, ‘I’ll eat you later.’

Serilda slowly blinked her eyes open as she felt her attacker retreat. She appeared to realize that—for the moment—she was in no danger and sat up stiffly with a resigned, feeble smile as she studied the wolf. “I suppose I should thank you for not allowing your scriva to kill me,” the marchioness muttered.

The winter wolf growled again as if it understood Serilda and disapproved. It turned and circled behind Carina’s chair before sitting down on her right side, its translucent eyes focused on the marchioness.

“Scriva?” Carina whispered as she studied the fearsome creature that was about four feet taller than her. ‘Where did it come from? Did I make this?’

Serilda let out a snort of disbelief as she studied Carina. “Scriva are—summoned companions of witches.” The marchioness sighed and rose slowly to her feet while keeping a careful eye on the wolf. “It would be easier to explain if we used the tomes in Anthraticus’s library.”

‘The witch is trying to run away.’ The wolf’s disapproving growl rumbled through Carina’s mind while Serilda took no notice.

‘So, only I can hear him. Then this must be some sort of telepathy?’

The wolf’s left ear twitched in her direction while it remained otherwise focused on Serilda, almost as if it were listening in on Carina’s thoughts.

‘Weird. But Viktor also communicated with me that way, so—perhaps this is normal.’

Carina shifted her gaze from the wolf to Serilda and then to the blood already drying on her fingers. ‘As much as I shouldn’t trust Serilda after she attacked me like that, it would be good to learn more about this magic I possess. Once I’m back in the palace, it will be hard to find another opportunity like this to receive training.’

The wolf stretched its jaws into a lazy yawn, and Serilda quivered as she looked away from the flash of teeth.

Carina smiled. ‘Well, even without the Winter Rose. I’m not exactly defenseless.’

She also knew without asking that this library would be entirely different from the private library she had spent most of Maura’s later childhood in, studying while being tutored by the Countess or other hired instructors.

‘This library has magical witch tomes? I wonder how different those are from ordinary books?’

Carina gestured towards the only door in the room they had used to enter. “After you, Marchioness.”

Serilda nodded and headed towards the exit with measured, cautious steps and a worried glance as the scriva followed behind her with Carina in tow.

The wolf shimmered and shrank in size before its snow-like body squeezed through the doorway out into the hall. Serilda muttered something under her breath when it did that. Perhaps she had hoped the creature would remain trapped inside.

Carina smiled as she entered the hall and stood beside the elemental beast to stare at Serilda pointedly.

They proceeded through the tunnels and a few hidden doors with the winter wolf padding along softly beside Carina, never more than arm's length away. Finally, they stopped before a single large door marked by a border of runes.

Serilda waved her hand over the root-shaped rune in the center of the doorframe, which flared to life as a pattern of smaller runes brightened and spiraled out to the border frame like branches of a tree. The door creaked open as a gentle gush of wind crept out.

Carina didn’t even blink at the use of magic. After summoning a scriva from pure fear, she had become numb to such simple effects. She focused her attention on the path of runes along the floor that lit up the room before them, illuminating the massive underground library that stretched on seemingly forever as the path of runes continued towards their distant ends.

“Only pure-blood witches are allowed in here,” Serilda explained tensely as she glanced warily around the library. “Fortunately, it appears to be empty.” After a moment’s inspection, she entered, and Carina followed.

The scriva stepped in behind them and then shook its head and body as it returned to its original size. Carina held her breath as she watched the elemental creature move forward, narrowly avoiding the corner of the nearest bookshelf. She could already envision the domino effect of chaos that would ensue if her summoned companion accidentally knocked even one shelf over.

“Anyway, to answer your earlier question, a scriva is a magical manifestation of elements mixed with the casters will,” Serilda explained as she moved towards the center of the library, where a few tables and chairs waited. When Carina looked nonplussed, the marchioness continued. “It’s not a creature of flesh and blood, but ice and frost. The scriva’s body is reinforced with your magic and is thus indestructible as long as you remain alive and possess that magic.”

Serilda paused to rub her temple as if fighting a nasty headache.

“The problem is,” the marchioness continued. “I’ve never seen such a manifestation outside of the tomes of this library. Even the strongest pure-bloods of my family have never been able to figure out the complexities of such a summon.” Serilda closed her eyes, pressed her lips together, and snapped furiously, “So how in Veles’s name did a half-blood coven witch make one?”

The scriva growled at her tone but remained relaxed as it lay upon the floor between them.

“I—” Carina tilted her head and shrugged helplessly. “I’m not sure.”

“Did someone teach you the spell of summoning?”

“The wha—No.”

“Show you then?”

“No.” Carina shook her head. “It—just happened?”

Serilda stared at her, exasperated, then opened her mouth, hesitated, and asked, “Are you sure your mother wasn’t a witch?”

“What?” Carina half-laughed and crossed her arms with a sigh. “No, I don’t believe for a moment that Lady Helena was a witch,” she answered confidently. The wolf let out a very animal-like snort as if agreeing with her.

‘It seems so alive—and intelligent. Is it possible that—this scriva—is something Viktor made?’ It would certainly explain how an elemental monster knew her family lineage.

Serilda frowned as she glanced between them in perplexed frustration, then her shoulders drooped, and she shook her head in defeat. “Never mind. If you can summon that, you’re not as defenseless as we thought.”

Carina didn’t miss the tone of disappointment in Serilda’s voice, and neither did the scriva judging by its low growl.

“No, that’s a good thing,” Serilda reasoned aloud with a nervous glance at the white wolf. “Anyway, the reason I brought you down here was to begin your training, Maura.” She crossed her arms and stared suspiciously at Carina. “But seeing as how you can control your magic to this extent already.”

“I have never received any training before,” Carina countered firmly. “But—I have accidentally used my magic once or twice when—threatened.”

Carina didn’t mention Lincoln or the fact that Serilda had looked ready to kill her only moments ago.

Serilda nodded and appeared to accept this explanation though her gaze turned doubtful each time she glanced towards the scriva. “Alright, then let’s start with something simple. Show me what you can do.”

Carina nodded as she held out her right hand and connected to the pulsating cold within her chest. Frost stretched down her fingers and across her palm, then snowflakes swirled around her wrist and spiraled upon her open hand as the frozen heart glowed faintly.

“I can extend this cold to other people or objects and change their temperature, but that’s about it,” Carina admitted reluctantly as she closed her hand and the light faded.

Serilda stared at Carina’s chest—not uttering a single word. Then she motioned her hand sharply, and a chair ripped away from the nearest reading table and slid to a halt just in time to support her as the marchioness sat down.

“I need to think,” Serilda muttered with an unhappy look between Carina and the wolf. “For now, take this back with you.” The marchioness snapped her fingers, and a book zipped across the library and hurtled towards Carina. The scriva rose swiftly and caught the flying tome gently in its fangs before it presented the book like a trophy to the ice witch.

Carina accepted the book, grateful the winter wolf’s sharp fangs hadn’t ripped the delicately embellished leather cover. She also appreciated the fact that the creature did not appear to drool. ‘Then again—it is made of ice and frost.’

“You obviously have more potential than any of us could have guessed,” Serilda observed grimly as she folded her arms. “That book will teach you the basics. Your breathing, focus, design, and intent are all essential elements of any spell casting. Once you get the hang of the first few pages of magic exercises, the rest of the book will become much easier to work through.

“Witch incantations that connect to each element are written on the first page. Each witch can only possess one element, so don’t try anything stupid like casting a fire spell. It will likely backfire and damage you. Ice and fire magic don’t mix well.” Serilda shook her head with a sigh as she leaned back in her chair. “Only an insane goddess like Kritanta would try exerting her dominion over an opposing magical force. However, as an ice witch, Maura, you could try spells of water or wind, but without a natural affinity or artifact to ramp up the spell's potency, it's just a waste of your magical energy.”

“Magical energy?” Carina pressed curiously.

Serilda’s lips twitched with a smile as if amused by such a novice question. “To be a witch is to have a body blessed by a god to be a vessel for their power. The more power a vessel possesses, the more magic they can use without suffering from the mental or physical exhaustion that comes when a vessel runs low of magic.”

“You mean—it's possible to use it all?”

“Temporarily,” Serilda replied swiftly. “A witch can recover their magic over time. The length of recovery is determined by the amount of power the vessel can hold and how much magic remains. In theory, the more magic left over, the quicker your recovery. However, the more you overextend your magic, the more painful and slow the recovery.”

‘That makes sense, I suppose.’

“And then there is the risk of dying.”

“Dying?” Carina raised a brow sharply.

“Yes,” Serilda replied as she gestured to a potted vine beside a bookshelf. “Magic is to a witch what water is to that plant. We were born with it. We can not survive without it. If a witch drained herself completely of magic, she would wither up and die.”

“Don’t run out of magic—got it,” Carina whispered. She shifted restlessly as she moved her gaze from the plant to the book in her hand. “Why is it that spells sometimes require an incantation and other times they don’t?”

“That is another trait of a pure-blood’s magic. The more power we have, the easier it is to cast a spell without an incantation as a trigger,” Serilda replied calmly. “Reactive magic like yours can happen—though they rarely perform as intended. Stress, anger, or fear can act as a trigger, and the result is often powerful, but control is sacrificed as a result.

“Something like this—” the marchioness gestured at the scriva “—would normally require a great deal of focus and several incantations to even be possible.” The marchioness sighed and rubbed her temple again. “Even if your magic potential allowed you to react instinctively without an incantation—that doesn’t explain how you were able to create a scriva despite your tainted heritage.”

Carina sighed. She was just as confused about the massive wolf that lay at her feet.

“We should head back. Study that book for now; it will give you a firm foundation of knowledge. Make sure you only practice those spells at night behind a locked door. When I figure out what you are,” Serilda gestured between the scriva and Carina. “I’ll know how to adjust your training.”

“Alright,” Carina replied calmly as she tucked the book under her arm. “But before I go—why did you attack me earlier?”

Serilda’s moss green eyes dropped to the library floor as she drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “I suppose an explanation is owed if I am to become your teacher.” She straightened in her seat and lanced her fingers together before lifting her gaze once more to Carina. “I was nineteen when I became King Henri’s secret mistress,” she answered dully. “I hated the idea. Loathed the very thought of—” she closed her eyes briefly as her lips twisted with disgust “—but it was for the good of the family and the coven.” She offered an empty smile as her eyes opened once more. “I was promised the title of Queen as long as I gave the king another son. An heir the coven’s could use to regain power in Lafeara.”

‘So the witches have tried to take Lafeara’s throne before?’

“I lived most of my life secluded in my father’s estate for that very purpose,” Serilda continued. “I was given a secret identity, that of a lower noble, and fed special herbs to mask my witch powers from the church.”

“Aconitum?” Carina guessed aloud.

Serilda nodded. “I made sure to take it in the smallest of doses and only when I could feel my powers resurfacing. The Dowager herself prepared my tonics with the greatest care. If I had given birth to a son, Lafeara would have a prince of both worlds, half-mortal, and half-witch. With that, we would finally put an end to the Harvardur bloodline, and I would take over as Regent and Queen Mother.”

‘Harvardur? The ancestor of the royal family that they had taken as their surname. King Harvardur was the first mortal king to rule after the Saint’s rebellion.’

“But how could your child end the royal bloodline? He would still be half Harvardur, half-mortal.”

“For one, he would have been born a coven witch, not a half-witch,” Serilda responded with a cynical smile. “When a coven chooses a Witch King, all witches belonging to that coven are forced to submit to the Witch King’s rule. My son—” she strangled on the word for a moment as she pressed a hand against her stomach “—would have yielded Lafeara’s throne to the next Witch King.”

A dark shiver ran down Carina’s spine as the implication of Serilda’s words took root. ‘The coven had been preparing to take over the kingdom six years ago. The Dowager had been a part of this effort. The death of the Queens, Tristan’s banishment and presumed death, now only Nicholas remained of the Harvardur bloodline, and he was married to Eleanora.’

“Why doesn’t the Witch King just kill the royals and take the throne by force?”

“Why don’t the covens tear the castle apart brick by brick and slaughter every single noble-born mortal and royal brat inside it?” Serilda replied with a cynical laugh. “In a word? The Saint.” She raised her hand and snapped her fingers again. Another book zipped towards her back but shifted course to the marchioness’s extended hand as she snatched it precisely from the air. The pearl leather cover shimmered with gold as Serilda flipped it open then spun the book around to present the painted images to Carina.

Scenes of calamities flipped before Carina’s eyes in rapid succession. A two-headed rock giant, smashing its way through a city. A rain of blood that overflowed rivers as the painted mortals on the embankment wept bloody tears from nearly every orifice. Then a deluge of fire descending from the sky to decimate a city and burn the field of crops around it. In each painting, a white figure surrounded by blinding golden light stood triumphant over a charred demonic humanoid body of what had presumably been a witch.

“The churches were never good at painting us in a flattering light,” Serilda observed with a wry smile.

“This book—is from the church?” Carina recoiled instinctively.

“Every record in history pinpoints the appearance of a Saint around the occurrence of any catastrophic event caused by a witch or coven,” Serilda explained as she rose from the chair. “There are a few exceptions—but those were all attributed to the involvement of a deity.”

“A god?” Carina considered this for a moment. “Then—the destruction of old Zarus.”

“Blessed by Kritanta through her consort, Emperor Arius.”

“Consort?” Carina raised a brow at this.

“A god or goddess will only impart their magic to one who has sworn a lifetime of fealty and service to them,” Serilda explained. “Although I do not know for certain, it is rumored that some form of intimacy is required to—transfer and bind the magic.”

Carina scoffed and felt a bit squeamish as she turned the page to where a woman with golden hair and a blindfold held a babe in her arms. The title Saint Harmonia and Pope Zigor I lay inscribed in golden letters beneath the child. “Aren’t the gods supposed to be dragons?”

“That is one of their forms,” Serilda corrected with a note of impatience. “Each god has presented themselves in human form at some point throughout the history of the covens—even Viktor. Though the history of ice god’s coven has all but faded from history along with its immortal witches.” She glanced from Carina to the wolf and muttered, “Perhaps that’s why.”

Carina flipped the holy book shut and stepped back. “None of this explains why you attacked me earlier,” she reminded the marchioness bluntly.

Serilda grimaced. “The ambush you thwarted six years ago, the attack upon the Countess, was organized by me.”

‘Oh.’ Carina took a moment to digest that as Serilda took the closed book and tossed it over her shoulder where a breeze caught it and carried it back to its origins.

“You know that I am Percy's cousin. My father was Constance's older brother, Lord Gaius. He was the leader of the Twilight Coven, a faction that rules within the noble families of Lafeara. One of three covens that have governed the witches of Lafeara since the fall of the Isbrand King.” Serilda rubbed her neck and rose from her chair before continuing.

“My father died before I turned ten years old. My uncle, Lord Alastair, took over the coven as its temporary leader and my guardian. Alastair was meant to hold that seat for me until I came of age, but then he got married to that half-witch, Lady Isabella, and abdicated his seat as the coven’s temporary leader to his sister, Lady Constance. And Constance, well—” Serilda fingers moved restlessly along the silk belt of her dress “—that woman was never any good at letting go of power. I would have been of age to claim my seat when I turned twenty. Instead—I was pregnant with King Henri’s bastard child.”

“And then—you had a miscarriage,” Carina whispered sympathetically.

“A miscarriage caused by the Countess herself!” Serilda’s eyes flashed with the same maniacal hatred that had set her upon Carina moments ago. The wolf rose to its feet beside Carina but remained silent.

“A beautiful work of sabotage if I say so myself,” the marchioness muttered. “My identity as the king’s mistress was exposed to the mortal noble lords overnight. I was still heavily weakened by both the miscarriage and the aconitum the Dowager was slipping me. It took almost no effort for Constance to convince the Twilight Coven to view me as unfit to rule. She had me shut away and fed me food tainted with poison that drove away all reason. Once she had convinced everyone that the loss of my child had made me a danger to myself, she shipped me to one of Mercy’s convents in the country where everyone forgot that I even existed.”

Carina remained as stiff as a statue as Serilda paused to collect herself and soothe her ragged breathing.

“She should have just killed me,” the marchioness whispered darkly. “I wanted her dead—a thousand times over. If that ambush had succeeded, it would have left the coven with no choice but to accept me as their leader. At worst, they would have married me to another pure-blood. Within a few years, I would have recovered my powers and proven that the Countess had poisoned me and murdered my child. But—”

Carina exhaled sharply and leaned against the wolf as a wave of guilt flooded through her.

“Instead, I was locked in a dungeon, trapped in my own personal hell for four long years. They laced my food and water with aconitum and anything strong enough to keep me comatose. Then Percy found me, recovered what was left of my mind, body, and spirit, and nursed me back to health in secret. I came back for one purpose and one purpose alone, Maura. To finish what you prevented six years ago.”

“You’re going to kill the Countess,” Carina said softly in acknowledgment.

Serilda smiled, a sad, broken, glittering smile that held not a flicker of joy. “Percy will hand his mother over to me once he has taken Lafeara’s throne. I have sworn the Twilight Coven to his service in exchange for my revenge.”

“Percy—is the Witch King,” Carina whispered.

Serilda nodded grimly. “And because he has chosen you as his Queen, I won’t hold this mistake against you.”

The wolf growled out a cold breath of brittle air as its neck stiffened.

“Just as well,” Serilda added with a mocking laugh. “I’d rather not offend a Witch King—or a god.”

[B2] Chapter 55: The Unveiled Truth

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Chapter 55: The Unveiled Truth

Carina forestalled her return to Hawthorne manor with the excuse she wished to return to Viktor’s room, though she was careful to refer to it as “the ancient tomb of the dead dragon.” The marchioness was surprisingly obliging but still encouraged Carina to keep her visit short as they neared the immortal’s burial chamber door.

“I will wait for you outside. The other covens use Anthraticus, and it would not do for them to know too much about you yet,” Serilda warned.

The familiar pattern of light lit up the floor the moment Carina stepped inside Viktor’s lair. The dragon did not stir, but a presence, like a welcoming breath, greeted Carina and seemed to delight the scriva wolf that pricked up its ears and wagged its tail as it followed her inside.

Carina took in a tentative breath. “Viktor?”

“I am here,” the familiar voice answered with a muted sense of frustration. “Do you like my gift?”

“So it was you then,” Carina nodded as she glanced towards the winter wolf.

“In part,” Viktor replied with a hint of approval. “It was your magic and strong desire to protect yourself—however, disorganized and chaotic your thoughts—that gave me the material to work with. All I did was add a sliver of my soul, then apply purpose and design to your magic. Though I suppose your magic is also my magic—” he trailed off as the scriva approached the dragon. The wolf’s eyes, which resembled perfectly round chunks of ice that glowed with a faint blue light, fastened upon the dragon. Then the scriva bowed its head and lay quietly upon the floor beside Carina.

“Your soul?” Carina queried as she watched her summoned companion.

“A small piece of the maker’s soul is necessary to create a scriva,” Viktor explained. “However modest your origins, little ice witch, you carry the heart of a god. Until you are better able to fend for yourself, the scriva will protect you. It will also provide a link to my soul so that we may communicate when you leave the borders of Anthraticus.”

“I see,” Carina murmured as she studied the wolf with new concern. ‘How exactly am I supposed to keep something this magical beside me?’

“Do you?” Viktor’s sniped with a hint of impatience. “I had hoped that air witch would be up to the task of instructing you, but she appeared more focused on harming you than teaching you the basics of magic.”

“I—may have unintentionally caused her harm—in the past,” Carina admitted with a wince as her hands twisted together.

“Be that as it may, training you still require. Your new scriva will not only guard and keep you safe but also help me to train you. However draining that may be—”

“Train me—You?” Carina whispered nervously.

“Prepare yourself, little ice witch. I intend to shape you into a queen worthy of guarding my heart. You may well be grateful that this frozen heart can block out physical pain—though you will likely feel other equally uncomfortable effects.”

Carina swallowed and nodded silently. As harsh as this training already sounded, she had another more pressing issue to deal with. “That—” she gestured to the wolf “—scriva. How do I get rid of it?”

The wolf whined and tilted its head as the dragon fell silent.

“You want to—get rid—of a god-tier scriva?” Viktor sounded incredulous.

“Just temporarily. I can’t have it following me back to the palace,” Carina hastily explained. “Magic is still very much forbidden in the world above Anthraticus. Bringing a wolf made of ice magic into the royal palace—may cause more harm than good. And there are witch hunters in Lafeara!”

A sound, which might have been a snort of laughter, echoed through the chamber.

“A god-tier scriva can control those who may and may not see them,” Viktor explained with a note of amusement. “Unless we are talking other purebloods, the chances of it being discovered are quite low. Though in a fight, it will not be able to maintain its invisibility.”

“Oh?” Carina considered this uncertainly.

“A scriva can also be bound to a highly enchanted jewel or other material. The enchanted object will serve as the scriva’s resting place until you wish to summon it again.”

“Oh!” Carina pondered this quickly as she reached for her chest. “Would the diamond necklace I wore the last time I was here work?”

“The Winter Rose?”

Carina nodded, somewhat surprised Viktor knew its name.

“That necklace is already heavily enchanted,” Viktor replied with a faint rumble of disapproval. “There is not enough room left to hold the enchant necessary to bind your scriva.”

“I see,” Carina frowned. “What sort of enchants does the Winter Rose already have?”

“A tracking spell, a charm spell, a warding spell, and a protection spell,” Viktor listed off with unnerving disinterest.

“Wait—what?!” Carina stammered. The protection spell Percy had certainly mentioned. Serilda had demonstrated its efficiency earlier when she had taken advantage of the Winter Rose’s absence to compel Carina into revealing dangerous truths. ‘But what are these other spells?’

“What do they do exactly?” she queried anxiously.

“The tracking spell is self-explanatory. The witch that cast the spell can keep track of where the necklace is at all times. The original enchantment was recently adjusted to make another witch the owner so that they can track you.

“The protection spell is a bit more unique and probably beyond your stalker’s capabilities. It can disguise a witch as a mortal by shielding their powers or make a mortal look like a witch by imitating a witch’s powers. Both of these spells were forged into the necklace years ago.”

‘Unique indeed, and—aside from this tracking spell—exactly as Percy had described.’ Carina clenched her eyes shut with a groan as she recalled wearing the Winter Rose to both her meeting with Cerberus and Sir Jordan. ‘Now that I know it can be used to track me, I’ll have to be careful when I wear it. As useful as that protection spell is—it would be dangerous if I carelessly revealed the members of Cerberus.’

“What about the other spells? What do they do?”

“The charm enchantment is a few months old. The effect takes hold over time. The longer you wore the necklace, the more enamored you would become to the witch who cast the spell.”

‘Enamored?’ Carina felt sick, and the scriva wolf lifted its head from the ground to glance towards her with a worried whine. ‘Did Percy put some sort of twisted love spell on the necklace? Why?’

“The warding spell is what intrigues me most,” Viktor continued, apparently less concerned about the emotionally manipulating enchantment. “It would seem the witch that cast this meant to ward off an evil spirit of some kind.”

Carina sighed and rubbed her forehead. She was beginning to feel annoyed and lightheaded.

“I’ve seen this spell used before when a witch was haunted by a vengeful ghost,” Viktor mused aloud. “It seems your stalker suspects that you have a specter attached to you.”

‘Percy knows about Maura? How is that even possible—and just how much does he know?’

“Can you tell who cast these spells?” Carina asked quickly, wanting to confirm her suspicions.

“I suspect the oldest spells were cast by the last Isbrand queen when she submerged her child, your ancestor, in a small wine barrel and slipped him out of the sieged castle through the sewer gate to sympathizers.”

Carina’s eyes widened at this piece of information, but she remained silent as she waited for Viktor to finish.

“The enamor and warding spell belong to that pure-blood Earl that brought you here last time,” Viktor proclaimed casually. “I did warn you to be wary of him.”

“But you didn’t mention anything about these spells last time?” Carina demanded.

“The enamor spell would take more than a month to have any effect. To any casual outside viewer and yourself, it would appear you naturally developed feelings for the Earl. Also, as you mentioned, there are witch hunters around. You are taking a greater risk moving around without it.”

Carina sucked in an angry breath and shook her head. “How could I possibly wear something like that?”

“Easily,” Viktor replied with a chuckle. “I broke that particular enchantment the last time you were here—or rather—I subtly changed the spell so it would have the reverse effect.”

“Reverse effect?” Carina echoed, startled more than relieved.

“If you wear that necklace, any man that has an interest in you will become enamored and gladly do anything you ask of them—even if it is against their will.” There was a hint of malice in Viktor’s tone that sent a shiver down Carina’s spine. “Also, your stalker will likely go mad with jealousy if he sees you flirting with someone other than himself. Do with that what you will.”

Carina’s entire body went rigid as shock and rage trembled through her core. She glared at Viktor’s skeletal dragon face for a moment before demanding through clenched teeth, “Wouldn’t removing the spell have been simpler?”

“But nowhere near as entertaining.” The smugness that coated these words reminded Carina that this immortal, however much he claimed to be on her side, could not be trusted.

‘Never mind, if I don’t wear the Winter Rose often, then it shouldn’t be a problem.’ Carina clenched her hands tightly and drew in a breath before she returned to the matter of the scriva, who now wagged its tail as it stared adoringly at Viktor’s remains. “Then what sort of jewel will work—as a resting place for the scriva?”

After a moment of silence, Viktor sighed. “Nothing you currently possess. Perhaps I should have made a lower-tier scriva, but that would require taking a sliver of your soul, and it is already unstable.”

‘An unstable soul?’ Carina wasn’t sure she wanted to know what that meant.

“Ah, I have something here that will suffice. You may consider it a gift for the great service you will provide me in the future.” Viktor chuckled to himself. Then one of the glowing tiles along the floor sputtered. Just as the magical light flickered out, small dots of blinding white magic zipped free from the floor and floated between Carina and Viktor. “The floor's enchantment is powered by my scales. It bars access to gods and mortals alike unless they carry Isbrand blood. This token will have the power to hold another four scriva’s to match this one in strength. Or a hundred lesser scriva’s should you find souls worthy to serve you.”

The small balls of light merged into a blinding glow, then stretched until the magic essence resembled a braided bracelet with five diamond stones, each engraved with runes.

“I almost forgot, the scriva will need a name. You should choose one for it. Speaking that name aloud will summon the scriva to your side no matter where you are.”

“A name? Hmm—” Carina glanced from the shining circle of silver light to where the winter wolf lay patiently, its frozen ears still perfectly arched, as both frozen eyes basked in the magic’s glow. “Lumi?”

A spark crackled along her wrist, and Carina gasped in surprise as the finished silver bracelet glistened against her skin. The vibrant glow of magic slowly faded as she trailed her fingers across the jeweled surface. The scriva—Lumi—watched her movements with a focused expression on its face as it sat facing Carina, with its back to Viktor.

“And now—” Viktor said, his words softer and almost—tired. “Lumi belongs to you.”

“Lumi,” Carina called out, then hesitantly extended her wrist with its bracelet towards the wolf. The scriva grinned, a somewhat chilling sight, as it disintegrated into a glowing shower of snow that swirled towards Carina’s bracelet and vanished inside one of the runed diamonds.

‘Well, that’s one problem solved,’ Carina thought as she bid Viktor farewell and headed through the enchanted barrier. ‘Now to deal the Marchioness who holds a grudge against me and Percy, who is trying to manipulate me.’

[B2] Chapter 56: The Path of Failure

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Chapter 56: The Path of Failure

Carina returned to the palace with a list of potential entertainers provided by Butler Russel and a burdened mind. She stopped by the capital post office, where she paid for parchment and envelopes to write off a quick round of letters that she paid to be delivered no later than the end of the day.

The postmaster was a little annoyed initially, as it was already approaching the end of business hours. Still, when Carina doubled the delivery payment, he assured her he could find some reliable messenger boys to fulfill her request.

One of Carina’s letters was addressed to Sir Everly, warning him that Cerberus may have been exposed and asking that he ensured all members maintained a low profile for the next few weeks. Her second letter was addressed to Physician Samael, asking him to stop by the palace the following morning to see if her ankle could come out of its brace. She needed him to double back and check for new details from his friends in Ventrayna about the Ambassador's early arrival.

Carina considered stopping by the jewelry store as it passed by her carriage window but decided that the bracelet Viktor had crafted her was more than suitable. She stared at the bracelet frequently, in awe of the powerful elemental creature that such a simple ornament held.

Carina shifted her gaze from the bracelet and stifled a tired yawn as the carriage pulled up before her final stop, an apothecary owned by Mr. Frost. “I just need to grab a few herbs to help me sleep,” she explained to Sir Jordan as she opened the carriage door.

The grumpy knight sighed and nodded. He looked like he could use a little help sleeping himself. The longer the day stretched, the more agitated and sore he appeared. ‘Perhaps he hurt himself training with the knights on his off days.’

“You can wait in the carriage if you like,” Carina suggested, entirely open to the idea of leaving her tail behind while she picked up the items waiting for her inside.

“You already disappeared on me once today,” Jordan grumbled as he stubbornly followed her down from the carriage. “If something happens to you under my watch, that bastard will break my legs,” he added under his breath.

Carina frowned as she caught his muttered comment. “Who will break your legs?”

Jordan shrugged and moved on ahead to open the apothecary door for an elderly woman, who thanked him with an appreciative, “Oh my, what a handsome knight. Thank you.”

Jordan’s tired expression brightened a bit before he turned and nodded for Carina to enter first.

Mr. Lambert was just leaving his apprentice to assist another customer that had entered before them when Carina stepped inside. He bustled over and bobbed his head politely, his motions stiffening slightly as he noticed Sir Jordan.

“Ah—How may I assist you today, my Lady?”

“I have come to pick up a special order,” Carina explained as she walked past him towards the counter, hoping to put some distance between herself and Jordan in the process. Fortunately, the knight seemed rather intrigued by the trays of prebagged herbs organized by color and labeled with the contained herb's useful properties.

“A special order?” Lambert’s voice showed surprise even as he studied Carina with a sense of familiarity.

“The order would be under the name Lady Aconitum,” Carina replied in a lowered voice as she turned towards him.

Mr. Lambert looked momentarily confused, then realization set in, and he hastily stooped to offer her another bow.

“Please don’t,” Carina hissed sharply with a glance to Jordan, who was sniffing a purple bag of Feather Mint.

“Oh—apologies,” Lambert nodded his understanding quickly. “It will just take a moment, my Lady. Special orders are kept in the back of the shop.”

“And some herbs to help with sleep as well—wrapped separately,” Carina added with another glance towards the knight.

“Of course, that won’t be an issue, Lady—” he caught himself.

“Lady Anne,” Carina answered with a quick smile of relief as he turned and disappeared into the back of the shop. As far as Lambert was concerned, Lady Aconitum was someone who shared a trusted business relationship with Frost. Carina would rather not give her real name in case the herbs she had come here to acquire failed to neutralize their intended target.

While she waited, Sir Jordan wandered over with a purple and green bag in hand. “This one says it will cure sore muscles. And this one can reduce scarring?”

“Pepper Hen is good for sore muscles if brewed as a tea or boiled into a salve,” Carina amended absently. “Opal Flowers can be crushed, brewed, mixed with beeswax, and applied to scarring. The effect and time to heal are determined by the size and age of the scar. New scars tend to heal quicker.”

Jordan blinked down at her in silence, then exhaled as he stared down at the bags in his hand. “You should have been a healer, Lady Maura.”

Carina smiled. She had wanted to become a nurse in her old life after all. But here, female physicians were called healers, not doctors or physicians. Unfortunately, female healers would never hold equal status to their male counterparts and were generally sought out for their herbal concoctions rather than physical treatment. As such, they were often labeled by the church and the ungrateful as herb witches.

“I merely studied herbs and their remedies as a hobby,” Carina replied dismissively. “You can also cook Pepper Hen into strips of meat to eat after training. The effect is somewhat diminished but if taken daily will achieve the same result.”

“Oh?” Jordan grinned. “That I can do. My mother taught me how to survive in a kitchen before I became a knight. I’ll get two bags of these then and share some with the other men.”

‘It seems he’s grown to trust me,’ Carina mused as Jordan wandered off, and Lambert returned with four bags of herbs. ‘That’s just as well, I suppose. I may need to rely on him in the future.’

“Now these three, as I’m sure you know, Lady Anne, ought to be kept separate and handled with care,” Lambert explained as he handed over the three small black bags. “Ah, and this blue bag has Dusk Ferns, already crushed.” He indicated the blue bag. “Add them to some warm vanilla tea, and you will slip right off to sleep.”

“Excellent,” Carina reached into her purse and pulled out three strings of crescents; each string contained one-hundred crescent coins.

“Ah—no need, Lady Anne. Please tell Mr. Frost I am most grateful for this position and the work. Also, my brother’s family are grateful beyond measure for the house he provided them in the country.”

Carina smiled as she slid two of the strings back into her purse. Lambert’s brother’s family lived in one of four safe havens Carina had set up around the capital. Beneath the pantry floorboards of the country cottage, a hidden chest of clothes, money, and prearranged documents for passage to Strugna waited—in the event that she and Hana were forced to flee Lafeara.

With that comforting thought in mind, Carina offered the remaining string of coins to the apothecary shopkeeper. “These are for his purchases.” Carina nodded to the knight approaching them. “As well as your discretion,” she added somberly and pressed the coins into Lambert’s waiting palm.

“Of course, my Lady,” Lambert replied with a firm nod and a slight wink.

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Sir Jordan grumbled about Carina buying his herbs but seemed relieved they were finally returning to the palace. The sun was setting behind the morose fortress walls, and the number of knights on duty appeared to have tripled. It took quite a while for their carriage to reach the gates for inspection, but the prime minister's pass got them inside quickly enough and without interrogation.

‘I’ll need to make arrangements for Madam Maylea’s dancers. Otherwise, they’ll be turned away in a heartbeat,’ Carina quietly contemplated as the darkness of the tunnel closed in around them. She thought of the impression Serilda had made of the prime minister’s gate pass and quickly devised a plan.

Once back at Rose Palace, Carina dismissed Jordan to get some rest and supper, then bypassed an impatient Mrs. Poppy as she headed up the stairs with her purchases.

“You realize it is supper time?” The head housekeeper announced with a huff as Carina swept past her. “The Crown Princess does not wait on you to eat!”

“I just need to change and freshen up, Mrs. Poppy,” Carina called over her shoulder. “Her Highness is free to start without me.” She hurried to her bedroom and was about to unlock the door when she realized that someone else had entered in her absence.

Carina always left a thin layer of ice inside the door’s keyhole, which served as a means of detection. The ice had been broken, which meant someone else had used their key to enter her room. ‘Just as I bring a very deadly poison into the palace.’ She exhaled softly, inserted her key, and opened the door.

The room was empty and, at first glance, appeared undisturbed.

‘The maids have no reason to enter our rooms and know better than to do so without permission.’ Carina shut the door behind her and slid the lock in place as she critically surveyed her bed-chamber.

The bed had been disturbed, the corner at the end untucked as if someone had searched beneath her mattress. ‘No maid would have left such a telltale mistake.’

Carina moved to her desk, where the blank letter parchment was fanned out evenly. Another mistake, given that Carina had left the third and fifth page intentionally out of place. And, just like the door, the transparent sheet of ice was missing from the lock of her chest, where Carina’s special books and other items were secured. However, a quick check confirmed that the ice hidden along the lid's seam had not been broken.

‘Not a professional who can pick locks then,’ Carina observed with a sigh of relief as she continued her search.

Three books on the bookshelf had been returned out of order, and Carina hastily moved a stack to her desk to check the secret compartment. The Winter Rose dropped down into her left hand, and Carina sank into the desk chair with a sigh of relief. She leaned upon her right hand as she studied the enchanted diamond.

‘To think I would be so worried about losing a jewel enchanted by a love spell.’ Carina brushed a finger over the diamond and set the necklace down on the desk. She pulled the four bags of herbs from her purse and left the blue bag beside the Winter Rose. The three black bags she carried over to her chest. After a few minutes restacking the books on poisons, flowers, and herbs onto the floor, Carina opened the false bottom and tucked the poisonous bags of herbs inside next to another six additional colored bags of red, yellow, black, and purple.

With the false bottom hidden beneath stacks of books once more, Carina sealed the chest’s lock and lid with another transparent layer of ice magic. Then she changed her dress, tidied her hair, returned the Winter Rose to its secret compartment, and left the room. Before Carina turned towards the staircase, she grazed her thumb over the keyhole and left another layer of transparent ice inside it once more.

‘They didn’t find anything useful this time—but that doesn’t mean they won’t come back.’

❆❆❆❆❆

The range of suspects who could have accessed her bedroom waited for Carina in the dining room below. Mrs. Poppy had a spare key to every room in Rose Palace. Lady Tiffany and Lady Hana both had duplicate keys that could open Carina’s room, as did Lady Evelynn, who sat pale but composed, at the end of the table in Carina’s usual seat beside Lady Hana.

“Ah, you’re back,” Eleanor greeted her with a smile. “Your new seat is here, Lady Maura.” She gestured to Evelynn’s old seat beside her at the head of the table while Hana hid a satisfied grin behind her iced tea.

“Thank you, your Highness,” Carina replied politely as she took her seat. “My apologies for being late. The capital has become quite hectic to navigate through.”

“You went to the capital?” Tiffany asked in surprise. Evelynn glanced over but said nothing as her stiff expression soured.

“Lady Maura went to the Hawthorne estate to find suitable entertainment for the Ambassador and our guests at the banquet,” Hana explained as she set her glass beside a plate of quail eggs salad. The rest of the dinner plates held an entirely different menu of cooked salmon.

“Ah,” Eleanora said as she observed Carina’s gaze. “Thanks to Lady Evelynn’s thoughtfulness, we seem to have a lot of fish in storage. I’d rather not let it go to waste—Although I prefer venison myself.” She gestured to the dear meat on her plate.

“Of course,” Carina replied as she reached for her fork. A spark from the bracelet stilled her hand as she dug into the fish and, after a moment's pause, Carina set down the bite of undercooked salmon and picked up her glass of white wine instead. “Your Highness, among the Countess' known entertainers, I managed to find a group of exotic dancers. I was wondering if I might prepare a letter of admittance so they can drop by the palace for an interview with you before the banquet.”

“Exotic dancers?” Eleanora raised a brow while her lips twitched with amusement. “That would certainly suit my uncle’s taste, but what about the other guests.”

“I also secured some musicians from a local noble family who are friends of the Hawthornes,” Carina explained, leaving out the fact that it was Lady Serilda who had agreed to use the Earl’s influence to guarantee the musicians for the welcome feast. Carina had tentatively offered to invite Serilda to the banquet in return, but the marchioness had declined with a laugh.

“I have not yet had a chance to update my wardrobe, so social occasions will have to wait,” had been Serilda’s somewhat embarrassed explanation.

Carina replied that she would send in a request to Sir Everly to fashion a wardrobe of dresses for Lady Serilda in return. ‘It was the least I could do. I did promise to help the Marchioness get caught up on the capital’s fashion trend, after all.’

“Excellent,” Eleanora raised her glass in a toast. “Then, as we are pressed for time, I will trust your judgment on this, Lady Maura. Though you are free to pass them by Lady Hana if you would like a second opinion.”

Evelynn’s fork screaked painfully against her plate as she stared down at the undercooked salmon that even Tiffany was reluctant to touch.

“Ah, it seems it will take Chef Robbi a bit of practice to get the fish right,” Eleanora observed with an apologetic smile. “Mrs. Poppy. I think a few more plates of salad and quail egg would better suit my lady's stomachs.”

Tiffany let out a sigh of relief as the kitchen maids removed the offending plates and returned with fresh greens, cook quail eggs, soft bread rolls, and a side bowl of sweet vinaigrette dressing.

‘They already had this prepared—so Eleanora and Hana are simply rubbing Evelynn’s face further into her failure.’

“Thank the Saint’s,” Tiffany murmured beside Carina. “Can you imagine if we had served that fish at the banquet?” Her comment was intentionally loud enough to catch Evelynn’s ear. The pale noblewoman’s hand trembled as she reached for her previously used fork, then knocked it off the table as one of the maids passed by with a pitcher of tea.

“Don’t you see I require a new fork!” Evelynn hissed as the maid hurriedly passed the pitcher to another servant and knelt to retrieve the fallen utensil.

Carina chewed her quail egg silently as her gaze trailed from the apologizing maid to the furious and trembling Evelynn, over to the duo of smiling victors, Hana and Eleanora.

‘Failure always rolls downhill.’

Carina focused on her meal, knowing she would need all her energy for tonight when her training with Viktor began.

[B2] Chapter 57: A Channel of Power

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Chapter 57: A Channel of Power

After dinner, Carina stopped by the kitchen to brew two cups of tea before heading upstairs. She carried them to the library, where Hana contentedly read a book of Ventrayna poems on the sofa. In the crown princess’s office, Eleanora and Tiffany were busy finalizing the guest list and seating arrangement for the banquet. Evelynn was nowhere in sight, but judging by the noblewoman’s presence at dinner, she would not be leaving Rose Palace anytime soon.

“Ahh, is that for me?” Hana asked with a warm smile as she looked up from her book.

“Yes, some more Valerian tea,” Carina answered as she held out the prepared cup. “I’m going to turn in early tonight. I’ve had a long day and I need to be up first thing tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Hana replied as she set the still steaming cup on the table beside her. “Don’t worry about me, Maura. I am feeling remarkably improved while you have been looking a bit worn down recently. It would be a good idea to get some rest now—before the Ambassador arrives.” The attendant’s expression darkened as her fingers fidgeted with the book’s leather binding.

Carina smiled and nodded at the cup of tea she held out to the distracted attendant. “That’s what this is for. Don’t let her Highness keep you up too late, Hana.”

Hana smiled again as she accepted the tea and bid Carina pleasant dreams before she resumed her reading.

A quick check of the bedroom door lock showed the thin layer of ice inside remained unmolested. Carina secured it behind her once more, then set the warm cup and saucer by her bed before changing and letting down her hair for the night. After downing the tea, which proved rather pleasant despite the Dusk Ferns' rich herbal taste, Carina set the cup aside and focused on her bracelet.

“Lumi?” She called out hesitantly and shivered as the weight of the frost scriva appeared on the bed beside her. Fortunately, Lumi had taken on the size of a normal wolf rather than the giant form the scriva had originally taken when she first appeared before Carina. The elemental creature offered it's master a happy grin as it lay down on the bed beside Carina and wagged its tail.

“I guess that’s easy enough,” Carina mused as she studied the snow-like fur of the scriva and then, after a moment’s hesitation, ran her fingers across the giant wolf’s head. The elemental’s coat was cold to the touch but still felt like animal hair or fur that had been rolled about in a field of snow.

“Well, I suppose I’m ready, Lumi,” Carina said hesitantly. “What do I do now? How do we contact Viktor?”

The wolf blinked slowly. Then the scriva shut its eyes as its snout pressed against Carina’s hip. The word ‘Sleep’ filled her mind, and Carina laughed.

“Easier said than done,” she muttered and lay back against the pillows. A flicker of movement that might have been Maura appeared in the corner of the room. Lumi growled, and the figure quickly vanished. Carina glanced over at the scriva, feeling oddly reassured by Lumi’s presence as she rested her hand against the wolf’s cold paw and shut her eyes.

“Are you ready, little ice witch?” Viktor’s voice greeted Carina the moment her eyes closed, and a cold chill spread throughout her body before she was tugged suddenly deeper by the force of magic that flared awake inside her chest.

“All magic comes from the ancient gods, dragons or immortals as some call us. Before witches learned to draw in elements from the world around them, they first learned to connect to those elements through these gods. Each of the Six bestowed a different blessing that creates an affinity for their element. That affinity is passed down through the witch’s bloodline and is what formed the original covens.

“As the Marchioness taught you, the stronger the witch, the more elemental force they can store up. But even the strongest pure-blood witch has a limited source of magic. However, this method of control and learning is useless for you, Carina. Instead of learning to ration your magic spells, you must learn to temper your body to withstand the power such magic can inflict on your physical form if you were to lose control.”

‘Wait—why is it different for me?’ Carina interrupted curiously.

“You already know the answer, but I will explain in more detail so you may better appreciate the danger. My heart, which you now possess, is a bottomless pool of magic you have but to tap into. Once opened, you can control the flow, range, power, and perception of the most powerful spells known to any mortal. My heart will make you stronger than any ice witch before you. More powerful than any of Kritanta’s consorts. But it is limited by your mortal shell and dangerous to you if this shell is not properly prepared to wield such power.”

The outline of a pulsing crystal heart—or perhaps a heart of ice given the freezing energy that rolled off it in waves of numbing magic—formed clearly inside Carina’s mind as she focused on Victor’s voice.

“Magic is the essence of creation and destruction. Life and death. Rebirth and decay. You have but to fuse it with your body and make yourself its master. This is something that must be done gradually in your case. Your body has adapted to possessing my heart, but it would shatter in an instant if you used more magic than it can withstand.

“That is why our training will begin here, strengthening your body to control the magic contained in a god’s heart. You will connect to my magic, fuse it with your body, and hold that connection and intensity for longer periods and intensity until you can safely master the depths of power it may grant you.”

‘If this magic is so dangerous—then why should I—'

“My magic can make you as immortal as a witch can be, Carina.” Viktor’s voice interrupted soothingly. “Time will no longer hold you prisoner as your body stops aging. Your blood will make a hostile environment for any invading illness or disease. Your skin will become as hard as steel that can deflect any mortal blade. To the Mortals, you will become akin to a god, even if you cannot reincarnate your spirit as the Six can. Then you will be able to revive the scattered ice witches and free me from this prison.”

‘So, I would gain power and immortality.’ Carina exhaled slowly, uneasy at the thought of possessing that much power, as much as it offered her a greater certainty of survival. ‘If nothing else, I can use this power to free Viktor. Having a god on my side would probably be a good thing—assuming I can trust him.’ She flinched for a moment as she wondered whether Viktor was privy to all her inner thoughts or just the ones she directed at him, but a moment later, the immortal resumed his lesson without comment.

“Ice can crush cities, gnaw through mountains, and break even the strongest metals of this earth. Yet, it is fragile, beautiful, and not immune to a dragon’s flame. Witch fire, however—” Victor’s tone took on a smug note “—is still reliant upon the air. Freeze the air around a fire witch, and you starve them of their power—to an extent at least—more than enough to turn the tide of any battle with a pure-blood. Should Kritanta or her consort find you, this is something you must remember. Even if it costs you your life, Carina, you can never allow the Goddess of Fire to reclaim my heart. It would mean your death in either case, but it would also ensure the destruction of this world should you fail. Now—open your eyes.”

Carina opened her eyes and found herself standing upon a frozen sheet of ice in the middle of a black ocean beneath a starless sky. A glowing figure stirred beneath the water, bright and pale like the absent moon, but long and coiled like a serpent or—dragon. ‘Is that Viktor?’

“Ice is the combination of air and water elements. Yet even a pure-blood ice witch struggles to control both elements separately at the same time. However, with practice, you will learn to manipulate their temperature by adjusting their values. This is how you will weave elements into a spell. Air controls the temperature and shape, while water controls the density and strength.

“Most witches must draw their magic from exterior elements around them. You, however, are different, and this is your greatest advantage. Outside elements contain impurities that may diminish or distort a witch’s control over them. Most pure-bloods have a natural inborn ability to reduce these impurities, allowing them to control and wield more potent magic than coven witches.

These impurities are the reason why half-witches cannot control the magic they are born with but can use artifacts and enchanted tools. Those tools are enchanted to purify and store magic that these half-witches can then unleash at will. Both methods are useless to you, Carina because you connect directly to the source of ice magic.”

‘But—how?’ Carina glanced about the thin sheet of ice, somewhat concerned by its delicate, fragile state.

“You do not recognize where you are?”

‘Ah—no? I’ve never been here before, so how would I recognize it?’

Viktor hesitated for a moment as if somewhat surprised by her answer. Then he resumed calmly, “This is your heart, Carina. Our heart. The elements that form ice magic are all here. The purest forms of water and wind magic await your will and pleasure. You have but to give these elements their shape, by combining them, controlling their density and temperature, to forming them into the desired spell.”

‘That sounds—rather complex.’

“It takes practice to master such control but take heart, Carina. You will progress much quicker than either a coven or pure-blood witch thanks to the purity of my magic.” Once more, Viktor sounded smug as he reassured her. “For now, envision a complex object and try to create it.”

Carina tilted her head, then closed her eyes with a reluctant sigh as she tried to focus. ‘I had hoped for a bit more direction than this, but nothing beats a hands-on approach, I guess.’

The vision of a crown came unbidden to her mind, and Carina almost dismissed it, but a sudden sense of déjà vu washed over her as she studied the intricately detailed, glittering circlet.

‘Eh. Why not? It would certainly be a challenge.’

“Good, now envision the circlet in your hands, Carina. The closer the spell is to you, the easier the magic is to control and shape. Given time, you will be able to produce long-distance spells with the same efficiency.”

Feeling a bit more confident after Viktor’s encouragement, Carina held both hands open, palms up, below her chest. She focused on the crown's basic shape, circular with a strong base, and felt the frigid magic in her chest flow like chunks of ice through her bloodstream. The effect was more than a little bit uncomfortable and disorienting as her muscles tensed in response. Viktor’s comment about not feeling any pain made her grimace.

“Remember, your element is just a combination of water and air. You are trying to make ice before you’ve learned to weave water and air together. Think of water like paint while air is the brush guiding it across a surface, or you can try the thread and needle approach, but that one is a bit more wasteful.”

‘Neither of those are particularly helpful.’ Carina sighed and grimaced as the ice magic built up like a blockade in her chest. The sense of danger tingled across her skin as Carina’s lungs tightened. She scrambled for the most effective solution to envision her magic and allow her to manipulate it.

Carina’s thoughts drifted to the memory of a metalsmith she had seen once in a street fair. He started with clumps of metal that he scorched and melted down to make the most delicate and intricate jewelry Carina had ever seen. She had bought a pair of friendship rings off him afterward, one for her and one for Jade.

Carina focused on that image as she imagined the ice grinding through her veins, slowly melting into threads of cold metal.

“That’s an interesting approach,” Viktor whispered but remained silent as Carina exhaled with audible relief.

The blockage inside her body dissipated, and before long, a steady stream of cold metal liquid that glowed a faint blue color flowed from her heart down throughout her body and pooled inside her palms and fingers.

Carina focused on the image of the crown. She could see its shape quite clearly as if she had sketched the circlet in the air before her. The cold magic filled her palms and flowed into the circular shape of the headband. Carina smiled, even as her fingers stiffened beneath the frigid magic. She remained focused on the structure of ice before her, the rising piercing ridges, the sparkling frozen gems, the weave of frost runes across the silver band.

Her hands trembled as cramps spasmed from her palms up her wrists and eventually reached the muscles in her arms. Carina was dimly aware that her fingers were turning a dark shade of blue as she focused on the crown's weight and finished the inscription on the inside of the circlet, which read Immortalitatis Potentia.

“Are you satisfied, little ice witch?”

“Yes.” Carina exhaled sharply and wrapped her numb hands around her waist as the crown floated in the blank space behind her closed eyes.

“Then open your eyes.”

Carina pried her eyes open eagerly and gawked at the crown that hovered before her. It wasn’t perfect, but it was remarkably similar to the image she had drawn from, an image that felt even more intimately familiar as she looked at the crown before her. “Why—do I know this?”

“The same way you knew the Witch Star. These are memories from your past lives. Memories, my little Carina, are powerful tools of magic. They contain secrets, knowledge, power, and insight, but they can also be corrupted, manipulated, and used against you.”

Carina looked up from the crown at the warning note in his voice. After the Winter Rose, she wasn’t going to dismiss Viktor’s subtle warnings anymore. “What do you mean? Have my memories been manipulated?”

There was a moment’s pause before Victor’s voice, sounding oddly strained and thin as if it were passing through a dense surface, answered, “Yes.”

The crown in front of Carina shattered as her brain lit on fire. The frozen sheet of ice beneath her feet collapsed in the same instant, and she sank into the dark grip of the ocean’s embrace.

“Foolish little mortal.” A deep feminine voice echoed through the tide burning against her ears as Carina drank in a breath of inky black water and tried to scream. “Those who swim in unknown waters should not be surprised when they drown.”

Something cold and slimy wrapped around Carina’s ankles and yanked her further still. Water filled her lungs, and Carina’s muscles seized in panic as her vision grew blurry. A burning white light burned around her outstretched hand, and then Lumi appeared beside her. The wolf glowed like the moon as it grabbed the wrist that held Viktor’s bracelet between its fangs and pulled Carina upwards.

❆❆❆❆❆

A canopy of curtains appeared before Carina’s eyes as she lurched to the side of the bed and vomited. Water, and a bit of dinner, spilled from her stomach and lungs onto the carpeted floor between painful gasps of air. Lumi crawled over the bed beside her, the scriva’s snow-like fur as soaked as Carina’s drenched nightgown.

‘What happened? Was I—drowning? What the hell?’

Carina gripped the edge of the bed with fingers that were still stiff and blue from the magic she had used. ‘Was that real? Did I almost die in my dreams?’ She rolled onto her side and collapsed against her damp sheets as Lumi whined and nuzzled the bracelet on her wrist.

“Viktor?” Carina rasped questioningly.

Lumi stilled, but the word ‘Caution’ filled Carina’s mind.

“What exactly am I to be cautious of?” Carina snapped bitterly as she wiped a hand against the acid taste on her lips. “Is this almost drowning going to be a nightly thing?” She grimaced as another worry came to mind. “Damn it, how am I supposed to explain my bed getting wet in the middle of the night?”

Exhaustion rolled over her as Carina drew in a deep breath through her trembling fingers and tried to calm her shaken nerves. The voice she had heard in the dark ocean was not the voice of the woman in red who stalked her nightmares.

‘Then who is she? Another witch or another god?’

Carina took in another shaky breath as the anxiety rising in her gut almost made her puke again. She exhaled forcefully as Lumi whimpered beside her. Pulling her hands away from her face, Carina reached out to pet the scriva’s head gratefully.

“I have a feeling you saved me back there. Thank you, Lumi.”

A cold nose against her palm was the wolf’s response before it jumped off the bed and shook itself dry. Carina remained where she was, drained and miserably wet. She thought of Ivy then and how much she missed her trusted friend’s calming presence and reassuring company. Then she thought of Jade and the odd change in her old friend's behavior and felt a tingle of unease spread through her gut.

“Memories can be corrupted, manipulated, and used against you.”

Viktor had already confirmed that Carina’s memories had been manipulated. ‘But which ones, and by who?’ With a frustrated sigh, Carina pushed herself up and began the task of changing her gown and stripping the bed of its wet sheets and pillows. She piled the damp sheets and garments together in a basket, then pulled on a fresh nightgown and robe before leaving her room.

The hallway was dark, with only the dim moonlight from the windows to light her way. Carina decided against waking any servants and instead went to the downstairs linen room, where she found a spare blanket and some sheets. After covering her bed and pillows with a reasonable amount of material, Carina collapsed upon the bed again and, with a bit more reluctance, fell into a deep sleep.

Lumi lay down on the edge of the bed and growled softly at the window as Maura flickered through the bedroom door. The ghost offered the wolf her own fanged snarl before she glanced towards the necklace hidden inside the bookshelf and faded from view.

[B2] Chapter 58: A Vision of Ghosts

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Chapter 58: A Vision of Ghosts

Carina knew she was ill before she opened her eyes the next morning. Her throat was hot and dry while the bed sheets wrapped around her were cold and damp. A headache greeted her the moment she raised her cheek from the pillow and peeled her eyes open. Nauseating vertigo soon followed as she struggled to dress and tidy her hair.

The room still smelled of vomit despite her best efforts to clean late last night. What lingering strength Carina had gained from a few hours of sleep quickly faded by the time she tightened the laces of her first shoe. She promptly abandoned any thought of changing her sheets as she fought back another wave of nausea and pulled on her last shoe.

“Damn it, why now?” Carina grumbled as she grabbed a clean shawl from her closet and stumbled over to the door.

Tilly waited just on the other side and lowered her raised hand quickly. “Oh! Good morning! Mrs. Poppy sent me to—” she trailed off as she focused on Maura’s face and sniffed the air from the room tentatively. “Oh—Oh dear me, Lady Maura!”

A cool hand pressed against Carina’s damp bangs, and she blinked as Tilly retreated further still.

“You had better stay inside,” Tilly whispered worriedly. “You look ready to fall over at any moment as it is. I’ll let Mrs. Poppy know you aren’t feeling well!”

“No, I—” The coarseness of her voice made Carina grimace.

“I’ll bring up some warm honey tea and a light breakfast in just a moment,” Tilly replied, already heading towards the stairs.

Carina left her door slightly ajar with a defeated sigh and—not caring to return to her damp sheets—collapsed into the chair beside her writing desk to wait.

“Lady Maura, what are you doing out of bed?” Mrs. Poppy’s sharp voice jolted her awake as Carina nearly fell off the corner of the desk.

‘Augh—when did I fall asleep?’

“Sorry—what time is it?” Carina mumbled as she rubbed her neck. The heat in her throat seemed to have spread throughout her body. Although the headache from before had faded, a dull ache remained behind her tired eyes that left her vision slightly unfocused. Dark shadows filled the corner of the room and seemed to loom towards her every time Carina raised her gaze from the desk.

“Tilly told me you weren’t feeling well,” Mrs. Poppy replied. “I can see that she was right. Goodness, and your mattress is soaked. This—smell—Tilly!”

Footsteps entered the room as Carina leaned against her hand tiredly, struggling to keep her eyes open.

“Fetch a few more maids. We’ll have to change the mattress. Bring up a mop and bucket as well and an extra privacy pot.”

“Yes, Mrs. Poppy.” Tilly quickly dashed back outside. Carina jumped as the bedroom window slammed open.

“Now is hardly the appropriate time for you to fall ill, Lady Maura,” Mrs. Poppy announced grimly as she circled the room, allowing the cool draft of morning air to fill the space behind her.

‘I know that, thank you.’ Carina cleared her throat and stared at the books on her shelf. The multi-colored spines appeared to waver and slide against one another as her stomach flipped unpleasantly.

“I heard Lady Maura was ill?” Hana’s voice came from the door.

“Best you didn’t enter, Lady Hana!” Poppy said sharply. “Until the doctor has examined her, we can’t be sure it isn’t catching.”

Carina grunted in agreement and sent what she hoped was a reassuring smile towards the door. “I’m fine—it’s just a cold.” Her gaze caught on the strange glow of light that seemed to outline Hana’s figure as the older attendant swept past the housekeeper towards her.

“I’m more resilient to common illness than you know, Mrs. Poppy,” Hana remarked confidently as she leaned over Carina. “You have a fever, Lady Maura. You should be in bed.”

“The bed needs changing. The mattress and sheets are soaked,” Poppy explained with a hint of annoyance.

“Then Lady Maura can rest in my room until a fresh mattress and blankets have been prepared for her,” Hana replied adamantly.

“No—that—” Carina protested, but Hana was already pulling Carina firmly to her feet. Vertigo returned, as did the painful twist in her gut, yet the comforting touch of Hana’s hands soon chased the worst of these symptoms away.

“Lean on me, Maura. That’s right. We’re almost there.”

‘It would seem the physician and patient have switched places,’ Carina thought numbly as she focused on the tilting floorboards before her.

Carina offered no resistance as the older attendant tucked her beneath the lilac-scented blankets. Hana deftly removed the askew pins from Carina’s hair, and the sounds of a lullaby spoken in a language Carina did not know soon had her eyes drifting shut once more.

The deep pull of sleep swept Carina back beneath the ocean’s dark tide, where another one of Maura’s memories waited.

The sparkling palace walls and floors look different from the eyes of a tired maid, who had spent the better part of the early hours scrubbing dried mud from the marble foyer steps and floor. Maura cringed as the sharp clip of Mrs. Poppy’s footsteps came up behind her.

“Are you still not done?” The head housekeeper demanded. “The ladies will be down at any moment, and her Majesty needs to walk past here to leave for her morning ride!”

“I just finished,” Maura answered sullenly as she gathered up the brush and bucket and rose from her protesting knees.

“But the floor is still wet!” Poppy snapped. “Do you expect the other maids to finish your tasks for you? Or are you hoping someone will slip and break their neck coming down the stairs?”

“No, Mrs. Poppy,” Maura murmured as she hung her head and slouched towards her right shoulder, allowing her tangled bangs, damp with sweat, to fall over the scar on her right cheek.

“Then fetch a clean cloth to dry it—and hurry!”

The sharp-pointed shoes turned back towards the kitchen, and Maura hastily followed, flinching as the bucket banged against her throbbing knee and muddy water sloshed down upon the floor.

The Queen’s ladies-in-waiting were just rousing from their beds by the time Maura finished rubbing the last section of the marble floor dry. She exhaled in weary relief and rubbed her aching back as she willed her legs to stand once more.

“Her Majesty said the Earl will make his return at tomorrow night’s ball,” Lady Meredith whispered excitedly as she followed Lady Evelynn downstairs. “Eve, we will finally have an opportunity to catch his eye.”

“Shh!” Evelynn hissed as Maura quickly ducked out of sight behind the stairwell. “Only with their Majesty’s blessing. We must stay on her Majesty’s good side until then.”

“Well, better us than that awful cousin of his. I can’t believe Lady Serilda had the nerve to return to court. Thanks to her, the Hawthorne and Borghese families are practically at war with each other.”

“Anyone can see Queen Eleanora positively loathes the Marchioness. That woman has a terrifying ability to turn men’s heads,” Evelynn agreed with a note of contempt, “Come we should—” She cut off abruptly just as they passed by the corner where Maura was waiting. “You there—servant, are you spying on us?”

Maura blinked and raised her gaze timidly to the violet fan clutched tightly in Evelynn’s hand.

“Oh—her,” Meredith wrinkled her nose. “I thought they finally got rid of that awful creature.”

“I was moved—I clean at night—” Maura stammered.

“Then what are you doing standing about in the daylight?” Evelynn cut in impatiently.

“Mud—on the floors—”

“The floors?” Meredith glanced down with a dismissive snort. “Is that why they looked so tacky?”

“Did you scrub them with those grimy rags you’re wearing?” Evelynn scoffed. “Next time get up earlier and be done with your work before the sun comes up. No one wants to see that awful face of yours—”

“Or smell you, for that matter.”

“—first thing in the morning,” Evelynn finished. “Now go! Shew! Before you make us lose our appetite.”

“Is there a problem, Lady Evelynn?” Hana asked coldly as she glided down the stairs towards them. “Why are you harassing the staff? You were sent to fetch her Majesty’s breakfast.”

“We were—we are—” Evelynn pushed Meredith past Maura towards the kitchen. “This slave got in our way.”

“Maura is not a slave but a palace servant,” Hana corrected with a scornful scowl. “If you have a complaint, take it up with Mrs. Poppy. Do not delay your own tasks.”

“Yes, Lady Hana,” Evelynn replied demurely before she cast a scathing glare in Maura’s direction.

Maura flinched and dropped her rag as the two attendants hurried down the hall towards the kitchen.

“I’m sorry for their behavior, Maura.”

“It’s fine, my Lady,” Maura replied hastily and bent to pick up the fallen cloth. “I am still—grateful to you—for giving me a position here.”

“Are you getting much sleep?” Hana pressed worriedly. “Mrs. Poppy said it was easier for you to clean in the evening, but why are you still awake this early?”

“The Queen returned late from the hunt—muddied the floor. I woke early—there was much to clean.”

“Oh yes, I see.” Hana glanced towards the now clean marble floor. “Well, you’ve done your task admirably, Maura. Now go get some breakfast and then back to bed.”

Maura looked up in surprise as Hana touched her shoulder. As always, the foreign beauty’s gentle touch seemed to pry past her exhaustion and sealed away emotions to fill Maura’s chest with an aching warmth.

“And do let me know if they keep harassing you,” Hana added with a smile that lit up the marble walls around them. “I’ll put them in their place.”

“T-thank you,” Maura whispered back.

She stared after the golden-haired angel long after Hana had left the sun-flooded foyer. As Maura slid back inside the candlelit servant’s tunnel, she touched the silver bracelet of stars Hana had gifted her on Maura’s seventeenth birthday just a week before. It was the only valuable possession Maura owned, and she treasured it. The hunched maid polished the bracelet lovingly as she wandered back towards the end of the passage and shivered as she walked through the dark specter.

The skeletal king’s red eyes flashed over a malicious smile as his gaze followed behind Maura’s limping figure. He vanished beneath the candlelight as Maura opened the side door and headed past the pantry towards the servant’s back exit.

❆❆❆❆❆

Carina woke disoriented as the familiar canopy of her bed came into view around her. A snore drew her attention to Tilly, collapsed in a chair beneath the now-closed bedroom window. The glass panes glimmered a fiery pink, illuminated by the setting sun. Carina sighed and pushed herself up to sit.

‘A full day gone—what a waste.’

“Oh, I—must have nodded off,” Tilly apologized as she rubbed dry saliva from the corner of her mouth. “How are you feeling, Lady Maura?”

“Better,” Carina admitted with some relief.

“The physician said you were worn out from not enough sleep—and exposure to the cold,” Tilly explained between yawns. “Have you been sleeping with the window open?”

“I—must have,” Carina muttered as she rubbed her rumbling empty stomach.

“Ah, it sounds like you could use that beef and mushroom soup the Chef set aside for you,” Tilly exclaimed with noticeable relief. “My mum always said a healthy appetite is a sure sign you’re on the mend.”

“Be sure to pass the Chef my gratitude. I’ll have whatever Robbi has prepared.”

“Oh, you got a letter and a package while you were sleeping.” Tilly moved towards the writing desk, where she picked up a blue wrapped parcel and an envelope. “As long as you promise to stay in bed, I’ll bring them over to you.”

Carina raised a brow at Tilly’s threatening tone but nodded her agreement. “Alright. Thank you, Tilly.”

“I’ll be right back with your dinner then,” Tilly replied cheerfully as she placed the items on the blanket beside Carina and headed for the door. “Would you like anything particular to drink? There’s still some of that herbal tea Lady Hana prepared downstairs.”

“That should be fine,” Carina sighed as she lay back against the pillows.

The moment the door shut behind Tilly, Carina sat up, ignoring the faint specs that clouded her vision as her tired neck and shoulders protested. She ripped open the blue parcel and found a blue-dyed leather-bound book lay wrapped in twine within. Carina tugged the binds free impatiently and flipped the book open to where a small carved-out cavity held the two silver hairpins wrapped in a strip of leather. She examined the hairpins' spiraled ends critically, then wrapped and returned them to the book, which she shoved under her pillow. Discarding the blue wrapping, Carina picked up the letter and smiled at the Maylea Flower stamped upon the upper left corner.

A simple note waited inside.

Lady M.

We have arrived and taken lodgings at Rutenberg Inn on Saddleback Street. The rooms are comfortable, if not a bit loud. Feel free to visit at your convenience.

We look forward to showing you our performance and shall await further instructions.

G & L

Carina read the note twice and exhaled in relief as she tucked the letter between the pages of her new book. Then she glanced towards the rose gold horizon just outside her window and resolved not to waste another day.

‘Turns out a day of sleep was just what I needed. The best time to access the secret tunnel and slip outside unnoticed is after nightfall. I’ll just have to wait for Tilly and the rest of the palace to sleep.’

Carina smiled grimly and lay back against her pillows. She absently stroked the curls of her ash-brown hair as she waited for supper and contemplated the demise of Maura’s first victim.

[B2] Chapter 59: The Trouble with Twins

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Chapter 59: The Trouble with Twins

The last step of the secret staircase behind the dining room wall creaked like an old man’s bones as Carina reached the bottom. She drew in a quick breath, listened to the silence for a moment, and then opened the false wall behind the tapestry which hung in the dining room.

Once more, she skirted from shadow to shadow until she reached the servant’s door beneath the stairwell in the foyer and entered the hidden hallway. The rose tiles glowed blue under the frost of her magic, and Carina descended into the dark passageway as her candlestick sputtered, its dim light dancing along the cave-like tunnel.

The increased number of knights patrolling outside the fortress walls and along the capital streets provided another challenge altogether. In preparation for the Ambassador’s arrival, a new curfew had been implemented, which prohibited carriages on the streets after the ninth bell. With no alternative other than traveling by foot, Carina headed towards her destination that lay some distance from the border of cherry trees surrounding the royal castle.

Saddleback Street was located just east of the slums, not far from the Serpentine River. As a result, numerous bars and inns had been erected along the district that accommodated visiting sailors, merchants, and other travelers.

The knights increased presence offered some security against mugging and other nefarious activity that often took place this close to the slums. The capital’s peacekeepers also made a point to interrogate anyone they caught outside after curfew and encouraged citizens to remain indoors to avoid unnecessary trouble.

Carina avoided the knights as best she could. The torches they carried certainly made them easy enough to spot long before they caught sight of her. She was also grateful for her small stature, although being able to hide behind barrels of waste and trash wasn’t exactly something worth celebrating.

Just in case she was detained, Carina had chosen a simple dark cloak and her old Lady Aconitum mask for this trip. The silver knives from Master Iker and the bracelet that connected her to Lumi and Viktor provided additional comfort as she approached Rutenberg Inn, her feet and nerves more than a little worn out from the long, tense journey.

A thick coating of stale ale and something that smelled like aged cheese mingled with the pungent aroma of dirty socks and body odor that nearly took Carina off her feet as she entered the Inn. Crushed nutshells, hardened grime, and unidentifiable puddles of what might have once been consumed ale lined the crowded floor before her.

A few men at the door glanced in her direction with surprised and curious eyes, but most of the barroom occupants remained focused on the small square platform at the opposite end of the establishment. A blonde woman commanded the room with her magnetic smile, sultry blue eyes, and evocative garments that appeared little more than satin scarfs sewn together. Carina watched as the entertainer twisted her lithe body into a sensual dance that soon had the masked attendant averting her gaze back to the crowded room.

‘So—that’s what passes for exotic dancing here.’

Although Madam Maylea had shown Carina something similar during their practice sessions, this dancer appeared to have passed the advanced course with flying colors.

Aware of the attention drifting in her direction the longer she stood by the door, Carina skirted the tables of sailors, merchants, and one or two nobles, who tried to blend in with the local riffraff. She headed towards the establishment’s owner located behind the bar.

“Now look here,” the barman grunted as soon as he caught sight of her. “I don’t know what foolishness brought a young lady like you out after dark, but I won’t be held responsible for your wellbeing. Now back out the way you came, quick like. Find the nearest knight—there’s more than plenty of them about these days—and get back to your nursemaid and crib.”

“I’m expected,” Carina replied with a tired smile. “A friend of Madam Maylea referred me to this place.”

“What? Maylea?” The bar owner cocked his head at her and sighed through the stained clouds of his once magnificent beard. “Then you better wait in the back out of sight. Lilaru’s almost finished her number. It wouldn’t do to spoil the lad’s fun prematurely.”

“Alright, thank you,” Carina quickly agreed, aware of the pointed gaze some of the men were giving her. One fellow in particular, who looked vaguely familiar through the haze of pipe smoke, lingered at the corner of the bar studying her with his one good eye.

“Follow me then. Spit! Take over here for a moment, would you!”

Carina was relieved to find the back rooms were better maintained. Each contained a simple wooden bed, threadbare mattress, and patched-up blanket for those too encumbered by the Inn’s fine ale to make it back home safely. They were also available for temporary rent, but very few who could afford the coin would choose to sleep here while they remained sober.

“I’ll let Griselda know you’re here. She wasn’t feeling up to dancing for the boys tonight, not that it mattered. Lilaru’s more than enough for this crowd,” the innkeeper said conversationally as he handed over a key. “Don’t let any gentlemen in—or anyone other than Lilaru and Griselda for that matter. I’d rather stay on Maylea’s good side if you know what I mean.”

“I appreciate your assistance,” Carina replied with a quick smile as she offered four crescents for the room.

The innkeeper hesitated but accepted the coins, then nodded politely before he turned and shut the door behind him.

‘Much nicer than Alex, but then he only has to get rough when his customers get unruly.’

The bar's boisterous noise continued for a time, then eventually rose to a crescendo of applause. The sound of a flute filled the gaps between as echoing whistles splintered the air, and the cheers faded. Then the capital bell tower boomed out ten solemn gongs, and the barkeeper issued a last call for drinks.

Carina touched the leather pouch at her side and pulled out the box with the two silver hairpins she had special ordered. She sighed, checked the pendant watch at her waist nervously, then jumped as a faint knock came from her door.

“Lady M?” a female voice whispered.

“Who are you?” Carina answered as she returned the box to the pouch and rose.

“Madam Maylea sent us. Please may we come in?”

With a touch to the strap of the dagger tucked in her sleeve, Carina unlocked the door and opened it to find two matching pairs of seal-blue eyes, blonde hair, and relieved smiles waiting for her. She motioned the dancers inside the small room before noticing the large man, dressed in leather armor, who lurked in the hallway behind them. The man nodded to her curtly before he turned to watch the hall.

“That is Sedric, our flute player and bodyguard,” one of the women explained as they slid past her. “He will keep watch, yes?”

Carina nodded, focused on the accent of their voice, which was neither Ventrayna nor Lafearian.

“You are younger than we expected,” observed one dancer.

“Still, Madam Maylea spoke highly of you and assured us that you could be trusted.”

“She said you might even match us in skill one day—with the right training.”

“I—ah,” Carina glanced between them, distracted by their perfectly matching faces. They were somewhere in their early twenties. “Sorry, who—”

“I am Lilaru,” replied the blonde to her left.

“Griselda,” replied the other to her right.

‘How the hell do people tell you apart?’ Carina shook the distracting thought from her mind. “You are aware of why I asked the Madame for your services?”

Lilaru smiled and held out Carina’s pouch in her hand. “The answer is in here, no?”

Carina touched her belt where the pouch had been. “How did you—”

“That is not fair, Lilaru,” Griselda protested. “Lady M is our client, and she hardly seems capable of keeping herself upright.”

“I am fine. Just recovering from a fever—” Carina cut in, surprised they had noticed her fatigue. “How did you get my bag?”

“Mmm, you were so distracted by our faces,” Lilaru said with a teasing laugh. “That you were not paying attention to our hands.”

‘So you’re pickpockets.’ Carina scoffed and then hesitantly checked her wrist for Viktor’s bracelet.

“And now you have shown us something you value far more than whatever secrets this bag holds,” Griselda admonished as she folded her arms and shook her head. “You should be more aware of your actions, Lady M. They will betray your intentions.”

“It is a pretty bracelet.” Lilaru held out the bag, but Carina quickly stepped back. “Ah, but how unlucky, it is enchanted to prevent its removal.”

Carina raised a brow at that; she hadn’t actually tried removing the bracelet up till now. ‘I really need to learn to identify enchants so I can avoid being surprised by them.’ She cleared her throat as she focused on her guests. “Might we discuss the reason I summoned you—both of you—here?”

“Not inside this room,” Griselda spoke up quickly. “Too many eyes noticed your arrival. Too many ears are no doubt pressed to these thin walls to discover what you are seeking.”

Carina frowned and glanced towards the walls. The more she studied them, the more she noted a few peepholes around the thin wooden beams. ‘That’s—disturbing.’ She accepted the bag from Lilaru and followed the twins as they opened the bedroom door. A second bodyguard had joined Sedric outside and nodded as Griselda—or so Carina guessed—spoke to him softly in a foreign language.

“Harold will return your key to the innkeeper,” Griselda explained as she motioned to the man carrying a harp and a sizeable blunt staff. “Though he will delay a bit to give us a head start.”

Their natural wariness suited Carina just fine. Madame Maylea had behaved the same way when Carina initially retained her services to learn the different cultural dances of this world—and gain the Spymaster’s trust.

Maylea had been intrigued by the half-blood who had gained the support of a Countess and quite disappointed when she failed to recruit Carina into her secret information-gathering organization. Despite training with her for several months, Carina was still uncertain who Maylea reported to if Maylea even had a Master. Over the years, she had repaid the Spymaster's friendship and advice as she built Frost’s business and prepared for this moment.

The twins covered themselves in cloaks offered by Sedric, who led the way down the darkened streets towards the Serpentine River's glittering black border. Upon the riverbank mixed with pebbles, soil, and sand, a large canopy tent was erected beside the silent humming waves. A third bodyguard stood before it with a large curved blade and stepped forward to greet them.

“This is Saul,” Griselda introduced with a single nod before opening the tent flap to enter.

“Do come inside, Lady M,” Lilaru encouraged with a mischievous smile.

Carina frowned as she followed but soon found her forward momentum halted, if only for the briefest moment, by an invisible force. ‘An enchantment?’

“Yes,” Viktor hummed through the bracelet.

“An enchantment that keeps out unwanted visitors,” Lilaru explained with a pleased smile. “Had you been an imposter, that barrier would have felt like an immovable wall.”

“And Saul would have run you through before tossing you into the river,” Griselda added with casual deference as she sank into a quilted bed.

Carina glanced towards Saul as he shut the tent flap behind them and tried to shake off that disturbing image. “What a clever enchantment. Are you—witches?”

Lilaru laughed and titled her head. “Shouldn’t you be able to tell if we were?” Her smile faltered for a moment when Carina continued to look confused. The twin glanced over at Griselda.

“Madame Maylea informed us that you wish to assassinate the Ventrayna Ambassador,” Griselda announced as she removed her cloak and set it aside.

“That is correct. And Lord Haemish will be arriving in the next two days,” Carina confirmed.

“How will we get to him?”

“You are performers. The Crown Princess will be hosting a banquet for her uncle on the day he arrives.”

“So we dance for him, seduce him, and then what?” Griselda pressed.

Carina reached inside her bag, pulled out the box, and frowned when she found it empty.

“Lilaru,” Griselda admonished quickly. “I apologize, Lady M., despite her twenty-four years, she behaves like a child more often than not.”

“I was only admiring them,” Lilaru said shyly as she pulled the twin hairpins from her blonde hair. “What are the tips made of?”

“Frozen glass and a very deadly poison,” Carina answered bluntly.

Griselda muttered something unintelligible while Lilaru’s blue eyes widened for a moment as she studied one of the tips intently.

“May I demonstrate?” Carina inquired as she held out a hand.

“Please do. Lilaru!” Griselda admonished with a slight threatening growl in her voice.

Lilaru pouted but gracefully danced over to Carina and held out the matching hairpins.

“The tip is fragile,” Carina explained as she lifted one from the dancer’s palm. “It is meant to strike directly into the target’s bloodstream, a major artery preferably. You then snap the bottom half off, leaving the frozen glass in place. The poisoned tip will dissolve once inside the body, and the subject will fall into a coma within a matter of minutes. Between six to eight hours later, he will stop breathing for good. Within two to four hours, the tip will have dissolved inside his body, and the wound will begin to heal—leaving only a cut and small bruise in its wake.”

Lilaru said something then, but Carina had never heard the language she used.

Griselda nodded slowly in approval. “You want the Ambassador's death to appear—natural?”

“An assassination while the Ambassador is a guest of the royal family would lead to certain severe consequences that I would prefer to avoid,” Carina confirmed gravely.

“Surely his entourage and bodyguards will be suspicious,” Griselda continued persistently. “I hear his wife is traveling with him and a son, no?”

“Why not kill him while he travels back to Ventrayna? Or before he even arrives?” Lilaru interrupted.

“Because as long as Lady Lavinia reaches Lafeara, she will have authority to complete the negotiations in her husband's stead,” Carina replied. “Also, as his wife and a highly ranked noble, Lady Lavinia will have the legal authority to rule his death an accident—and have his body cremated.”

“Ah—“ Lilaru muttered something unintelligible than continued in Lafearian, “—the wife will be happy with him gone, no?”

“She is an accomplice?” Griselda pressed curiously.

“No—but it would be to her benefit to let the matter rest—as long as we leave no suspicious evidence behind,” Carina explained as she glanced between them.

Lilaru said something unintelligible to her sister, then turned to Carina and added, “We stab, twist, and it is done. Yes?”

“Yes. Obviously, it will have to be done in private where there are no witnesses,” Carina added with a glance between them. “The Ambassador has a fondness for dancers and especially—young blonde women.”

“It is too easy—unintelligible—we will be successful, have no doubt,” Lilaru replied with a grin.

“And our escape route?” Griselda pressed cautiously. “Should we succeed or fail—we must have a way out of that fortress they call a castle.”

“I have a way in and out. There are many secret passages in the royal palaces, one of which will get you out of the Ambassador's room unseen when your task is done.” Carina smiled grimly. “As long as you kill the Ambassador without raising any alarm, I can ensure a safe trip back to the Serpentine River. From here, your escape and destination will be up to you.”

Griselda studied Carina silently. It was then Carina noticed the subtle difference between them. Rather than any physical anomaly, it was their gaze. Griselda’s blue eyes were assertive, steady, and cautious, while Lilaru’s seemed to dance with some unspoken eagerness and a cunning intuition.

“Your mask,” Griselda said calmly. “Is it necessary?”

“Oh? No—” Carina pulled the velvet fabric free “—No. You should know my face so we can work together inside the palace.”

“But we will not know each other.”

“Outside of this meeting, you are just performers I hired through the Hawthorne name to entertain the crown princess’s guests,” Carina confirmed. “I will have a letter of approval waiting for you at the gate. Mention my name and that you are here for the banquet—that is—if you both agree to undergo this dangerous mission.”

“Lord Haemish Emerson is a man that deserves death,” Griselda responded grimly. “With the Saint’s blessing, our task will prove successful.” The dancer stood swiftly and held out her hand to Carina. “One way or another—he will die. That much, I promise you.”

The steadiness of those words and Griselda’s confidence eased the anxious knot in Carina’s stomach as she offered the second hairpin to the dancer instead of her hand. “Keep these out of the sun and away from any excessive heat. And please treat them with care. They are meant to be fragile but should still stab deep enough to enter an artery before they break.”

“I will trust you on this,” Griselda replied with a faint shrub. “But if your way doesn’t work, we have our own methods that will ensure the Ambassador departs from this world.”

Carina nodded. One way or another, Lord Haemish would die—she would deal with the ramifications of his death once it was all over.

❆❆❆❆❆

Lilaru draped an arm around Griselda’s shoulder as they watched Sedric escort Lady M to the capital's safer streets.

“What do you think?” Lilaru pressed curiously in their native tongue, the all but archaic language of old Zarus nobility.

“She can get us in and out, and these,” Griselda held out the hairpin and sniffed it curiously. “Might prove effective. If we can remove the Ambassador here without detection, our plans in Ventrayna can continue without restraint.”

“Are they magic?” Lilaru murmured, still studying the glass-like tip of the hairpin she held.

“Magic, enchantment, or poison—” Griselda shrugged, “—we will give it a try. But if it fails—” Griselda passed the hairpin to Lilaru, who tucked it into her blonde curls once more. “We should prepare a magic nullifying poison just to be safe.”

“I like her,” Lilaru declared with a sudden grin. “Why didn’t Madame recruit her?”

“She tried.” Griselda shrugged. “Someone beat her to it, I think. Either way, Maylea trusts this Lady M. That’s good enough for me.”

“But dying in one’s sleep,” Lilaru pouted as Griselda pulled away and walked towards the campfire lit beside the river. “Doesn’t it seem far too easy for him?”

Griselda ignored the comment as her eyes narrowed towards two shadows beside their tent. “Who did you find, Saul?”

The dark-skinned bodyguard dragged over a rough-looking Lafearian with a bandaged eye. “This one came sniffing after you and the lady,” Saul growled as he kicked the bound man face down into the sand.

“And who do you work for?” Griselda asked unsympathetically as the man struggled to rise.

“None of your business, slut,” the one-eyed man hissed.

Griselda’s opened her mouth in protest as she spun but missed Lilaru’s arm as the dancer leaped forward and jabbed Carina’s hairpin into the man’s neck. A giddy smile split across the blonde’s pretty face as she snapped the bottom half of the hair ornament free from the startled man’s flesh.

Saul raised a brow but kept his mouth shut as the man roared in pain, lashing out with his feet. He managed to rise and stumbled back away from them a few steps before he toppled over with a strangled groan.

Griselda lowered her arm as she approached the panting man, who struggled to breathe as he rolled about on the river bank. The Lafearian let out a sharp cry of pain as the muscles in his chest and arms flexed and strained. Then his body curved as his spine arched against the ground. Spasms rocked through the pathetic man as foam trickled from the corner of his mouth, then his single good eye rolled back, and he slumped against the ground. A few twitches later, the Lafearian was utterly still. Only the slow rise and fall of his chest gave evidence that he was alive.

Griselda wiped the foam from his cheek with a handkerchief and then checked his pulse. It was faintly erratic, certainly odd for someone who appeared to be sleeping deeply, but Griselda very much doubted the man would ever wake—not that he would be given the opportunity.

She tossed the handkerchief onto his chest and growled out, “Lilaru,” as she stood.

“What? We had to test it,” her twin replied neutrally as she knelt and placed a finger beneath the man’s nose. “Look, he’s still breathing. Let’s wait and see how long the poison takes.”

“It would have helped to know why he was following us before you put him in a coma,” Griselda snapped as she rubbed blond bangs away from her forehead.

“Oh?” Lilaru tilted her head, then yanked the unconscious man’s jacket open, grabbed his linen shirt, and ripped the fabric away from his neckline. “This should help.”

The tattoo of a snarling red wolf stared back at them. Griselda blinked twice before she snatched a knife from Saul’s belt and plunged it into the unconscious man’s throat. The unfortunate Lafearian didn’t even twitch as the dancer pulled the blade free, watched him bleed out, and then tore out the already shattered tip of the poisoned hairpin.

“Tie him to something heavy and toss him in the river,” Griselda whispered sharply to Saul. The bodyguard grunted and moved off to perform his task. “And you—” Griselda whirled around to Lilaru but stopped as her twin caught the wrist which held Saul’s dagger.

“You’re all bloody,” Lilaru murmured as she wiped the scarlet drops from Griselda’s cheek.

“Lilaru, it took a lot of effort for me to convince Madame to give us this job. Do you have any idea what she—"

“Are you angry with me?” Lilaru whispered with an ominous haunted stare.

“I just—want you to be more careful,” Griselda whispered back with strained patience. “We only get one shot at this.”

“I am ready,” Lilaru replied confidently as she twined their fingers together. “One way or another—we kill him.”

“I would prefer a way that lets us leave Lafeara in one piece,” Griselda muttered, then cast a sharp glance towards the dark buildings that lined the capital border. “No more reckless decisions without my approval, yes?”

“I will listen to you, Sister. I always do.”

A defeated sigh was the only answer Griselda could give as she studied the dead man beside them and prayed that his comrades in the Burning Blade would not notice his absence—or at the very least not connect his death to them.

[B2] Chapter 60: The Arrival at Dawn

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Chapter 60: The Arrival at Dawn

The final two days before the Ambassador’s anticipated arrival passed by in a blur of frantic preparation and grim anticipation. Carina rolled over beneath her blanket and glared resentfully at the first rays of morning light as Tilly knocked on her bedroom door.

“Lady Maura, the bath you asked me to prepare is ready,” the maid called through the barrier.

Carina groaned and pushed herself upright, wincing as taunt muscles protested her movements. Another late night of training with Lumi and Viktor in the plane of elemental essence had left her sore and tired before the day began.

After a brief but refreshing soak in the prepared bath, Carina changed into a viridian dress with sheer sleeves and a long overskirt. Then she toweled her still damp hair and teased the curled ends with scented oil. Her rose perfumed hair was still drying as Carina powdered her face, outlined her ice-blue eyes with a thin trace of charcoal eyeliner and muted gray eyeshadow. One final touch of a light pink lipstick to her lips finished the look.

‘Demure but attractive, as a crown princess’s attendant should be,’ Carina reasoned as she analyzed the result. She added a silver pair of earrings to match Viktor’s bracelet, then pushed back the chair before the vanity desk and moved over to the bookshelf.

The Winter Rose felt heavy as it dropped into her waiting palm. ‘Viktor said the enchantment needs about a month to take permanent effect, so wearing it for just a few days should be fine.’

Carina knew the royal family and their attendants would travel through the capital’s public streets to greet the Ambassador on the outskirts of the city.

‘Chances are one of the witch hunters will be keeping an eye on the Ambassador and his army. For this journey, at least, the benefits of the Winter Rose's protection outweigh any risks or moral dilemma.’

Despite her reasoning, Carina felt uneasy as she latched the chain behind her neck and stared at the eye-catching rose diamond. The jewel glittered against her skin where the sheer ruffled fabric of her shoulders met the sweetheart cut of the satin viridian of her dress.

With a worried sigh, Carina shook her head and pulled a sealed envelope from a book on the second shelf titled Statues and Proceedings of Ennoblement. Carina tucked the envelope under the court robes folded and draped over her left arm and left the room.

Mrs. Poppy was making her rounds on the first floor as Carina descended the stairs.

“Ahh, good, I was just about to look for you. Lady Hana isn’t feeling well this morning,” the head housekeeper said with a mix of frustration and relief as she spun around towards Carina.

“Oh?” Carina frowned, not particularly surprised that Hana’s anxiety and illness would take a sudden turn for the worse given their expected guest's arrival. “I’ll go check on her then.”

“Do take a tray up as well if you can,” Poppy urged as she spun back towards the library. “Crown Princess Eleanora said that Lady Hana could stay behind to recover, but the rest of you will be leaving for the capital border in an hour!”

“Alright, I’ll head to the kitchen,” Carina relented as she shifted the letter under her cloak. “Could you find Sir Jordan and send him to me. I have a task for him this morning since I am suddenly otherwise occupied.”

“Yes, I’ll have a maid fetch him.”

Satisfied with that response, Carina moved on towards the kitchen, where the alert and attentive kitchen staff was preparing breakfast amid the already started preparations of the banquet that would take place at midday after the Ambassador entered the palace.

“Lady Maura, coming through!” one of the cooks shouted, and a path cleared before her almost instantly.

“I’m just going to make a quick tray for Lady Hana, then I’ll be out of your way,” Carina apologized as she moved past their already splattered and dusted smocks and clothes.

“I got a head start on it for you, Lady Maura!” Robbi called at the end of a kitchen counter. He gestured to a small tray with muffins, two boiled eggs, and two cups of milk tea. “I hope you don’t mind. I figured you’d be eating together on such a busy morning.”

“It looks perfect. Thank you, Chef.”

Mission accomplished, Carina navigated her way through the line of cooks, one of whom sucked in his gut to avoid sullying her dress as she stepped back into the hall with a small sigh of relief.

“Lady Maura!” Sir Jordan jogged up and caught the tray as Carina almost tripped on the hem of her cloak that had slid down her arm. “Alright, got it. Why don’t you let me help with that.”

“Thank you,” Carina muttered as she relinquished the tray and quickly checked her dress for splatter. “That was almost disastrous.”

“Where am I taking this? The dining room?” the knight inquired as he turned back the way he had come.

“Upstairs to Lady Hana’s room,” Carina answered as she refolded her cloak. “Ah—but I need you to deliver a letter for me.” She pulled the envelope from the folds of the mantle as Jordan turned towards her, and they rounded the stairs. Carina barely caught a glimpse of the hand that thrust out suddenly as Evelynn came into view, and the tray left Jordan’s distracted grip.

“Watch where you’re going!” Evelynn shouted even as Jorden reflexively moved between the descending spray of tea and Carina.

The breakfast now upended on the floor; Carina drew in a sharp breath as Jordan hurriedly spun to examine her. “Are you alright?” he asked worriedly.

“My dress is fine, but your trousers are a mess now,” Carina answered after a cursory examination. She refocused on Evelynn, who stepped gingerly around the mess on the floor with a satisfied smirk and then kicked the only intact teacup out of her path. “If you’re not going to help, Lady Evelynn, at least don’t create more problems!”

Evelynn spun around with a vicious glare. “How dare you—”

“What is all the—” Eleanora cut in as she appeared around the stairwell to survey the mess and her two attendants. Sharp amber eyes shot to Evelynn, who had the good sense to lower her gaze. “Can you two please avoid any further drama for the next few days?” Eleanora demanded in exasperation.

“Ah—it was my fault,” Sir Jordan quickly interjected. “I was holding the tray and not looking where I was headed.”

The crown princess focused on him with a frown. “Shouldn’t you be guarding outside the palace, Sir Jordan?”

Jordan nodded, bowed, and stepped back towards Carina with an apologetic, “Sorry that I spilled Lady Hana’s tray, Lady Maura.” His hand slid over her fingers under the cloak and around the letter she held. Grasping his intent, Carina relinquished her grip and watched the knight tuck the envelope inside the sleeve of his jacket.

‘A sharp-witted knight. He will come in handy.’

“Please don’t worry about it. I’ll have the Chef boil a few more eggs,” Carina replied.

Sir Jordan nodded, bowed to the crown princess, and jogged back toward the front doors.

Eleanora shook her head and turned back towards the library. “Lady Maura, come with me, please.”

Carina hesitated. “But—”

“Sir Jordan didn’t dump that tray all by himself,” Eleanora interrupted with another sharp look at the pale Evelynn, who waited with her eyes downcast. “Since you have nothing better to do, Lady Evelynn, do bring Hana a new tray. Then prepare and deliver a breakfast tray to Maura in the library and Lady Tiffany upstairs. After that, you may eat your own breakfast and try to stay out of everyone’s way.”

Carina wasn’t sure how she felt about Evelynn handling her food, or Hana’s, for that matter. Still, she hoped the attendant wasn’t foolish enough to irritate Eleanora again on what was already turning out to be a very stressful day.

“The dancers and musicians you hired,” Eleanora began the moment they entered the library.

“Already settled in at the inn outside the main gate, and they should be entering the palace within the hour.”

“They have entry passes?”

“I had the Prime Minister write letters of entry for both groups. They will be required to stay together and remain under knight escort once inside the palace, but that shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Alright,” Eleanora said with a tense but satisfied sigh. “Hana isn’t feeling—herself this morning.”

“I heard,” Carina murmured sympathetically.

“Everything for the banquet has been perfectly organized, and preparations are already underway, but would you mind checking in on Robbi and the staff between courses—just to put out any fires that may arise?”

“Whatever will help ease your concerns, your Highness,” Carina responded promptly.

“Good, that just leaves—” Eleanora paused as her gaze suddenly settled on the necklace Carina was wearing. “That necklace—” she trailed off, and her expression turned incredulous.

“It was a gift,” Carina answered hesitantly.

“A rather expensive one,” Eleanora retorted with an incredulous scoff. “Mr. Frost must value your designs very highly indeed.”

Carina blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden shift of their conversation, then smiled with an indecisive shrug. She wasn’t sure who would be able to identify the necklace as an heirloom of the Hawthorne house. Still, Carina wasn’t going to go out of her way to correct Eleanora’s inaccurate assumption.

“By the way, my mother, Lady Isabella, was very excited to learn about your other identity,” Eleanora continued as she settled into her chair. “She has great admiration for Lady Aconitum’s designs even if she didn’t originally approve of you as an attendant due to your background as a half-blood. But now that Mother knows you were the source of creative inspiration for my wedding gown and a vast majority of the capital's shift in fashion, her opinion has drastically changed.” Eleanora’s lips twitched with amusement as she settled into the seat behind her desk and gestured to a letter that waited there. “She has already drawn up a list of demands she hopes Lady Aconitum will be willing to accommodate.”

Carina took one glance at the list and cringed.

“Only when time permits, of course,” Eleanora added with a sympathetic smile. “We have an eventful few days ahead of us.”

‘You have no idea,’ Carina thought ruefully.

❆❆❆❆❆

An hour later found Eleanora and her attendants standing beside their carriage in the morning breeze as they stared across the plots of farm lands that stretched outwards from the capital into the distance. Two-hundred knights and six-hundred Lafearian soldiers were amassed behind them in a uniform formation as a show of strength for the nervous citizens. The latter watched from over a dozen windows, rooftops, and sideroads.

Carina glanced back towards the distant pale faces of commoners and nobles, soldiers and knights and wondered how many of them would remain alive in the coming weeks and months.

Two other armies remained a day's march from the capital, but even those forces combined would not be enough to face the horde of coven witches the Ambassador had brought with him.

‘Let us hope Percy’s efforts and the ongoing negotiation will ensure continued peace between Lafeara and Ventrayna—and that I do not tip the scales towards war in the next few days.’

A gust of wind swept Carina’s ash brown hair across her face as a whirlwind danced between the royal carriages and coated the ladies’ dresses in dust. Carina pushed her hair aside and narrowed her eyes as she brushed the dirt from her dress and raised her hand to her nostrils. The dust smelled of fire and sulfur.

A shout came from the knights which surrounded the crown prince’s entourage, positioned at the front to greet their guest. Blinking against the rising wind, Carina squinted at the dark line along the horizon that appeared to be moving towards them.

“Is that them?” Tiffany whispered nervously as Eleanora raised a telescope to her eyes.

“Yes,” the crown princess confirmed, her voice anxious but filled with pride.

As the dark line swelled in size, so did the distant sound of a thousand horses. The Ventrayna army barreled towards them with frightening speed, swarming and merging around trees and knocking over fences as their numbers easily overwhelmed the well-traveled road before them.

“Why aren’t they slowing?” A man’s voice whispered in the ranks beside them. “Are they going to attack?”

Carina stared numbly at the foreboding shadow of the Emperor’s witch army and felt a ripple of fear slither up her gut and wrap around her heart.

‘Is this what I will bring down upon us all?’

The sharp blast of a horn echoed through the morning breeze, and the advancing army slowed to a sudden halt. The wind carried trails of dust over the front ranks of the Ventrayna army across the road and fields towards the tensely waiting Lafearian troops and the capital.

“They stopped,” a Lafearian soldier whispered, his voice coated in hope and dread.

Carina glanced towards Nicholas, who sat on horseback ahead of them at the front of his retinue and army. On either side of him were the Dowager and Prime Minister, each mounted and dressed in ceremonial robes. Captain Beaumont waited a few feet back on his speckled gelding beside Lord Commander General Stryker and Captain Leo, similarly dressed in military uniform and armor. At the back of the crown prince’s formation, accompanied by a few knights in new glistening armor, Knight Commander Quentin sat composed and relaxed as he surveyed the approaching force.

‘For a man whose job will be to ensure no discord breaks out between our Ventrayna guests and the rest of the capital—he demonstrates a remarkable calm.’

Beneath the vanishing clouds of dust, a small formation of about two hundred cavalry appeared and continued down the capital road towards them. As the group approached, General Stryker gave a whispered command to Commander Quentin, who turned his horse around and proceeded back inside the capital.

“So many soldiers,” Tiffany whispered nervously.

“Let us hope they leave on peaceful terms,” Evelynn muttered beneath the hand raised to shield her eyes from the still-rising sun.

The approaching group of Ventrayna soldiers also contained several attendants, a luxurious carriage surrounded by bodyguards, and five very notable figures.

At the front, Marquess Winifred and Earl Percy flanked Ventrayna’s Ambassador. The latter rode a blood-red stallion with a black mane and tail, braided in thick gold threads. The Ambassador himself presented an imposing figure, dressed in the scarlet and gold colors which matched the scorpion banner carried by his retinue. His beard glittered in the sunlight that caught the rubies and gold woven into its braided ends. A silk-rolled hat adorned his head that might have been a crown for all the jewels sewn upon it. Even the Ambassador’s sword and stirrups were forged from gold; his black leather saddle stitched in runes of golden thread, his crimson red cape of a similar fashion.

Carina scoffed silently as the soldiers around them murmured at such an audacious display of wealth. Lord Haemish was a sight that would set the heart of Lafeara’s citizens aflame with resentment to see how their taxes helped maintain the Emperor’s tax collector’s exorbitant lifestyle.

Still, Carina smiled as she affixed her gaze upon the wealthy, powerful, and formidable Ambassador. Finally, she was about to come face to face with the most hated name on Maura’s list. As Lord Haemish reined in his blood-red stallion before Crown Prince Nicholas, Carina reflected that—except for one absent character—all of those against whom Maura bore a grudge, now stood before her beneath the morning sun.

At present, Maura’s enemies were allies, but for all Carina knew, Lafeara would be at war by the time she helped Maura exact her first taste of revenge.

Interlude VI: Predators of the Desert

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Interlude VI: Predators of the Desert

The natives of Ventrayna had a saying, “To wander the desert is to seek death.” Indeed if one listened long enough, they might hear the wails of those foolish mortals whose reckless disregard for this treacherous climate now echoed across an ocean of alluring red sand.

The most common predator Ventrayna’s desert had to offer was its merciless sandstorms. These roaming reapers snuck in on the unsuspecting traveler and whipped them off course or smothered their lungs beneath a howling tsunami of sand.

Even without these devilish sandstorms, foreigners were known to frequently lose their way, either through ignorance or the bewitching mirages painted by the desert sun. Sometimes their remains were discovered days or weeks later, their dehydrated corpses a testament of their unfortunate demise. But, more often than not, these ignorant trespassers were swallowed by the desert without a single trace. The sandpits of the Singing Plaines, for example, had lured more than one caravan to an early grave.

If the climate and perilous terrain weren’t enough to dissuade all outsiders from entering, then the wildlife of the desert was always eager to take a bite, from the swaying viper to the stinging scorpions and flesh-eating lizards the size of wild dogs. And then, of course—there were the witches.

These proud nomadic savages once ruled the desert as separate covens, warring, raiding, and dominating each other in turn. But now, the fire covens were unified under Kritanta’s Consort, Emperor Arius. Tamed, but still dangerous to anyone who did not have the Emperor’s protection.

And yet, neither size, fame, nor magic would prepare any wanderer for the most underestimated predator that lurked within this unforgiving terrain of sand and sun—the pellis sandworm.

Invisible to the human eye, the pellis worm burrows near the surface, choosing rocks and caverns to build their home, lest the wind carry them away. Each evening, as the sun descended and the night chill crept in, the sandworm burrowed deeper still—unless—it should happen to feel the spark of heat in the terrain above from an animal or human taking shelter from the wind.

Draw to the warmth of this ignorant and unsuspecting prey; the pellis worm would slither free and attach itself to the skin of man or beast, then inject a numbing poison and burrow beneath the skin of its doomed victim.

Once the pellis worm entered the host’s body, it quickly traveled to the brain, where it gnawed away at the victim's mind slowing driving them towards insanity. The more worms that entered the victim’s body, the more violent and quick the host's demise.

Despite its rather horrifying reputation, certain alchemists were known to collect this formidable creature. They would inflict shallow wounds on a small animal, such as a goat, and tie them to the rocks where pellis worms were rumored to thrive. After the animal’s death, usually accompanied by fits of madness, uncontrollable muscle spasms, and the vomiting of blood, the pellis worm, now much longer and more prominent in size after gorging themselves, could be harvested from the sacrificed animal’s brain.

This invasive predator was valued only as a heinous tool of torture, cruelty, and certain death. Yet, despite their ability to survive in the desert, the pellis worms were averse to extreme heat and cold. A pure-blood fire mage could purge the carnivorous fiends from their body by flooding the infected area or brain with witch fire. Born with a natural resistance to flame and heat, these pure-blood fire witches were the only victims known to be capable of surviving the ordeal, though the sandworms rarely left their host free of trauma.

It was as Arius witnessed the final death throes of his youngest consort, who had been subjected to such a fate, that he recalled the history of the desert’s most hated and feared predator. He had tried to purge the pellis worms from her body with his magic, but the consort was no pure-blood, merely a plaything Arius had taken to his bed since he no longer cared to share the Empress’s chambers.

Lady Sapphire, not much older than his daughter Aurelia, had been unable to endure the current of his pure-blood fire magic. She quickly fell into a coma, which at least spared her the worst of the pellis gorging. Once the consort breathed her last, Arius had her body and bed-chamber burned with witch fire to prevent further spread and suffering.

The Emperor left his volcanic palace to carry his consort’s ashes to a small oasis in the desert where he sprinkled her mortal remains around a small desert tree.

Lady Sapphire had just passed the fourth week of her first pregnancy.

The consort’s family would receive a handsome compensation, but then they had already been paid for such an event before Sapphire entered the Emperor’s chambers. Arius had buried over ten consorts, dozens of their stillborn offspring, and even six unfortunate children who outlived their mothers but never reached their fourth birthday.

The trees in this desert grove were a testament to the Emperor’s loss and the Empress’s unending cruelty.

Arius tapped the jar and watched the last traces of a woman’s smile vanish in the sweltering breeze. He would forget her in time as he did them all—everyone, except Catalina.

“Imperatoris Ingis,” General Zere greeted with a fist to the golden scorpion that adorned his chest plate armor as the Emperor turned from the shallow pool.

Arius’s amber eyes flicked past Zere to the Emperor’s escort of three hundred Ventrayna witches who always traveled at his side whenever he left the palace—just in case the Pope (or perhaps even the Empress) dared to take advantage of his grief.

The Emperor returned his gaze to his trusted general as he tossed the empty urn aside. “I want her dead, Zere.”

“I know, Imperatoris Ingis,” the veteran soldier murmured somberly.

“I want her eyes skewered and burned. I want her breasts hacked off, her tongue cut out, her skin boiled in acid, her intestines eaten by worms. I want every bone in her body broken and splintered while she is kept drugged and awake in agony. I want her begging me for death!”

“My Emperor,” Zere whispered hoarsely as he glanced towards the officers within hearing distance. “You know that cannot be. It would mean civil war—and the loss of everything you’ve built and sacrificed for.”

Arius let out a broken laugh and rubbed his fingers, calloused with a lifetime of fighting for survival and peace, down his closed eyes, cheeks, and his beard already trimmed in silver. “Fine—I’ll settle for an accident. I just want her dead.”

“Aurelia will blame you,” Zere replied firmly. “She is your only heir, my Emperor.”

Arius growled and stormed past the general towards his warhorse. “That bitch only knows how to resent and torment me—just like her mother.”

The stallion jumped as the Emperor grabbed its reigns. Arius gazed up at the anxious beast and exhaled slowly through his teeth as he controlled the blaze that flickered behind his amber eyes. “Even if I am ultimately to blame—they each deserve some form of justice—” he glanced back once more at the grove of trees and the well of water they surrounded, then mounted and turned the black stallion back towards Ventrayna.

‘All this is Kritanta’s doing as much as Alexandria’s. Those who break an oath with a god rarely survived unscathed.’ Arius sighed as he reached for the already open bottle of Caligo wine that hung from his saddle. ‘So be it. If this will keep Catalina’s legacy safe—'

Arius's amber eyes narrowed as a distant rumble raised the hairs along his neck and arm. His gaze snapped towards the clouds above the Dead Woods that darkened ominously. Like a fox catching a familiar scent, the Emperor scanned the brewing horizon as a nostalgic rush of exhilaration surged through his veins. Before the first flicker of hellfire broke through the clouds, Arius knew. The euphoria of Kritanta’s lost blessing tingled down his spine as the skies above Fogtooth Mountain bled fire.

“Imperatoris Ignis?” General Zere did not bother to hide his unease as he moved over beside the Emperor’s mount. “That is coming from Lafeara’s borders.”

‘So Kritanta has finally found another witch consort to favor?’

The anger of a jilted, forsaken lover did not suit his noble lineage, and yet Arius could not calm the fury that rode up from his grief and bitterness. “Round up the men. I would see what witch dares to defy my orders!”

Sharp whispers and eager shouts filled the air around him as three hundred fire witches, with a few wind and water witches mixed into their ranks, vaulted into formation behind the Emperor’s galloping stallion. All thoughts of his dead consort, his hated Empress, and even his numerous unborn children faded from Arius’s mind as he stared at the destructive firestorm that made the earth beneath the cavalry of witches tremble.

By the time the army reached the edge of the mountain, the deluge of hellfire had ended. Smoke obscured the mountain’s peaks and rolled down across the road that led to Deadwood Pass.

Arius reigned in sharply with a curse as the smoke before him cleared, and a pile of fallen rock obscured the pass ahead. “Clear a path and this infernal smoke. I can’t see anything.”

The witch army's eagerness turned to harsh disappointment as they hurriedly dismounted and moved to their tasks. An air witch carefully blasted away the smoke and hovered up over the rockslide to scope the blockage. He quickly returned to kneel before the Emperor. “The entire pass has caved in, Imperatoris Ingis.”

“Imperatoris Ingis!” A captain called as he rushed over. “We found—dead soldiers beneath the rocks—Lafearian soldiers.”

A whisper of trepidation flowed down Arius's neck like cold sweat as he turned towards the body his men laid upon the ground before him. The man was all but unrecognizable, his face shattered to a bloody pulp of broken bone, hair, and teeth. But the armor the dead man wore bore the sigil of a red wolf, a symbol Arius knew.

Arius Constantine, Emperor of Ventrayna, Bane of the Witch Hunter Order, Destroyer of the Holy Army, felt his blood run cold as he stared at the man’s bloody but fair skin.

‘These are Tristan’s forces—then he—’

“What treachery is this?” Zere growled as his gaze flew from the dead man’s uniform to Arius and then to the officer and his men. “Get a path cleared through and gather up every single body you find. If there are survivors, bring them back to Ventrayna—no, send a rider to bring a medic here as quickly as possible while they search!”

The witches scattered as Arius stepped around the dead soldier, his fists igniting in angry red flames as a tidal wave of anger that had slept beneath his bitterness and grief for nearly two decades burned past his growing fear. “General Zere, I want to be on the other side of these mountains in two hours.”

“According to our air witches, the collapse goes on for nearly two miles, Imperatoris Ingis. It will take time to clear,” the General explained cautiously.

Arius narrowed his eyes at the pass and sniffed the breeze. “Tharyians?”

“Deadwood Pass does lead into their territory,” Zere confirmed. “It looks like the Red Wolf Army got turned around and tried to flee to safety here when—they were ambushed.”

“So,” Arius's clenched jaw popped as his lips slid into a dangerous smile, “the rabid badger finally decides to crawl out of her hole—and dares to touch Catalina’s son!”

Twin red fiery serpents snapped their jaws eagerly as they coiled up the Emperor’s arm and hissed into his ears.

“Altius—” Zere dropped down to his knees. “My Emperor—the fastest way over these mountains—only the air witches can surmount it quickly.”

Arius reigned in his serpents with an acknowledging nod. “Then they will carry us over, General. I need to see what—no, who is on the other side.”

❆❆❆❆❆

Fear and respect. Those were the qualities Arius clung to after Kritanta stripped him of her blessing. Even without the Goddess's bottomless source of intoxicating power, every witch, young and old, knew the Emperor’s name and the legend branded upon it.

Arius the Pope slayer, Arius the Dragon, and Arius the Witch Emperor.

By whatever title they chose to call him, all witches feared or revered their Emperor. While some resistant covens viewed him as a Tyrant, thousands more flocked to his borders, eager to pledge their loyalty and aid to his continued crusade against the Holy Church's last stronghold and the sickly Pope Jericho.

‘Yet what an irony it would be if I were to fall to my death now?’ Arius thought as he glanced down through the billowing smoke towards his rapidly disappearing troops. Two air witches supported the harness strapped around the Emperor’s torso, the pair doing their best to provide a smooth fight up through the congested smog towards Fogtooth’s crown.

The thinning polluted air whipped against Arius’s face and stung his blinking eyes. He did not comment when General Zere, carried in his own harness, flew past the Emperor to cross the mountain peak first. Zere was always on alert to potential dangers and threats against his Emperor. Given the display of power they had both just witnessed and Kritanta’s likely involvement, the General’s over-cautious nature was to be expected. The scent of the goddess’s potent magic lingered heavily upon the ashen breeze as smoke furled and churned in an endless dance of chaos and calamity.

Just as Arius lost all trace of his general’s presence, a blast of wind greeted the Emperor and his escort. Behind blinking eyes, Arius stared down at the fog-like smoke that cleared to reveal a blackened mountainside, a burning, shattered forest, and what looked to be three armies scattered and scorched along the broken ground of what had once been Wolfthorn Forest.

“I-Imperatoris—” the air witch at his right stammered as they slowed his descent.

Arius’s amber eyes scanned through the lingering smoke and fire until he found Zere further to the west, descending towards a burning lake. “Take me to the General,” he ordered

Zere waited for him on the dry, brittle ground that blossomed with flickering flames. The men exchanged looks before Arius waved the air witches back to the sky, where they could avoid the otherwise toxic fumes and keep a lookout.

“I have yet to find a single survivor,” Zere whispered anxiously as they walked calmly through the charred, broken earth. “I can sense another witch up ahead, but this destructive force—is it—”

“Kritanta’s presence,” Arius answered grimly. “We should be cautious. A fresh Consort is rarely in full control of their new powers.”

“Then perhaps I—”

“I would see the bastard's face,” Arius interrupted as he foraged ahead.

The fumes of Kritanta’s magic intensified as they neared the burning lake in the forest's center. Through the dancing demonic black flames, Arius could make out a figure kneeling upon the lake, but whether man or woman, god or mortal, he could not tell.

“Imperatoris Ingis—I cannot—” Zere gasped as he clutched his chest. “Forgive me.”

“Even a pure-blood like you is not immune to Kritanta’s destructive flame,” Arius replied with an understanding grunt.

“Then—”

“However, it would seem I still have some built-up resistance to it,” Arius interrupted as he waved a hand through the blackened flames and drew it out unharmed. “Withdraw and wait for me. The air witches can keep watch above.”

“But—”

“I have no intention of dying and leaving my throne to Alexandria or her brat,” Arius stated grimly and turned to face his old friend with a commanding gaze. “Withdraw and await my return, General.”

“Imperatoris Ingis,” the General answered with a humble bow but a worried expression.

❆❆❆❆❆

Kritanta’s new consort waited for Arius in the center of the burning lake. The young man’s clothes were burned away. His skin glistened in sweat and black soot that fell from the sky above him. But it was the burning handprint that glowed against the witch’s chest that drew Arius’s gaze. A ripple of pain, regret, and revulsion filled the Witch Emperor as he fought the urge to touch the matching scar beneath his armor from a similar baptism with the Goddess of Death.

“Kritanta,” he whispered her name and hated the longing that echoed through his voice.

“Arius.”

Surprise, joy, and despair sent Arius spinning towards the specter that walked through the lake of black fire towards him. “Catalina!?”

The Phoenix of Karmine burned like the sun, but her cheeks were damp with angry tears. “You swore you would protect him from her!” The burning pools of Catalina’s black eyes condemned him even as her fingers scorched his cheek. “What kind of Emperor are you? You can’t even protect our son!”

“Cat,” Arius reached for her wrist, but Catalina vanished like a desert mirage before his eyes, and the Emperor reeled back as Kritanta’s devilish grin greeted him from the pillar of smoke that remained.

“I warned you before, Arius,” the Goddess of Death whispered with a low chuckle. “You cannot outwit a god.”

Her dry, withered voice filled his ears like the drum of the dead, and cold understanding wrapped around Arius’s heart and constricted.

“The Goddess of Destruction always collects her debts.” She hissed the last word, like the venomous serpent that she was, and smiled at Arius’s dawning despair before she turned towards the young witch, whose body rose from the burning lake on a bed of blackened coals. “My new consort pleases me.” She turned back to the Emperor and flicked a long gray nail in his direction. “So I shall forgive your futile deception.”

The spark of her magic erupted inside the Emperor’s chest and brought Arius to his knees as Kritanta’s corrosive powers flowed through him once again.

“It is not as much as before, but then you are not worthy of more,” Kritanta murmured maliciously. “Now take your son home, Arius. Nurse him back to health and keep your silence. If you are obedient this time, I shall allow you to watch Tristan’s glorious future as my new dragon.”

“Dra—” Arius choked on the word.

Kritanta laughed. An earsplitting peal of vile and mirth that silenced the raging fire around them. A piece of ash-like skin cracked and fell away from Kritanta’s chin to reveal a glowing glimpse of the goddess’s former self. “The bloodline of the Phoenix was always the most enduring. I should thank you, Arius. Without your insatiable greed and lust, I might have missed out on the perfect candidate for my rebirth.”

Arius raised his gaze to the burning coals of Kritanta’s eyes and shuddered. “But Tristan—is not my firstborn—I promised you—my firstborn.”

“Yes, you jilted the phoenix and married that viper to avoid giving me Catalina’s child,” Kritanta almost purred as she returned to caress his cheek. “Oh, you gullible, foolish, stupid mortal. What makes you think that Aurelia is your firstborn?” Her black lips spread in a death-like smile as she watched him flounder beneath her burning gaze. “You tried to play the game and lost. I can see every secret that burns inside your mortal shell. Tell me, Arius, how does it feel to know your betrayal only led Catalina to her doom while I still obtained your precious first-born son. No—” Her fangs stretched in a murderous smile of celebration, “—Tristan is your only son, isn’t he?”

“Bitch!” The word barely whispered past Arius's lips when Kritanta’s magic flooded his throat and lungs. Once, such a purge had brought the Emperor pleasure and power beyond imagination, but now the goddess’s magic seemed determined to burn his organs and shatter his very bones. Arius's strangled scream echoed around the burning plain long after he fell to his side, spasming in pain, while Kritanta reigned in her magic.

“Do not—push me further, Arius. I may have favored you once—but I am intimately familiar with deception and betrayal. I can and will keep you alive long enough to taste the deepest pits of hell should you ever betray me again.”

Arius coughed up dried blood and wheezed, unable to reply.

“Now—” Kritanta exhaled and turned a predatory smile towards Tristan’s unconscious body “—my Consort will wake soon. Take him to my temple, Arius. The High Priest will ease his recovery. I will return for him—at my pleasure.”

[B2] Chapter 61: A Peddler of Betrayal

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Chapter 61: A Peddler of Betrayal

“It would appear the royal family is quite eager to greet us,” Haemish observed with a cryptic smile directed at the Earl of Hawthorne, who rode beside him down the road towards Lafeara’s capital. “I do hope I can continue to rely upon the Earl’s insight in the coming negotiations.”

“Certainly, Lord Haemish,” Percy replied with the same cold, indifferent demeanor he had maintained since the night he ambushed Haemish while the Ambassador was taking a private bath in a river away from his military forces. “I only hope the Ambassador will heed my advice in the future. It would be a shame for you to leave Lafeara with nothing to show for your many efforts.”

‘Arrogant pure-blood.’ Haemish swallowed a growl as his gaze flicked over to where Eleanora descended from her carriage, surrounded by pretty, young attendants. ‘But not the pretty one Lord Tyrrell sent me to deal with.’ The Ambassador’s frown only deepened as he observed the cloud of crows that littered the capital rooftops before him. ‘So bloody many.’

He had witnessed the savage barbarity of those fowl creatures when his private bodyguards made the mistake of trying to set the birds on fire. The crows had exploded with such ferocity that Haemish had been knocked off his feet even from several feet away. The Ambassador was dragged from what would have been his watery grave by Marquess Winifred. The noble’s smug expression of satisfaction as he dropped the Ambassador on his knees before Percy still filled Haemish with boiling humiliation.

At the time, Haemish had hoped the explosions would alert the army camped beside the river, but then he remembered that manipulating sounds was mere child’s play to air witches.

‘If I had been one of the Dukes from Ventrayna—or the Earl any other noble from Lafeara, we would be at war!’ Haemish sighed as he shifted his rump against the glittering saddle. For too long, he had toed a dangerous line between his two masters, the Emperor and Empress of Ventrayna. It was hard enough to wield the power Arius had given Haemish when he ranked so poorly compared to the three ruthless Dukes, who each governed their own formidable coven of witches. And now, barely a day across the border, he suddenly found himself pinned quite cleverly beneath the thumb of Lafeara’s new Witch King.

A smaller man might have crumbled beneath the unexpected pressure, but Haemish was used to dealing with pure-blood witches. They never failed to underestimate his cleverness and adaptability, blinded by their obsessed preconceptions about the Ambassador’s diluted witch blood.

Although Haemish barely possessed enough magical control to be considered a coven witch, not a day passed that he wasn’t grateful to Kritanta for this blessing. After all, his younger sister, Lady Isabella Emerson, had been born a half-witch.

How surprised and dumbfounded those pretentious old-bloods had been when Haemish helped Isabella snag Lord Alastair Kensignton as a husband. Now Isabella was married to one of Lafeara’s oldest witch bloodlines and mother to Lafeara’s next queen.

The Ambassador had also persuaded the Emperor to provide him with a pure-blood wife from the Empress’s family to strengthen the Emerson family line. After all, the Emperor did owe a life debt to Haemish’s deceased mother, who had saved Arius from assassination as a child. Something, Haemish would never let the honor-driven Emperor forget.

Favors, secrets, promises, and bribes were the coals Hameish willingly walked upon to survive and thrive in a world ruled by powerful pure-bloods. The Ambassador might not be able to burn down cities and decimate armies with the best of them, but he was still a coven witch—and that was all that was required to hold an official office and wield power under the Emperor’s new order.

Of course, Haemish considered it a shame that the Emperor had lost Kritanta’s favor so soon after establishing his empire. The Goddess of Flame's blessing had paved Arius’s path to unify all fire witch covens behind his conquest of old Zarus. While the Emperor masked his loss of power well behind his potent pure-blood magic, others had begun to notice, the Empress among them.

And so Haemish was forced to split his loyalties and wait for a victor to emerge among Ventrayna’s monarchs, whose marriage had become a hostile battlefield ever since Arius had acknowledged Catalina’s bastard as his son.

‘Even with the Emperor’s acknowledgment. Tristan has no backing from any of the Dukes, while the Empress has her own coven, and Aurelia is married to Duke Tyrrell’s only son. Not sure the bastard has a fighting chance of surviving—let alone become Arius’s heir.’

Haemish was still trying to figure out how Tristan had escaped the assassination from two years ago. The Ambassador had carefully orchestrated an agreement between the Dowager and the Empress to remove the potential threat to Aurelia’s future reign. The bastard prince had proven surprisingly adaptive and resilient for a spoiled brat whose powers had been nullified by the aconitum flower.

‘Perhaps the rumors that he received his mother’s regenerative powers are true then?’

Haemish glanced up sharply as Percy broke away from the front formation. Marquess Winifred chuckled softly as the Earl dropped down from his prancing steed to sweep a regal bow to the Dowager and Crown Prince before he slipped past them towards Eleanora and her three pretty attendants.

“Is the Earl especially close to his cousin?” Haemish inquired curiously as he watched Percy grace Eleanora’s hand with a brief kiss.

Winifred shot him a disapproving frown. “They are as close as the Earl wishes them to be,” the Marquess replied, then glanced back towards his men mingled in with the Ambassador’s escort behind them. “I would caution the Ambassador to be careful with his words while inside our borders. The three covens have eyes and ears everywhere, even inside the palace.”

“Of course,” Haemish replied with a dismissive sigh as his serpent-like yellow-green eyes homed in on one of the pretty brunettes that Percy was paying particular attention to. “I would expect nothing less.”

❆❆❆❆❆

Lord Haemish dismounted, dropping onto the back of a kneeling slave with little regard for the man’s grunt of pain. He swept a glance towards the carriage where his wife, Lady Lavinia, showed no signs of joining him.

‘Well, that suits me just fine. The less I see of them both, the better.’

With a dismissive snort, Haemish brushed past Marquess Winifred and strode towards the waiting Queen Regent Octavia and Crown Prince Nicholas. There was a moment's pause as the two opposing parties sized each other up. Haemish relished the anxiety that lurked in the shadows beneath the crown prince’s hazel-blue eyes, but he was careful not to stare too long at the Dowager. A feeling that could only be described as a knife twisting in his gut greeted the Ambassador every time her ice-blue eyes passed over him with a wave of contempt.

‘When is the old wolf going to do us all a favor and die in her sleep?’ Haemish pondered resentfully as he flicked Octavia another uneasy glance then stooped to offer them a shallow bow. “Your Grace. Your Highness.”

“Ambassador.” Octavia annunciated the word with evident displeasure as if each syllable were a stone she was forced to grind between her teeth.

“Welcome to Lafeara, Ambassador,” Nicholas interjected evenly as he eyed Haemish’s extravagant ensemble. “I trust your journey here was—comfortable.”

“It was your—ah, forgive me, I must confess,” Haemish answered with a perplexed smile as he glanced between them. “I am still uncertain which monarch I should be addressing?”

Nicholas’s polite smile withered while the nobles behind the crown prince scowled.

“It would certainly set my mind, and thereby the Emperors, to know which monarch—” he glanced pointedly from the white-haired Dowager to her grandson, “—I will have the pleasure of discussing the new terms for Lafeara’s peonage.”

Nicholas’s hazel-blue eyes narrowed with evident resentment at Haemish’s choice of words.

The Ambassador’s smile only widened as he continued, “I see before me a grown crown prince who is married to my niece, and yet I hear the government still reports to the Dowager on all important matters.”

“Queen Regent,” Nicholas corrected tensely as he nodded towards his grandmother. “A wise ruler heeds the wisdom of their elders. My coronation as King will officially shift the full power of government into my hands soon enough. Still, even then, I expect I will listen to my grandmother’s experience and wisdom with all the respect she deserves as Lafeara’s longest-ruling monarch.”

“Longest indeed,” Haemish snorted under his breath. ‘Only because she was quick to remove anyone who stood in her path.’

“How lovely of you to bring your family along this time, Lord Haemish,” Octavia interjected with barely detectable annoyance. “But then, Crown Princess Eleanora will be delighted to spend some quality time with her aunt and cousin during these negotiations.”

Haemish followed her pointed gaze to where his youngest, Lord Marco, was assisting Lady Lavinia down from her horse-drawn litter. “Yes, I do hope their visit will not add too great a strain to the royal treasury,” he remarked absently. “Marco was very persistent about accompanying me to congratulate the Crown Princess. They have rather a lot in common as far as cousins go.”

‘Despite being useless half-witches, they've both proven to be rather useful tools for my ambition.’

“Uncle!” Eleanora appeared between the Prime Minister and General Stryker, who stepped aside but made no attempt to bow before the crown princess.

“Ah, there is our future Queen!” Haemish greeted proudly as he strode past Nicholas and kissed Eleanora’s hand and cheek affectionately. “I hardly recognize you all dressed up in Lafearian silk and jewels. It seems like only yesterday you were threatening to skewer a slave who rebelled in my palace.”

He laughed loudly, more at the shocked faces of the nobles and attendants around them than at the memory itself.

“Uncle!” Eleanora interrupted with a sudden grimace. “Now is hardly the time to reminisce on such matters. Come, I’m sure you and your family must be tired from your journey.”

“Famished and in need of some good wine,” Haemish replied jovially as he motioned for her to lead the way. But Eleanora ignored his unspoken command as she turned instead to greet Lady Lavinia and Lord Marco, who had joined them.

“Aunt Lavinia!”

“Kritanta’s flame is this Eleanora?” Lavinia greeted with a motherly smile and a polite bow of her head. “I have missed your visits, my dear niece, but I am pleased to see you looking well. Married life suits you?”

“I am—still adjusting,” Eleanora replied reluctantly as she glanced towards one of her attendants, the brunette with striking blue eyes that had caught Haemish’s attention earlier. Eleanora’s smile brightened as she turned to their youngest guest. “Marco, how are you?”

“Well enough, Cousin. Ah—” Marco flinched as Haemish shot a glare in his direction, “Crown Princess Eleanora.”

“Well then,” Eleanora smile thinned as she turned towards Nicholas. “With his Majesty’s permission, I will escort the Ambassador and his family to Lilly Palace for refreshments and rest.”

“Excellent! Excellent!” Haemish quickly agreed, cutting off the crown prince’s response. “We have much to catch up on, your Highness.”

“Then—” Nicholas interjected with strained impatience, “—I shall look forward to seeing you all again at the Crown Princess’s banquet tonight.” The crown prince offered the Dowager his arm and nodded towards the Lord Commander General Stryker, who waited behind them. “My General shall oversee all accommodations for your troops are properly arranged.”

“All of them?” Haemish asked with a doubtful tilt of his brow as he turned towards the crown prince.

“Regretfully, we did not foresee the Ambassador's sudden need for increased protection,” Nicholas replied somberly. “We have tents for one thousand troops and rooms for twenty officers as previously agreed upon.”

“What a shame,” Haemish replied, ignoring Lavinia’s attempts to pull him back towards his horse. “It seems our security will be a strain on Lafeara’s food reserves.”

“I’m sure we can find some means of compensation for any shortage left in your wake,” Nicholas returned with the glimmer of a smile as he guided the Dowager back to her horse.

Haemish felt his left eye tick at the flippant tone and arrogance in the crown prince’s demeanor. ‘It seems the wolf pup has grown overconfident in my absence. That will need to be corrected swiftly.’ The Emperor had given his Ambassador full authority over negotiations, but with two very particular terms that Haemish could not fail to obtain. ‘Let’s see how far that arrogance will get you when faced with the Emperor’s demands.’

“I look forward to our negotiation tomorrow, your Highness,” Haemish called with the cunning smile of a peddler who would bend Emperor, Witch King, and Crown Prince to his ambition by whatever means necessary. “But today should be a day of celebration of the peace and marriage between our two kingdoms—which was by no means cheap.”

“Haemish!” Lavinia hissed softly, then abandoned his arm altogether as she and Marco led a rigid crown princess back towards her carriage.

Nicholas glanced after Eleanora’s departing figure and then over to his Prime Minister. “Well, it is good that you are aware of it, Ambassador,” he replied with an unnerving smile.

“What?” Haemish growled in confusion.

“I was only referring to the Crown Princess’s marriage contract, which included many promises we trust the Emperor will keep.”

Haemish scoffed. “The Emperor fully intends to uphold his generous offer for the sake of his adopted princess, but you are not your brother, your Highness.” He relished the physical pain that crossed Nicholas's face as the crown prince visibly paled. A pair of malevolent violet eyes settled their weight upon Haemish, who scowled at the giant blond knight that overshadowed the monarch who stood between them.

‘Where on earth did King Henri obtain such a specimen. Perhaps I should add him to my list of demands. He’d make an excellent fighter—for as long as he could last in Ventrayna’s slave pits.’

“I wonder,” Nicholas murmured as he stepped towards the Ambassador. “If it were my father or brother who stood here now—would you have shown a bit more respect?”

“I believe respect is measured by the power of those who deserve it,” Haemish replied with a sly smile. “And if your brother were standing here instead of you—I expect a great many things would be different—your Highness.”

Nicholas offered a tight smile and nodded as if he had expected such an answer. Then the crown prince turned and whispered something to his Prime Minister before remounting his horse and joining the Dowager for their ride back through the capital. The giant with unfriendly eyes quickly followed, but not without one last scathing look in the Ambassador’s direction.

“Are you sure you can handle him?” Percy’s cold voice rippled like a chill down Haemish’s spine. He twisted sharply, but the Earl was several feet away, assisting Lady Lavinia up into Eleanora’s carriage.

‘I hate when he does that.’ Haemish scowled, then watched with increasing curiosity as Percy turned his attention to the pretty brunette who waited outside the carriage holding the reigns of the Earl’s horse.

Haemish regarded the young attendant thoughtfully, drawn to those familiar ice-blue eyes that turned and focused upon him with an expression the Ambassador was all too familiar with. The gaze of someone with the desire to kill—but the temperance and cunning to wait.

A ripple of delight replaced his darkened mood as Haemish smiled back at her. Then, with a jolt, he whipped around as the Earl’s winter gray eyes turned towards him with a clear warning.

‘It would appear she belongs to the Earl, well, no matter. Negotiations will certainly be very entertaining this year.’ Haemish smiled as he swept his scarlet gold cap across the flank of his blood-red mare and rode into the heart of the country he would soon bring to its knees.

[B2] Chapter 62: The Gift of Family

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Chapter 62: The Gift of Family

“That man is nothing more than a pompous, glorified tax collector,” Nicholas seethed through clenched teeth as he stormed out of Iris Palace, where Octavia had voiced her need to retire and rest before the oncoming “pleasantries.”

“Your Majesty, we must be patient,” Attwood counseled as he followed the Crown Prince down the steps. “Let Ambassador Haemish enjoy making a show of his relationship to Crown Princess Eleanora. He is nothing more than a lowborn nobleman whose mother earned favor with the Emperor.”

“Do remember that lowborn nobleman’s niece is my wife,” Nicholas retorted and grimaced as he loosened the heavy cloak about his shoulders. “Any word on the witch hunters’ movements?”

“Acheron reported that most of them had moved further out into the countryside. No doubt they wished to avoid encountering the Emperor’s witch army—though they appear to have burned an alarming number of church members along the way. I had some knights takeover to watch them while Acheron and Lord Tomberline return for the negotiations.”

Nicholas scowled at the news and nodded. “At this rate, the Pope will dig a trench of blood between Lafeara’s faithful and his holy war.” The crown prince paused as he reached Beaumont, who held the reins of the prince’s stallion while Nicholas placed a polished boot into the stirrup and mounted. “How many witch hunters remain inside the capital?”

“That is what concerns me, your Majesty,” Attwood answered as he took the reins from Beaumont and steadied the prince’s energetic steed. “The Emissary returned to the capital with Acheron. It seems this Ripper has taken an interest in a certain noble family who reside just outside the capital.”

“Which noble family?”

“The Turnbell daughters.”

The horse beneath Nicholas let out a startled snort and bucked sideways away from Captain Beaumont. The beast’s sudden movement nearly sent Attwood tumbling to the ground as the Prime Minister lost hold of the reigns that Nicholas quickly collected as he calmed the panicked animal. The rest of the waiting entourage shied away from the quiet but intimidating knight captain, who turned without a word towards his speckled gelding.

Nicholas let out a tense breath as he patted the stallion’s neck reassuringly, cast a worried glance towards Beaumont, and then focused on his Prime Minister. “Have Lord Commander General Stryker remind this Ripper that he is not allowed near any of my citizens without my express permission. That goes especially for the daughters of the Turnbell family!”

“I would suggest placing a knight beside Lady Sophya Turnbell then, so that we may keep a close eye on the situation,” Attwood replied as he adjusted his disheveled robes. “Lady Maura will be safe enough as long as she remains inside the palace.”

“The older sister is with Baroness Winslet, is she not?”

“Yes, I believe the official engagement between Lady Sophya and Lord Asher will be announced soon,” Attwood confirmed with a disinterested shrug. “They wouldn’t risk sullying the girl’s reputation by having her live with them otherwise.”

“Likewise, we should obtain permission from the Baroness before placing one of our knights under her roof. Be sure to inform the Baroness that our man will remain discreet.”

“Very well, I—” Attwood broke off and turned towards the palace’s outer gate as a carriage pulled up sharply in front of it. “Is that Viscount Gilwren?”

Nicholas glanced towards the carriage and identified the family sigil of a golden stag. He clicked his tongue and urged the still restless stallion towards the gate to meet the Viscount. Attwood quickly rushed over to his waiting horse as Beaumont trailed behind the crown prince.

Nicholas reigned in front of the gate and motioned to the guards to open it as the carriage door flew open. Lord Rykard, the previous head of the Royal Merchant’s Guild, descended from the carriage, followed by his successor, Lord Seymour.

“Your Majesty!” Rykard hastily dipped into a formal bow, looking somewhat out of breath for a man who had arrived by carriage. “Forgive our unannounced visit.”

“It must be important, Viscount,” Nicholas replied as he dismounted, inwardly wondering what new headache was about to fall into his lap.

“It is, your Majesty,” Lord Seymour replied as he held out a rather large and elegantly embellished letter.

Nicholas recognized the glittering outline of a snowflake upon the silver seal and hastily snatched the message free from the hands of the Royal Merchants Guild Master.

“It seems Mr. Frost—” Rykard whispered excitedly as he stepped in closer to Seymour and Nicholas “—would like to meet with your Majesty, personally.”

Nicholas had already cracked the letter’s seal when he recalled his surroundings and the many watchful eyes of the Dowager’s servants. The crown prince composed himself and secured the letter firmly inside his jacket. “Would you noble lords care to join me for tea at the palace to discuss the contents of this letter?” he asked with forced casualness.

“We would be most honored, your Majesty,” the two lords unanimously agreed before they hastily returned to their carriage.

‘So, Frost is finally willing to meet.’ Nicholas let out a sigh of relief as he turned back towards his horse with a satisfied grin. ‘Not only will I unearth this so-called clairvoyant's secret identity, but Frost, whoever he may be, might give me the edge I need to push back against Marquess Borghese and the Dowager.’

The crown prince eased himself up into the saddle once more and dismissed Attwood’s inquisitive stare. As the Viscount’s carriage circled the drive and headed out towards Peony Palace, Nicholas refocused on the disquieted expression that covered his bodyguard’s face.

“Chin up, Beaumont. Lady Maura is perfectly safe inside the palace,” Nicholas said encouragingly as he turned his horse around the knight’s speckled gelding.

“Of course, your Majesty,” was Beaumont’s short reply before the knight fell in beside the prince, a permanent glower still in place.

Nicholas shook his head as he led the way back and wondered if the knight captain’s mood would ever improve.

❆❆❆❆❆

“Well, they are certainly small,” Lady Lavinia commented as she turned about the rooms arranged for her, which matched the other rooms prepared for the Ambassador and his family. “But with an elegance and quality without match in Ventrayna.”

Eleanora let out a small sigh of relief and nodded to the servants waiting by the door with trays of prepared food, presents, and vases of fresh flowers.

“Oh, you sweet child, you shouldn’t have,” Lavinia protested with a pleased smile as her maids stepped forward to accept—and inspect—each gift.

“I would not have made it this far without your guidance and discerning ear,” Eleanora replied with a sad smile. “That said, I don’t want to keep you from your rest after such a long journey. Please make yourself comfortable, Aunt Lavinia.” The crown princess stepped back with a humble incline of her head as she retreated towards the bedroom door.

“Wait, I have a present for you as well, Eleanora,” Lavinia called out before her niece crossed the threshold. “But it is a gift for—discerning eyes.”

Eleanora smiled in understanding and signaled for her attendants to leave. The staff quickly followed the noble attendants from the room while Lavinia similarly dismissed her maids and motioned for Eleanora to join her before the bedroom vanity desk and mirror.

“It is something Haemish commissioned for you,” Lavinia explained as she unlocked a jewelry box laid out before the mirror. Eleanora’s smile faltered as her aunt opened the box, but the crown princess’s gaze quickly caught upon the gold circlet adorned with large eye-catching rubies. “A crown fit for a Queen. Haemish requested that you wear it to the banquet tonight to remind yourself—and your husband—of the reason you were sent to Lafeara.”

Eleanora inhaled sharply as Lavinia lifted the sparkling heavy circlet from its satin cushion. “I’m afraid such a crown will not complement the dress my designer has picked out for this evening.”

“You have plenty of dresses,” Lavinia scolded gently as she raised the crown and placed it carefully against Eleanora’s dark curls. “But only one Husband and one Emperor.”

“Is this a gift or a lesson?” Eleanora remarked bitterly as she examined her reflection. She had never worn such an adornment before. The weight of the crown was both exhilarating and frightening.

“My dear, where our families are concerned, is there any difference between the two?” Lavinia smiled affectionately as she tucked a lock of Eleanora’s licorice black hair beneath the crown and leaned closer to the crown princess's ear. “And I’m afraid I must also warn you that the Emperor is displeased with your—progress.”

Eleanora shivered and turned away from the mirror towards her aunt. “What does Arius know?”

“That your marriage to Nicholas remains unconsummated—and that you may be at fault in this matter.”

Eleanora scoffed softly. “As always, the Emperor’s spies have a rather keen insight into my private life.”

“It is no small matter to be sure, and yet one easily remedied,” Lavinia reasoned as she took Eleanora’s arm and guided her towards a couch set outside the bed-chamber. “If anyone can understand the unpleasantness of marriage, it is I.”

“And yet it is no simple matter to bring an unwilling husband, let alone a crown prince, to my bed.” Eleanora removed the crown and sighed as she sank into the corner of the couch.

“Eleanora, you were both engaged to another before—” Lavinia’s gaze drifted from the crown to the bedroom door. “In any case, you both have lovers for passion. The marriage between you need not be anything more than a formality to be endured when necessary.”

“Believe me, I have tried,” Eleanora said bitterly.

“Try harder!” Lavinia’s tone turned harsh, but her honey-brown eyes remained sympathetic. “You cannot hold onto the throne or your crown without an heir, Eleanora.”

“We—I have thought of a remedy to that,” Eleanora replied hastily as she shifted to face her aunt. “I could adopt one of Nicholas’s other children.”

“You—would replace a child’s mother—instead of having a child of your own?” Lavinia raised a brow in surprise as she studied her niece. “Have you not considered that the child’s mother could just as easily replace you.”

“I—” A knock at the door interrupted Eleanora’s reply, and Lord Marco entered. His scowling expression quickly shifted into a grin as he sprinted across the room and lifted Eleanora from the couch before spinning her into a hug.

“Marco!” Eleanora protested, gripping the crown gingerly as she was crushed against her younger cousin, who had grown quite a bit in the last two years, and was now taller than her.

“Marco—please show some restraint!” Lavinia scolded as she observed them with a worried frown.

“Oh, will both of you stop lecturing me!” Marco grumbled as he reluctantly set Eleanora down and retreated. “Forgive me, Cousin—no—your Highness. I have been holding that back since earlier.”

“Elly will do while we are alone,” Eleanora protested with a defeated smile.

“Hmph, not if the Ambassador catches wind of it,” Marco sulked as he stole Eleanora’s seat beside his mother. “Oh, I see you got his present.” The young half-witch’s mood sharply darkened as he eyed the crown in her hand.

“Yes—It seems I will have to change my wardrobe to match for tonight’s festivities,” Eleanora replied as she carried the crown back over to its box and shut the lid firmly.

“Must I wait that long for a drink?” Marco called after her as he pulled away from his mother’s restraining hand to join Eleanora. “Or to meet those pretty maids of yours, Elly?”

“Marco, they are attendants. Daughters of noble families, not maids you can play frivolously with,” Eleanora reproached sternly as she folded her arms.

“Even better since Mother is determined to see me engaged—if not married—before this visit is over,” Marco replied with a devilish grin as he turned towards Lavinia. The latter appeared to be nursing a headache.

“A marriage?” Eleanora echoed in surprise as she glanced between them. “To a Lafearian family.”

“The further from Ventrayna, the better,” Marco remarked with forced optimism as he opened the jewelry box to admire the crown.

While he stood so close beside her, Eleanora could not help but notice the makeup Marco wore around his eyes and down his cheeks. Her cousin also appeared to have lost some weight, though whether that was due to his sudden growth or illness, she could not be sure. The discoloration beneath Marco’s makeup she could only attribute to one of Lord Haemish’s foul moods.

“I will see what I can do,” Eleanora whispered as she reached for her cousin’s hand. “It would certainly be wonderful to have you here with me.”

“Oh, you have enough troubles on your plate, Elly,” Marco replied dismissively as he dropped the lid and retreated from her touch. “Though I must say, my compliments to whatever designer convinced you to wear that dress.”

“Ha!” Eleanora shook her head at Marco’s impish grin and watched as he disappeared inside Lavinia’s bedroom chamber. “I will have to introduce the two of you later,” she called after him before turning a worried gaze to Lavinia.

“If you could recommend a suitable family,” her aunt said softly as she rose to join Eleanora. “A family that—can keep Marco happy. I would forever be in your debt, Eleanora.”

“Of course,” Eleanora murmured as she clasped Lavinia’s hand, sensing an unspoken urgency to her aunt’s request. “You know I would do anything for my cousin.”

“Yes, I do.” Lavinia’s honey-brown eyes fixed upon Eleanora as firm resolution settled over her worried expression. “Which is why I must warn you, Eleanora. Do not let Haemish see the cracks in your marriage. Paint on whatever smile you wish—but he must leave convinced that you and Nicholas have a future together.”

Eleanora swallowed and drew in two short breaths before she whispered, “Or what?”

“Or it will be a head instead of a crown he rewards you with.”

[B2] Chapter 63: The Art of Seduction

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Chapter 63: The Art of Seduction

“So somehow, I have to convince my uncle that my marriage to Nicholas is—well—a real marriage,” Eleanora explained as she finished her hurried summation.

“And it was the Ambassador’s wife who told you all this?” Carina clarified as Eleanora paced past the large vanity desk where the crown princess placed the jewelry box she had brought back.

Eleanora nodded as she uncrossed her arms and fidgeted with an earring. “I’m afraid I don’t understand the motivations behind such a warning—”

“The Ambassador probably assumed he would have more to gain from your marriage to the crown prince aside from strengthening political ties between Lafeara and Ventrayna,” Carina interrupted bluntly.

“Ah!” Eleanora sighed and dropped her hand with a wry smile. “When you put it like that, then it does make sense, I suppose.”

Carina studied the over-stressed crown princess. ‘Eleanora knows how much power the Ambassador has in these negotiations. ‘If Haemish doesn’t get what he wants, he’ll pick apart the royal couple’s marriage or target Hana, who is Eleanora’s weakness.’ Her folded hands tightened against each other as a grim memory from Maura’s past surfaced.

In the original timeline, the Ambassador nearly dragged a distraught Hana back to Ventrayna. Eleanora’s public rebellion against her uncle, to the extent that she used Major Garrett to hold Haemish at sword point while the crown princess retrieved Hana from his rooms, had nearly sent the two weeklong negotiations between the Ambassador and crown prince down the drain.

Haemish did leave without Hana in the end, but not without a public threat that he would report Eleanora’s infidelity with Hana to the Emperor.

At that point, the power Eleanora had held as the Emperor’s adopted princess weakened considerably, which opened the door for Nicholas to bring Consort Rosamund into the palace and soon after joyfully announced Rosamund’s pregnancy.

‘But this time, Haemish brought his family along. Why?’ Carina blinked as she pulled her clasped hands apart and focused on the still pacing princess. Aware of footsteps coming up the stairs in the hallway behind them, Carina swiftly turned and closed the door behind her. Then she guided Eleanora towards the seated window on the opposite end, where they were less likely to be overheard.

“Your Highness, the Ambassador, for all his fancy titles, position, and finery, is a businessman as much as he is a politician. I’m sure Lord Haemish was very much involved in your original engagement to the First Prince and probably considered that arrangement as an investment, not just for the alliance, but for himself.”

“Yes, I am aware of my uncle’s limitless ambition,” Eleanora replied with a cynical smile. “Though I am surprised to hear you are so familiar with him, Lady Maura.”

‘I know more about your uncle than I care to.’

“The background of your engagement was part of my training under the Countess,” Carina explained dismissively. “In any case, for a businessman, an investment can only be considered beneficial when it bears fruit. Right now, that investment—your marriage—may fall apart at any moment and the person the Ambassador will blame for such a failure—”

“Would be me,” Eleanora replied numbly as she covered a frustrated sigh behind one hand and pinched her eyes shut as if to block out a painful thought.

Carina smiled sympathetically, then turned to face the room as she rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Your aunt has the right idea. If we can convince Lord Haemish that your relationship with Nicholas isn’t—”

“Utterly and completely beyond repair?” Eleanora quipped gloomily.

“—then we can buy ourselves time. Nicholas needs this alliance with Ventrayna to work just as much as you do. Even if the alliance only appears to be weakened, Lafeara faces the possibility of Tharyn testing our borders again. You are the key to Nicholas obtaining security for this kingdom and his reign.”

Eleanora pondered this silently as she stared out the window. When she did not speak, Carina continued patiently, “Your Highness—however unpleasant it may be—you have to play the dutiful wife until the Ambassador leaves.”

The crown princess scoffed as she turned around to face Carina. “I’m not even sure I know how to, Lady Maura,” she admitted with a hint of bitter frustration.

“Just—take Nicholas’s side whenever possible,” Carina suggested as she moved closer. “Even if he’s wrong, try to support him without correcting every little thing he does.”

“So treat my husband like a fool while behaving like a simpleton myself?” Eleanora chuckled as she rose from her seat. “Well, I suppose that shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Eleanora—your Highness,” Carina hastily corrected her impatient tone. “Nicholas is not a fool. Just because you both come from different cultures and have different views and expectations doesn’t make either of you foolish. You have to find some common ground if you want to work together as partners instead of enemies. And the only way you can begin to do that is by trying to see things through Nicholas’s eyes, from his perspective.”

“From the perspective of a privileged prince about to become King?”

“From the perspective of someone who was forced into this marriage and onto the throne in the same manner you were!” Carina inhaled sharply as she pressed cold knuckles against the creases forming between her brows. ‘Come on, Carina, it won’t do any good to lose your temper now.’ She exhaled slowly and folded her hands patiently at her waist as she studied Eleanora, hoping her words had left their mark.

“Perhaps I have been too judgmental,” Eleanora admitted softly, staring once more out the window. “But I can’t help—comparing him to Tristan.” She glanced towards Carina, and the ghost of grief shadowed her face. “As brothers, they couldn’t be more different, no matter how I look at them.”

Carina nodded and sucked in her lip as she considered another approach. “Perhaps it would help your Highness to think of this negotiation as a game of chess. Each move you make is pivotal to your overall strategy and goal. A battle should not be guided by emotions and fear but by observing and subduing the opposing player.”

“You—” Eleanora raised a brow, “—want me to think of my marriage as some sort of game?”

“Well,” Carina shifted impatiently, not exactly comfortable with the direction their conversation was going. “In chess, it takes more than one piece to win a battle. You must utilize the whole board. Often the most obvious path ahead is the least desirable.”

“My uncle is rather good at chess,” Eleanora murmured speculatively as she rose from her seat and moved over towards the jewelry box. “Perhaps you’re right, Lady Maura.”

‘Finally, progress.’ Carina offered a tired smile of victory.

“After all, in chess, the most valuable player is not the king but his queen.”

“No, that—”

“Without the support of a queen, any king can fall,” Eleanora continued with a note of conviction as she turned towards Carina. The indomitable confidence Eleanora had displayed before when she casually discussed skinning traitors in front of the House of Lords had now returned. “Then, to start, we will need to prepare a suitable piece of armor for this queen.”

‘Armor?’ Carina glanced towards the golden gown already laid out for the banquet. “Well, we already have—”

“Armor to go along with this.” Eleanora slid the jewelry box open and lifted out a dazzling ruby crown.

Carina froze as she took in the scarlet diadem of a monarch. Her breath caught as her mind turned instantly to the familiar vision of Consort Rosamund rubbing her pregnant belly, the ruby crown, gifted to the Royal Consort by Queen Eleanora, glittered upon the expectant mother’s head.

“Your Highness,” Carina whispered tensely as she took a step forward. “Where—did you get this?”

“It was a gift from my uncle,” Eleanora explained as she turned to the mirror and held the crown above her head, admiring it.

‘So, the crown that poisoned Rosamund and killed her child came from Haemish?’

“May I—examine it, your Highness—please,” Carina asked anxiously.

“Examine it?” Eleanora’s bemused smile quickly faded as she removed the crown. “Oh—certainly.”

Carina took the offered ruby circlet and carried it over to the light of the window, where she trailed her fingers along the band and examined every crevice for foreign powder or magical runes.

“What exactly are you looking for?” Eleanora pressed uneasily as she moved closer to watch.

“Nothing, just—”

“My uncle might be a cold-hearted, greedy politician, but my Aunt would never allow him to harm me!” Eleanora muttered angrily as she snatched the crown from Carina’s hand. “Now, I need a suitable gown and adornments to match—something red.” Eleanora returned to the mirror and set the ruby circlet upon her head again, turning as she admired it.

“That crown is not poisoned or enchanted,” Viktor rumbled through the bracelet on Carina’s arm.

‘Then it wasn’t the crown that poisoned Lady Rosamund and killed her unborn child?’

“Lady Maura?”

Carina snapped her attention back to the scowling princess. “Yes, sorry, your Highness. I’ll prepare a new gown right away,” Carina replied hastily as she spun towards Eleanora’s closets and quickly located the two red gowns within it.

‘There’s no poison on the crown now, but—’ Carina glanced over as Eleanora returned the diadem to its jewelry box and then left the bedroom ‘—that doesn’t mean poison wasn’t added later before Eleanora gave it to Lady Rosamund.’

Carina’s hand trembled for a moment before she seized the gorgeous red satin dress embroidered with scarlet silk roses and blood diamonds. She hung it from the bed rafters and paused as Maura’s ghost filtered through the room with an impish grin as she floated over to the crown.

‘Do ghosts like shiny things?’ Carina wondered as she turned towards the locked dresser that held Eleanora’s jewels. ‘Right. Lady Tiffany has the key.’ Carina frowned as she stepped forward and ran a thumb over the keyhole on the top dresser drawer.

Lady Tiffany had been put in charge of all of the Crown Princess’s jewels since she could rely upon her family to repair or replace any damaged or lost pieces through their shops. ‘It makes sense that Tiffany would have held the same position in the last timeline as well.’ Carina stepped back and rubbed her forehead as she nursed a growing suspicion.

A flash of red pulled Carina’s eye to where Maura was wearing a ghostly copy of the ruby crown in front of the mirror. The specter turned and admired her reflection, mimicking Eleanora’s earlier movements.

‘If Tiffany was the Dowager’s spy, she would be perfectly placed to poison the crown before Eleanora gifted it to Consort Rosamund. But why would the Dowager be so bothered with the birth of a bastard?’

Carina watched the fawning ghost vanish as footsteps quickly approached the bedroom door.

“That one?” Eleanora called out inquisitively as she focused on the dress Carina had hung by the bed with a nervous frown. Tiffany entered the room and moved behind the crown princess to examine the ruby crown.

“You wore the other red gown recently, your Highness,” Carina reminded her, only to be interrupted.

“Oh, what a gorgeous crown, your Highness! These must be the scorpion rubies I’ve heard so much about,” Tiffany gushed as she lifted the circlet. “You absolutely must wear this tonight!”

Eleanora smiled, satisfied with Tiffany’s reaction. “Yes, I promised my aunt that I would, but I’m not sure about this dress.” She turned back to the gown Carina had selected with a petulant frown.

‘You wanted red,’ Carina refrained from reminding her.

“Oh, umm, perhaps the gold gown instead?” Tiffany suggested as she set the crown down with apparent reluctance. “The one with the least jewels adorning it. This crown and our crown princess must be allowed to shine!”

‘So, then the dress I originally picked out for this evening,’ Carina muttered to herself as she returned the red dress and pulled out the elegant gold gown once more.

“Oh, you will look divine, your Highness,” Tiffany praised with notable excitement as she unlocked a set of drawers and pulled out a collection of ruby jewels to complement the crown.

Carina watched the crown princess browse through her stash of jewels for an acceptable match and wondered how Eleanora would feel should her uncle be found dead the following morning.

‘Surely, Eleanora won’t miss him that much, even if they are family. Hana will certainly be relieved. But the real question is—’ Carina’s ice-blue eyes narrowed as she laid out a few makeup options for eyeliner, blush, and eye color in front of the vanity mirror, ‘—how will Lady Lavinia react to her husband’s death.’

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‘A dress as armor?’ Carina smiled at the idea as she adjusted the rose-pink earrings in her left ear.

The gown she had chosen for this evening was made of steel-gray velvet with sheer teal-green silk chiffon layered over the skirt. The same material draped her bare arms and flowed the length of her skirt to the floor. A small slit in the dress’s sleeves allowed the fabric to hang around her elbows and permitted Carina to move her arms freely. Silver embroidery with white pearls, patterned in the shape of leaves, surrounded embroidered pink roses that adorned each shoulder and the dress's waistline where the chiffon began.

The subdued but pretty colors suited Carina just fine as she would be serving wine with the other attendants tonight and wished to observe the Ambassador and Eleanora’s other guests without too much notice.

The chiffon and velvet fabric rustled like wind over tall grass as Carina descended the stairs, barely remembering to be cautious of her left ankle in her high heels. The attendant smiled tensely at her reflection in the mirror as she circled the foyer and headed down the back halls towards the courtyard.

The servant’s doors, which connected one side of the hall to another, were opening and shutting at rapid speed as maids and footmen rushed about dressed in silver and gold uniforms to match the highlight of the banquet, the courtyard’s chessboard.

Carina shielded her eyes as she stepped out into the sunlit space. A band of musicians rose from their arranged chairs to turn and bow towards her in greeting.

“Ah, are you, Lady Maura?” the conductor, Sir Craig, inquired as he stepped forward to greet her.

“Yes?” Carina replied briskly as she surveyed the arrangement of instruments. “Thank you for your efforts. I realize this was all very short notice. Do you all need anything?”

“Since we were allowed to select our arrangement, we are more than ready, Lady Maura. Thank you for your consideration and the marvelous accommodations provided,” the conductor replied enthusiastically with a formal bow.

‘Well, if you don’t mind living in a confined space with eight other people and no room to move about.’ Carina smiled and nodded. “Would you mind playing something for me now? I think it would help the staff relax, and our guests should be arriving at any moment.”

“It would be our pleasure.” With a sharp snap of Sir Craig’s fingers, the musicians prepared their instruments and joined together in a soothing, classical Lafearian tune that helped eased the tension weighing upon Carina’s shoulders.

“Lovely. Thank you,” Carina mouthed to the conductor with a grateful smile, then motioned for them to keep playing as she turned and continued through the courtyard towards the back exit.

Once upon the outer lawn, Carina caught a whiff of the fragrant aroma of Chef Robbi’s cooking through the open kitchen windows where the muffled clang of pots, knives, and plates mingled together beneath the Ventrayna chef’s booming voice. ‘Well, at least all arrangements for the banquet are set. Now to see if the main event is ready.’

Carina could easily make out a familiar large canopy tent set up against the boundary wall across the palace grounds' back lawn. The twins had insisted on having a private and quiet place to withdraw and change into their dancing outfits. Although Major Garrett had been against the idea of them lounging freely upon the palace grounds, Eleanora was easier to persuade, in part due to the two Lafearian knights assigned as escorts to the twins and their musicians for the duration of their stay.

Unfortunately, this arrangement also meant that if the twins failed to snag Lord Haemish’s attention tonight, they would have to pack up and leave before nightfall.

‘No pressure, but I hope Madam Maylea picked the right exotic assassins for this job.’

The dancer’s bodyguards, Sedric and Harold, sat outside smoking and conversing in a relaxed manner with their Lafearian knight babysitters. As Carina approached, the knights straightened and bowed their heads politely in recognition while Sedric left his chair and slid inside the tent. A moment later, the midnight-blue flaps opened as the twin dancers preceeded Sedric outside to greet her.

“Ah, if it isn’t our generous benefactor. Do come in, Lady Maura.” Lilaru and Griselda offered a flourished synchronized bow to Carina. Their matching braided blond hair sparkled with sapphires that spilled over the sheer robes they wore that did nothing to hide the skintight garments beneath. What appeared to be a hybrid between lingerie and a full-body swimsuit left more than enough skin to draw the Lafearian knights' shocked stare.

“Would you like to come in?” Griselda asked formally as she extended an eager hand towards Carina.

“We have been expecting you,” Lilaru added with a flirtatious smile to one of the knights. The man flushed as he and his comrade hastily spun to survey the yard.

“Thank you,” Carina replied as she accepted Griselda’s hand and found herself pulled inside the tent’s enchanted border. “The banquet will be starting at any moment. Once all the guests have arrived, a servant will inform you. When the first course has concluded, the other musicians will carry on an interlude piece of music while you and your musicians enter through the back door. You’ve already seen the space you will be performing in—between the banquet tables?”

“We have,” Griselda confirmed with a nod.

“You will have all the access you need to entice the Ambassador, but be careful of approaching the royal family who will be seated around him.”

“Do not worry, Lady Maura,” Lilaru replied with an amused smile as she settled into the cushioned hammock seat that hung from the tent’s rafter posts. “We have performed before royalty before.”

“Oh?” Carina tried not to sound surprised—or worried—as she watched the dancer spin in her chair. “Which royal family?”

“We changed our hair to the Ventrayna fashion to appeal to Lord Haemish,” Griselda effortlessly skirted Carina’s question as she ran a painted hand through the jeweled braids. “And we have prepared three different dances that are sure to get any man’s blood boiling.”

“If all goes as planned,” Lilaru murmured as she slid from the hammock to her sister’s side. “The Ambassador will call one or both of us to his bed-chamber. We will use the poisoned hairpins you provided to send him on his way to the underworld, then slip outside the palace without raising the alarm.” Lilaru pulled the cold hairpin from her coiled braids and lunged it playfully towards Griselda’s neck.

“We are, however, down to one hairpin,” Griselda replied with a sharp look to Lilaru.

‘Already?’ Carina flinched but nodded. “I have a spare in my bedroom. Though once I return to the banquet, it will be difficult to break away again without drawing suspicion.”

“Saul will find you inside. He entered with the musicians as a servant to carrying their chairs and instruments.”

“He did?” Carina blinked in surprise, followed by a small wave of relief. The twins weren’t taking any chances if they had already planned this far ahead.

“We thought it would be useful to have at least one pair of eyes and ears inside the banquet before our dance,” Griselda replied with a shrug. “Saul is very skilled at blending in.”

Carina smiled and nodded to the hairpin in Lilaru’s hand. “Do you remember how it works?”

“Break off the tip beneath the skin, and the poison will do the rest,” Lilaru recited, looking rather pleased as she returned the deadly ornament to her hair.

“The poison won’t immobilize the Ambassador immediately,” Carina cautioned as she anxiously rubbed the fabric of her long sleeves, “but it should work faster if you each administer a dose. Once it takes effect, Lord Haemish will fall into a sleep-like coma and perish before the sun rises.”

“That should provide more than enough time for you to slip us outside the palace,” Griselda said somberly. “We have a small craft hidden by the shoreline, guarded by one of Madame’s associates. As long as you can get us outside the palace, we will slip across the Serpentine River before the Ambassador takes his last breath.”

“Do not worry so much, Lady Maura,” Lilaru soothed as she swayed over to pat the attendant’s fidgeting hand. “We have handled far more frightening men than he.” The dancer motioned towards a table, barely a foot off the floor, where a pitcher of wine waited. “A drink—to steady your nerves?”

“No—I’m fine,” Carina replied with a sheepish smile, finding comfort in the twins' confident demeanor.

“Are you?” Griselda remarked sharply. “We may be free and clear once we're out. But after the Ambassador is found, any lingering suspicion will likely fall on you.”

“The poison is not one easily detected,” Carina replied as she met the dancer’s steady gaze. “Once it reaches the Ambassador’s heart, death will appear natural even to the most astute physician.” Her gaze shifted between them. “But to reach the heart quickly, you must be sure to aim for a major artery.”

“We are intimately familiar with the most efficient way to deliver poison,” Lilaru murmured as she brushed the fingers of her right hand against Carina’s earring while her left hand circled the bracelet on the attendant’s wrist. “The neck—” Lilaru graze her fingertips down Carina’s throat “—beneath the arm—” she lifted Carina’s arm above her head and traced her thumb beneath the attendant’s shoulder. “And my personal favorite—” Carina stiffened as Lilaru’s hand slid down her stomach and past her waistline. “—the blood flow here is particularly stimulated while a man is—agitated.”

Carina stared into the dancer’s seal-blue eyes, then removed Lilaru’s hand from her inner thigh and stepped away. “If you can’t deliver the poison—if it’s too dangerous—”

“We won’t fail, Lady Maura,” Griselda interjected with a hint of impatience. “Lord Haemish is not the first witch we have unmanned.”

“And he is barely a coven witch,” Lilaru added with a derisive snort.

“His bodyguards are coven witches,” Carina countered nervously. “And Lady Lavinia is a pure-blood.”

“I very much doubt Lady Lavinia will be joining us,” Griselda grumbled with a tone that indicated any further nagging on Carina’s part would be unnecessary. “We can handle things on our end.”

‘I suppose I’ll have to trust in their ability, not to mention Madame Maylea’s faith in them.’

Lilaru left Carina’s side to return to her sister. The mischievous twin tilted her head against Grilselda’s as she offered Carina an alluring smile. “We could even teach you, Lady Maura, how to render a man—weak and defenseless—if you wished.”

Carina glanced between the twins and exhaled slowly. “Another time, perhaps. You will both need to lay low for a while after the funeral until things die down.”

“Naturally,” Griselda replied with a firm nod to her twin sister.

“We look forward to it, Lady Maura,” Lilaru remarked with an excited grin as she escorted Carina back towards the entrance of the tent. The dancer pecked the attendant’s cheek as she opened the flaps. “And we are grateful for the opportunity.”

‘Grateful?’ Carina smothered a tinge of worry as she smiled at the bodyguards and knights before heading back to the palace to retrieve her backup hairpin.

[B2] Chapter 64: A Banquet in Red

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Chapter 64: A Banquet in Red

A symphony of music mingled with the rumble of saturated conversation as Carina walked past the knights stationed at the courtyard's back exit. The interior space had filled up rapidly in a short period. Noble lords of Lafeara mingled around the prepared banquet tables and greeted those of higher rank. The women mingled in small circles as they listened to the band of musicians while pointing at the artful decorations of sculpted purple glass crowns filled with small flickering golden candles.

Carina paused to catch her breath as she studied them, attaching names to the faces of those she knew. The most notable among them was Marquess Borghese, father of the notable gossip manipulator, Lady Priscilla. The Marquess stood just behind his seat at the table, surrounded by a group of noble lords who each listened with rapt attention to whatever Borghese was telling them.

‘On the surface, the Marquess is the leader of the Royal Party in all but name. It’s no wonder he can influence a vast majority of nobles. But I wonder how many of them are aware of his involvement in the sex trade market.’

Carina turned away from the disgusting noble, then cringed as she caught sight of Borghese's ginger-haired daughter. Lady Priscilla stood flanked by two other young noblewomen as she stared down her fan at a middle-aged nobleman who appeared to be doing his best to flatter her. ‘Strange that she hasn’t become engaged yet. What are the odds Priscilla hasn’t given up on becoming Nicholas’s queen?’

The discouraged nobleman withdrew with a scowl, and Carina averted her gaze as she circled the banquet on the opposite side of the Borghese father and daughter pair. She had just reached the main door connecting to the palace's interior when Tiffany appeared, escorting the Dowager herself.

Instant relief flooded the blonde attendant’s face just as Octavia called out, “Ah, we appear to have found the missing Lady Maura.”

“Your Grace,” Carina descended into a deep curtsey. “I was just seeing to the arrangements for tonight’s entertainment.”

“Oh, I see.” Octavia smiled placatingly as if she were agreeing to an obvious lie. Carina’s gaze caught on the rare glimpse of a wrinkle upon the Dowager’s otherwise immaculate and far too youthful skin. “Tonight certainly promises to be quite entertaining in more ways than one.”

Carina tried not to shiver at the cunning amusement in those words. Her all too recent and vivid meeting with the Dowager in that secret, morbid garden still fresh in her memories.

“Would you escort me to my seat, Lady Maura?” Octavia asked as she held out a hand expectantly.

Carina stepped back and glanced from Tiffany, who had already turned to leave, to the attendants behind the Dowager, and was surprised to find Lady Sabella was not among them. “Certainly—your Grace.” Carina accepted the Dowager’s hand and led the monarch around the courtyard towards the banquet table's vertex, where the royals and their esteemed guest were to be seated.

The lords and ladies all bowed respectfully as they passed. Marquess Borghese scowled faintly before he dipped into a bow alongside his daughter. ‘It appears the two heads of the Royal Party are still at odds,’ Carina mused.

“Have you ever seen a more foolish pack of jackals?” Octavia asked and raised a thin brow above her ice-blue eyes. “I’m surprised your Crown Princess deigned to invite the Borghese family—given they voiced the loudest disapproval of her marriage to Nicholas.”

“Her Highness is required to invite all members of the House of Lords to greet foreign dignitaries. Even the ones she doesn’t like,” Carina corrected reflexively, then caught her breath as she glimpsed the Dowager’s amused smile. “Forgive me. I meant no offense—”

“You’re quite outspoken for someone with so little political backing, Lady Maura,” Octavia observed as her cold grip around Carina’s hand tightened. “Or perhaps you are relying upon your connections to the Earl of Hawthorne?”

Carina offered an apologetic smile. “I spoke without thinking, your Grace. Please allow me to apologize.”

“Now, now,” Octavia’s grip relaxed as she patted Carina’s hand affectionately. “I’d rather see your true colors, Lady Maura. If only to enjoy how they clash with the values of the upper echelons of so-called nobility.”

‘Is she—encouraging me?’ Carina glanced towards the Dowager uncertainly.

“At any rate,” Octavia continued with a smirk, “I would advise you to keep an eye on our Guest of Honor this evening. I have heard whispers that his intentions are far from friendly when it comes to that woman Eleanora is so fond of.”

‘Hana?’ Carina tensed but shook the thought away as she pulled out the Dowager’s chair, two seats down from Eleanora’s with Nicholas placed between them. “Please, your Grace.”

Octavia nodded as she took her seat and waved Carina away dismissively.

Grateful to have regained her freedom, Carina briskly returned to the front palace, determined to slip away to her room for the hairpin and then check in on Hana.

Unfortunately, the Dowager’s arrival marked the quick succession of many other important guests that Eleanora greeted at the front of the palace, with Major Garrett stationed on guard behind her.

Carina, Tiffany, and Evelynn were tasked with escorting each important guest to their marked place at the banquet, where the servants dressed in gold and silver would serve the lords and ladies their first course of wine. The steady rumble of conversation and gossip soon muffled out the musician's otherwise delightful sonnet as the courtyard quickly filled.

All seemed to be progressing well, except that Carina could not find a gap between arrivals to slip upstairs to her room. She smiled almost robotically as the Prime Minister and his charming wife, Lady Lucy, greeted Eleanora at the door.

“I must apologize for Acheron’s absence. He’s still tangled up in the muddy affair of this inquisition,” Attwood explained with a brief smile from Eleanora to Carina. “But he shall be joining us tomorrow for the Dowager’s ball—”

“If Acheron can manage to stand on his own two feet,” Lucy interrupted worriedly. “Every time I see my poor boy’s tired face.”

“I’m sure Lord Acheron must be worn out from such a straining task, Lady Lucy,” Eleanora said sympathetically. “Let us hope the church does not linger for too much longer in Lafeara.” She turned her narrowed eyes to the Prime Minister. “Have they succeeded in tracking down the priest’s killer yet? Or are they simply content to burn the nuns of their church as they go?”

“Prime Minister,” Carina cleared her throat and stepped forward. “May I escort you to your seat?”

“Yes, thank you, Lady Maura,” Attwood replied with a polite smile before he turned and bowed to Eleanora. “I share your concerns, your Highness. I also wish the relationship between the church and witches could be improved.”

Eleanora pressed her lips together but gave Carina a curt nod before she turned to greet the next approaching guest.

Carina found herself escorting not so much the Prime Minister as his wife, Lady Lucy, who attached herself to Carina’s arm and babbled on about Acheron the entire way. Carina motioned Acheron’s adoring mother and the prime minister to their seats with a slight twinge of jealousy. Attwood thanked her as he pulled out a chair for his wife.

“I know my son, Lady Maura, and sadly, I’m not sure he’ll ever settle down long enough to find a suitable wife,” Lucy lamented with a pointed stare at her husband as she took her seat.

“Not all young men have to marry in their twenties,” Attwood sputtered with an embarrassed smile to Carina.

“Acheron will have to if I am to see my grandchildren!”

“Please, do enjoy the banquet, Lady Lucy,” Carina interjected and excused herself to return once more to the front. A quick glance around the courtyard showed that nearly every seat at the banquet tables was filled. The only guests still missing were the Ambassador’s family, the Crown Prince, Eleanora’s parents, and of course, the Earl of Hawthorne.

‘I suppose the important ones do tend to arrive last.’

Circling the end of the banquet table, Carina started as a noblewoman spun suddenly into her path, and a glass of red wine splattered down the front of her dress.

“Oh! Oh, my word!” The noblewoman gasped as she hurriedly pushed her now empty glass off onto the nearest servant. “Oh, dear me, I did not see you.”

“It’s—it’s fine—” Carina stammered as she pulled out a handkerchief and attempted to dab up the worst of the mess. ‘Well, that’s another dress ruined.’

“Here, use mine as well,” the noblewoman said hastily as she stepped closer and offered her own silk handkerchief. “I’m sure a woman of your status is used to using other people’s things.”

The words were so unexpected that they took Carina completely off guard as she stared from the offered handkerchief towards its owner and only then recognized Evelynn’s mother.

“Perhaps you should go change, Lady Maura,” Lady Hendrix added with an apologetic smile that did not match the sudden disapproval in her tone. “Though it will take more than a new dress to repair one’s reputation once lost.”

Carina trapped a cynical laugh behind a stiff smile as she brushed past the insulting noblewoman and continued towards the main doors. Even with a handkerchief pressed over her ruined bodice, Carina was keenly aware of the room full of nobles, who whispered and stared after her.

‘Never mind, it was bad luck I ran into her—’ Carina reeled back as Lady Priscilla walked directly into her path, and a second cup of wine flew into Carina’s face. ‘Again?!’

“Oh, how unfortunate!” Priscilla snickered as she stepped away from the now dripping attendant. “For the wine, that is.”

Carina blinked past the alcohol. The stinging red liquid quickly stiffened against her eyelashes and skin as her body temperature dropped rapidly.

‘No—hold it in, Carina!’

“Lady Maura!”

A familiar voice filled Carina’s ears as Priscilla retreated, looking rather furious for someone who had not been doused in wine. Percy stepped between them as he swiftly wrapped his dinner jacket around Carina’s shoulders.

“Come, let's get you back inside,” the Earl said gently, even as the stunned silence of the guests around them crescendoed into a buzz of gossip. Their whispers were not loud enough to silence the dramatic sob from Lady Evelynn, who rushed past Percy and Carina out the banquet doors.

‘More pointless drama,’ Carina seethed through gritted teeth, ‘that’s the last thing I need on today of all days!’ With one last scathing look in Lady Priscilla’s direction, Carina pulled away from Percy and headed to the halls filled with Evelynn’s nerve-straining wails. ‘Once I’m done with the Ambassador, I’ll deal with Lady Priscilla and her detestable father. And then Lady Evelynn—you and your family had better watch yourself.’

“Maura?” Percy whispered as he strode up quickly behind her.

Carina stopped so abruptly the Earl almost walked into her. The dripping attendant spun around as she removed his jacket. “I appreciate your hospitality, Earl Hawthorne, but it is wasted on someone like me.”

Percy blinked down at her, his brows furrowing in confusion as she thrust the dinner jacket towards him.

“You should ask one of the maids to tend to your jacket. Hopefully, it isn’t too badly stained. I’m going to change now. You should return to the banquet.”

“Maura—”

“Please, Earl Hawthorne, do not speak my name so intimately in public where others will misunderstand!”

“Is that why you ran off so quickly?” Percy snapped as he grabbed his jacket. “Are the concerns of other people so important that you refuse to wear the necklace I gave you, which is meant to keep you safe?”

‘You mean the necklace you enchanted to make me fall in love with you?’

Carina sucked in a breath and turned away from him to find Eleanora and Nicholas headed in their direction with dumbfounded expressions.

‘Wonderful. A royal audience.’ Carina quickly dipped into a curtsey as she focused her burning gaze on the floor.

“Maura? What?” Eleanora’s baffled voice fell over her.

“One or two of the guests seemed to have had far too much wine already,” Percy answered, his voice oddly strained. “I was just walking Lady Maura back to ensure no more drinks accidentally found their way onto her dress.”

“Too much wine can be a bad thing,” Nicholas replied with a tone of disapproval. “Please, Lady Maura, do not wait on our account.”

He stepped aside, and Carina glanced up as he motioned for her to leave. She bobbed another quick curtsy and murmured her thanks as she rushed past, grateful that this time, Percy did not follow. So distracted was Carina by Lady Evelynn’s performance at the front of the hall where the weeping attendant leaned against Lady Tiffany’s shoulder that she barely noticed the knight captain who stared after her in rigid silence.

‘Well, I suppose it could be worse. Lady Hendrix could have dumped her wine on me at the Dowager’s Ball in front of every single noble household in Lafeara.’

Just as Carina reached the end of the stairwell, a curtain of purple fabric flooded her vision. She stumbled to a halt as the Lafearian Knight’s cloak swirled into place around her, quickly burying her ruined dress. With a flicker of confusion, Carina turned around to find Captain Beaumont standing behind her, his annoying height forcing her to look up.

“You don’t have to return it,” the knight captain said gruffly as he hastily removed his hands. “I have another.”

Before Carina could reply, Beaumont spun around so quickly that he almost smacked into the stairwell wall. The knight captain steadied himself and then marched at a near run back towards the banquet while Carina stared after him dumbfounded.

‘No, never mind, him. I need to focus. I have the perfect excuse to go upstairs and get the hairpin now. I just need to grab it, find Saul, and hope he can get it to Lilaru and Griselda before the main event starts.’

[B2] Chapter 65: A Shiver of Dread

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Chapter 65: A Shiver of Dread

A quick dress change was simple enough for Carina once she got upstairs. However, getting the wine out of her hair took a bit more time. The flustered attendant muttered a curse as she dabbed her face dry and took in the red irritation around her ice-blue eyes that made it look as if she had been crying.

“Well, that’s annoying,” Carina muttered as she tossed the towel aside. She hastily washed her face in a basin, then cooled her eyes briefly with a bit of ice magic and added a fresh layer of light makeup. Redoing her hair only slightly improved its disheveled condition, but Carina decided it would do, especially given all the guests would likely be drunk before the night was through.

The attendant unlocked her personal chest and pulled out a small box from which she withdrew the makeshift hairpin with its icy, poisoned point. Sliding the ornament into her hair, Carina quickly shut and locked the chest, leaving the ruined dress and towel on the floor as she rushed to the door and back downstairs.

The muffled thud of her shoes down the steps and through the hall did nothing to help ease the tension that built up inside Carina’s chest. As she approached the banquet courtyard, more than a few servants offered her sympathetic glances, which confirmed the wine incident had already circulated through the palace staff.

‘Never mind, it will likely be forgotten by tomorrow if all goes well.’

Carina raised her chin resolutely and was about to march back out through the main doors when Mrs. Poppy caught her arm and quickly pulled her back.

“Her Highness says you are not to return to the banquet until the first course has finished,” the housekeeper explained as she led Carina firmly towards the kitchen.

“But—”

“Those noble lords and ladies have been talking about nothing else since you left. I’m sure you know how vicious they can be. You should give yourself some time to calm down before offering them more scraps to feed off of.”

Carina let out an irritated hiss as she crossed her arms and then blinked down at the handkerchief the housekeeper offered her.

“You look as if you’ve been crying,” Poppy said, not unsympathetically.

Carina closed her eyes and bowed her head gratefully as she pushed the handkerchief away. “No. I’m fine. I just got a bit of wine in my—” One look at the housekeeper’s face told Carina the older woman wasn’t buying a word of her excuse. “Thank you all the same, Mrs. Poppy.” Carina cleared her throat awkwardly as the woman withdrew her handkerchief. “Is there—anything I can assist with while I’m stuck waiting?”

“I suppose that’s one thing I do like about you, Lady Maura,” Poppy admitted with a slight smile. “You like to keep busy. Far too busy to be getting tangled up in the Earl’s business, I’m sure. This way.”

Carina maintained a forced smile as she followed the head housekeeper inside the kitchen. ‘One way or another, I need to find a way to squash this rumor.’ She stopped short as a room full of kitchen staff turned and glanced towards her awkwardly. Then one of the maids brought over a small cup of water and patted Carina’s shoulder sympathetically.

Carina nodded her thanks for the cup and sighed. ‘I wouldn’t even be this embarrassed if people would stop jumping to such ridiculous misunderstandings. Though the person best equipped to clarify things would be the Earl and his “not-my-fiancé.”’

Carina snapped free from her thoughts as a soft whistle pulled her attention towards the sound of a chair being dragged down the hall by a servant. Carina blinked in recognition as Saul bobbed his head inside the kitchen door towards them both. “Ah—excuse me, ladies. Where do the extra chairs go?” he asked with a hopeful glance between them.

“To the yard!” Poppy snapped as she spun towards him. “And aren’t you with the musicians? There is no reason you should be on this side of the palace at all!”

“I’m sure he just got lost,” Carina said hastily as she set down her cup and circled Poppy. “Why don’t you follow me. I can show you the way back and which door you should take.”

“Thank you, Miss.” Saul bobbed his head, looking sufficiently chastised beneath the housekeeper’s disapproving glare.

“Just take him to the end of the hall, then rejoin me in the kitchen, Lady Maura,” Poppy called out with a hint of worry as Carina hurried into the hall.

With a quick look about to make sure they were unobserved, Carina whipped about, pulled the poisoned ornament from her hair, and extended it to Saul. The bodyguard deftly tucked the hairpin into his long dark braids that were pulled halfway up and away from his rather sharp cheekbones.

“I know my way from here, Miss,” he said with a polite nod, though his tone was less subservient as he turned and retraced his steps back to the end of the hall alone.

‘Alright, that’s done.’ Carina breathed a sigh of relief as she watched him disappear. ‘Let us hope there are no more mishaps tonight.’

❆❆❆❆❆

Chef Robbi was the calm at the center of the storm as he directed the kitchen staff with the skill of a conductor capable of instantly pinpointing the slightest wavering note. Carina quickly found a corner of the kitchen to hide away in and observe the organized chaos. One of the maids quickly provided her with a spare bed sheet to wrap herself in and protect her dress. Carina couldn’t help but imagine she looked rather like a hurricane victim wrapped up in her tiny corner of the world.

‘This is ridiculous. I’m of absolutely no use here, and the first course is only getting started.’

The attendant glanced up as Mrs. Poppy reentered the kitchen with a quick round of instructions for the serving staff. “Mrs. Poppy—” Carina called out to her above the din of commands and reports that fired back and forth across the kitchen like a firing range. “I’m really of no help here—Can I return to the banquet now?”

Mrs. Poppy appeared not to hear—or simply ignored Carina—as the housekeeper meticulously eyed each plate of food placed upon the waiting dinner trays and scornfully discarded a fork or knife that had not been polished enough.

Despite being trapped inside the chaos, Carina enjoyed herself immensely as she watched the staff at work. The cooks took turns offering her snacks from plates that did not meet the housekeeper’s approval. Trays were filled, and dishes covered in a framed gold mesh cloth before they were carried out.

The menu consisted of roasted swans that had been cooked to perfection and decorated with an elegant garland of berries and herbs for the Ambassador and royal family. Carina couldn’t help but feel sorry for the unfortunate pair of birds that had been sacrificed for this occasion. For the rest of the guests, cooked geese artfully decorated with carved vegetables and fruit soon followed as the line of servants in gold and silver rapidly disappeared back down the hall towards the courtyard.

“The first course is complete. Clear away and begin preparations for the final course!” Robbi shouted as he smacked his hands together like a drum.

“Robbi!” Poppy called out in surprise, and Carina noticed the line of red staining his rolled-up sleeve. Carina recalled the wound the Dowager’s knights had given the Chef only a week before. “Be mindful of your injury! What if you bleed on the dinnerware!”

“It’s just a bit of blood!” The Chef grumbled in Ventrayna as he was pushed onto a crate in the corner while the head housekeeper hastily covered the offensive stain beneath a clean towel. “Ventrayna culture requires a bit of blood with our meat, Lady Maura,” Robbi added with a mischievous wink in Carina’s direction. He yelped as Poppy slapped his injured arm soundly. “Damn it, woman, could you be any gentler!”

Carina hid a smile as the Chef resumed his post and soon had deserts rolling from prepped ovens onto the cleaned counters. A sponge-like coconut cake lined with walnuts and plums that smelled of rich vanilla syrup and something she couldn’t identify other than it being overly sweet. The aroma itself was enough to make Carina hungry again. She crossed both arms over her distracted stomach as the staff cut each tray into serving size pieces then returned them to the resting ovens to stay warm.

“I made enough for everyone, Lady Maura,” Robbi called out with a cautious glance towards Mrs. Poppy. “But perhaps it’s time you should return to the banquet.”

“But—” Mrs. Poppy interjected, “—the guests haven’t finished the first course yet.”

“I can’t hide in here all night,” Carina replied determinedly as she removed the protective tablecloth and headed for the hall.

‘Besides, once the first course is over—the real battle begins.’

❆❆❆❆❆

“Ah, so good of you to obtain the Caligo wine,” Haemish praised as he lifted his glass to Eleanora. “You have a very thoughtful wife, your Majesty. This wine is very hard to obtain, even in Ventrayna. It is reserved for pure-bloods and members of the royal family.”

Nicholas choked on his first sip and lowered the glass. “It is—certainly exotic—”

“Perhaps a bit too strong for your taste,” Haemish appraised with a scornful smile.

“Taste is relative,” Octavia interrupted as she waved away Lady Tiffany, who had been assigned to pour out the Crown Princess’s special wine. “Appreciation and respect are far more difficult to acquire.”

Eleanora raised her glass with a sardonic grimace. “To the Queen Regent, who can turn a discussion on wine into a lecture on human relations.”

Nicholas shot the crown princess a glance, but Octavia quickly raised her glass of Lafearian wine with an amused smile.

“To the wisdom of age that comes too late,” the Dowager recited. “And the folly of youth who will not listen.”

‘Save your lectures for another day, old wolf.’ Eleanora hid a scowl behind a forced smile as she tilted her glass to Nicholas. “To the unification between our two great countries. May our marriage bring mutual appreciation and respect.”

This time it was Octavia who almost choked on her wine. Nicholas glanced over at the ever-observing Ambassador and tapped his glass to Eleanora’s before taking another tentative sip of Caligo wine.

“An excellent toast,” Haemish boomed and emptied his glass enthusiastically. “Good wine, family and friends, splendid music, and a beautiful palace. It makes traveling across that cursed desert seem but a distant dream.”

A flurry of whispers and turning heads pulled their attention to the doors where Lady Maura reappeared in a fresh gown, noticeably free of wine.

“Ahh, and that lady is?” Haemish asked curiously.

“One of my attendants,” Eleanora spoke up quickly. “Lady Maura.”

“Oh?” Haemish leaned back as he lifted his empty glass for Lady Tiffany to refill hurriedly. “She seems a bit young to be an attendant.”

“Lady Maura is perfectly capable,” Eleanora replied. “But yes, she still has much to learn,” she added with a glance to Nicholas, who was also watching the attendant’s approach. Eleanora frowned, but the crown prince merely turned and motioned to Captain Beaumont, who leaned forward to whisper something against Nicholas’s ear. The knight captain then stepped back to resume his post. Eleanora’s attention was soon diverted by Marco’s approving laugh as he clicked glasses with the young nobleman seated beside him.

‘At least Marco is enjoying himself.’ Eleanora sighed with relief, then paused with her chalice half-raised when she caught the worried frown on Lady Lavinia’s face as the woman observed her son from across the banquet table.

“Do all of your attendants come from well-established noble families?” Haemish asked, pulling the crown princess’s attention back to her uncle.

“Yes,” Eleanora replied quickly. “That is—Lady Maura is a Baroness in her own right.”

“Oh?” Haemish frowned. “She’s already married?”

“No, Eleanora was kind enough to give Lady Maura a title along with the province of Averly so she could remain a noble after her parent’s divorce,” Nicholas supplied helpfully.

“A fallen noble then?” Haemish queried with a hint of scorn.

“I think you’ll find Lady Maura more than capable of rising above any form of opposition, with or without a title,” Nicholas replied confidently and then returned to his meal.

‘Why was he praising Lady Maura?’ Eleanora wondered as she adjusted the crown that had begun to weigh uncomfortably upon her head and neck. ‘I thought Nicholas didn’t like her.’ She glanced back to where Maura had obtained a pitcher of wine and soon joined Lady Tiffany to keep up with the constant demand.

“You must take me to these famous royal hunting grounds you wrote so much about, Eleanora,” Haemish demanded after swallowing down another lump of swan meat. “I am eager to see these formidable boars you’ve been terrorizing.”

“I should be delighted to show you—” Eleanora hesitated as she glanced towards Nicholas “—if my husband permits it, of course.”

Nicholas fork nearly slipped from his fingers as he hurriedly pressed a handkerchief to the food that had nearly tumbled out of his open mouth. “Ahem—after the negotiations, I would be delighted to join you both—if my wife doesn’t mind the additional company.”

The awkwardness of his tone and shifting gaze revealed his discomfort, but Eleanora smiled and lifted his empty cup towards the passing Lady Maura. “Of course, dearest husband. I should be delighted to receive the pleasure of your company.”

She glanced back as the wine pitcher withdrew and did not miss the surprised look of approval on Maura’s face before the attendant withdrew to focus on the other guests.

‘That’s right—It's just a few days. As long as Nicholas is willing to act along with me, this much shouldn’t be too difficult.’

Eleanora passed her recovering husband his glass, and Nicholas dipped it towards her in a silent salute as his hazel-blue eyes regarded her with a hint of uncertainty. While masking her victory with the blandest expression she could muster—certainly, that was how all other obedient wives appeared to the crown princess anyway—Eleanora glanced over to gauge her uncle’s reaction. She was surprised and somewhat annoyed to find his gaze still focused on Lady Maura, who was chatting away with Lady Lucy at the corner of the table.

“You should invite your ladies-in-waiting to ride along as well,” Nicholas suggested suddenly. “It will help them prepare for the Royal Hunt.”

“A capital idea, your Majesty,” Haemish quickly agreed with a satisfied grin as he turned to salute the crown prince with his chalice of wine. “It’s as if you read my mind.”

“A skill that will prove rather useful tomorrow, no doubt,” Nicholas returned without missing a beat.

The Ambassador chuckled, apparently in good spirits, as he resumed his silent stalking of a certain blue-eyed attendant.

‘Not good,’ Eleanora reflected all too late as she glanced towards Lady Lavinia for help. Her aunt appeared all too focused on Lady Hendrix's conversation as they both whispered over the steady flow of wine. ‘Haemish has only ever fooled around with blondes before. I thought he might take an interest in Lady Tiffany, but she has a family to protect her. If he asks for Maura, I—’

A sudden chill ran down her spine as Eleanora’s gaze drifted behind Nicholas’s chair to where Captain Beaumont was staring—simply staring—at the back of the Ambassador’s head. Trapped behind the man’s amethyst eyes was something altogether terrifying and far from human.

[B2] Chapter 66: A Dance of Assassins

❖❖❖❖❖❖❖❖❖❖

Chapter 66: A Dance of Assassins

“It’s a wonder that any negotiations will be taking place tomorrow with how much fine wine these nobles have consumed,” Mrs. Poppy observed with a sour note as she poured another bottle of wine into Carina’s pitcher.

The headhouse keeper and attendant stood together beside the open double doors that led into the interior of Rose Palace. The courtyard was abuzz with lively celebration as the royals and nobles finished their meal and raised their fourth or sixth glass of wine in celebration.

“The royal couple is getting along, the Ambassador is sufficiently drunk and happy, and all our other guests are enjoying the efforts we have put into this banquet,” Carina replied with a weary note of victory. “Tomorrow's problems are not ours.”

Poppy raised a brow and frowned as she finished filling the attendant’s pitcher, then placed the half-empty bottle onto the cart beside her. “Then what was all that fuss about earlier that resulted in you needing to change your gown, Lady Maura?”

“Ahh, that,” Carina murmured as she glanced to the right of the courtyard where Viscount Hendrix and his wife stood on either side of Lord Percy’s seat. The Hendrix’s chatted pleasantly to Marquess Winifred, who was seated to the left of the Earl. Percy remained stoically aloft from their conversation, though his gaze had a habit of roaming the room searching for Carina. “Just a misunderstanding caused by malicious rumors someone has been spreading about me.”

“But what else would these fine ladies have to fill their day aside from gossip?” Poppy asked with a knowing smirk. “Though, if you do decide to even the score—use the Aswan wine, not the Caligo. Cheaper and much more likely to stain.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Mrs. Poppy,” Carina replied wryly as her gaze drifted to the left side of the banquet where Marquess Borghese was one too many cups into a vineyard. Beside him, the ever imposing Lady Priscilla appeared fixated on Nicholas and Eleanora, who were doing a remarkable job of entertaining the Ambassador while not slitting each other’s throat.

The rich and festive banquet melody the musicians played shifted to a more tranquil tune as the servants cleared away the remnants of the main course.

‘It’s time,’ Carina realized as she waited for the servants to pass by her into the hall before she returned to the task of refilling the noble’s glasses with more Aswan wine. Carina had just filled her first cup when the curtains draped over the back entrance behind the musicians fluttered open as Sedric and Harold appeared. The bodyguards were dressed in midnight blue garments and carried a palanquin with a silk curtain of similar color draped over its dark wooden oak arms.

The musicians rose and moved aside while servants hurriedly cleared a path through the chairs. Sedric and Harold continued forward at a steady pace, undeterred. When a servant didn’t grab one of the chairs fast enough, Sedric kicked it aside.

Carina flinched as the chair clattered against the ground, but the banquet guests appeared more intrigued than offended by the rough display.

The bodyguards set the palanquin down at the edge of the courtyard and bowed towards the banquet tables. Then Sedric lifted his flute, and with a single haunting note, silenced the musicians who moved behind the curtains to retire and refresh until the dancer’s performance was complete.

The sudden, dramatic appearance of the palanquin and Sedric’s flute quickly captured the banquet guests' attention. With a similar show of powerful confidence, Harold unhooked a set of drums from the arm posts and softly beat out an energetic and rousing rhythm that supported the flute's soulful tune.

The drum beats soon matched the flute player and drummer's movements as they marched in a circle the palanquin once, then a second time, and a third. The resonate beat increased in pace with each revolution until, at the music’s zenith, the drum and flute ceased, and the courtyard fell into silence.

Sedric and Harold turned. Their outstretched hands gripped the curtain which concealed the palanquin’s occupants within its hidden depths.

Across the midnight blue satin cover, a glittering sand-like substance shifted as the fabric moved. Then, as Sedric and Harold flung the curtain out towards the banquet, the glimmering particles showered upon the stunned onlookers and scattered across the flickering candles on the banquet table.

A decadent fragrance soon filled the air. A few mingled gasps of surprise and delight broke the intense silence as the unveiled litter came into view beneath the fluttering drape. Sedric released his corner of the curtain. Harold swiftly pulled and wrapped the material around his arm before casting the satin fabric to the edge of the courtyard.

The dazed eyes of the silent audience remained focused upon the two golden heads bowed together. Two pairs of arms and legs folded about the other as two pairs of startling blue eyes, outlined in black and gold, opened and looked towards the audience.

Sedric lifted his flute once more, and this time a strange, erratic tune shivered through the dark cloaks that surrounded the twin dancers. Their gold-painted arms and legs moved as if captivated by the music, and yet they remained glued to each other, trapped in a tangle of confusion.

Herold’s drum returned, and the music blended into a calm, evocative melody as the dancer’s movement synchronized. They pulled away from each other, separating until only the right and left hand connected the twins. Then the dancers raised their heads and—extending opposing legs over the palanquin's side—rose and turned to face the royal table.

With neither a word nor the glimmer of a smile, the twins bowed gracefully to the royal family. Their gold-painted hands touched the sun and moon-shaped sapphires that adorned a thin circlet around their braided blonde hair in a gesture of respect.

Carina took in a shallow breath as she glanced towards the Ambassador. Lord Haemish appeared pleased, intrigued, and intently focused upon the performers, a cup half-raised, forgotten in his hand.

Eleanora sat with eyebrows raised, a smile twitching in the corners of her mouth, while Nicholas nervously glanced from the scantily clad dancers towards the Dowager at his left. Octavia felt the crown prince’s gaze and coughed into her handkerchief before the Dowager shot her grandson a look that seemed to express, ‘this is your wife and therefore your problem to deal with.’

Eleanora took one look at Nicholas’s lost expression and then, with a quick evaluation of her uncle’s delighted grin, waved her hand to the dancers and permitted them to begin.

“Well,” Lady Tiffany whispered nervously as she walked up beside Carina. “This will either be a resounding success for you—”

“Or I’ll be packing my bags and leaving first thing tomorrow?” Carina finished with a chuckle.

“If you’re lucky,” Tiffany added with a weak smile.

The twins shed their sheer black cloaks with matching grins, leaving only the skin-tight black laced costumes beneath that accentuated their figures and left very little to the imagination.

“O-on second thought,” Tiffany whispered breathlessly as her eyes widened in shock. “W-we should keep pouring the wine.”

Carina raised a brow curiously.

“If all our guests blackout—w-we can just pretend this was all just a bad dream.” With a focused look of determination, Tiffany returned to her task with one hand raised to shield her eyes from the sensuality on display at the center of the courtyard.

Carina smothered a laugh against the back of her hand and continued around the table to refill every empty glass she saw.

‘The less the guests remember about tonight, the better for the twins and myself.’

A quick assessment of the shocked but mesmerized nobles showed a mixed reaction to the twin’s seductive dance as Lilaru and Griselda twirled, tumbled, and spun around the courtyard floor. Their long gold-painted limbs shimmered in the candlelight while their braided, jewel adorned hair sparkled and danced against their painted cheeks, graceful hands, and enticing smiles.

‘I can’t even tell them apart now,’ Carina realized with a sigh of admiration. She tore her gaze away from the twins once more as a nobleman raised his glass for another refill. ‘I’m losing count, but the pitcher is nearly empty, so that’s a good sign.’

Carina noticed as she reached the corner of the royals table that quite a bit of the glittering dust had made its way onto the royal’s tablecloth, silverware, and even into their wine.

Nicholas appeared to notice as he passed his wine back to Beaumont, who promptly dumped its contents on the floor then signaled to a servant for a new glass. Eleanora laughed at the crown prince’s wastefulness and continued to drink her wine without a care. Haemish too appeared little concerned—or perhaps too drunk to notice. He remained focused on the two blonde beauties as he attempted to drink from his empty glass three times unsuccessfully.

‘I hope that glitter is nothing more than a stage prop, but something tells me it isn’t,’ Carina pondered with sudden anxiety. The lump at the back of her throat sank into her gut with the weight of an anvil as Carina contemplated the sudden reality that her fate and the success of this mission now rested in the hands of the two beautiful assassins before her. She took a deep breath, swallowed down her fear and anxiety, then refocused on pouring the wine.

The hairs on the back of her neck stiffened as she turned from one noblewoman’s filled glass to find Percy standing directly behind her.

“Might I speak with you for a moment, Lady Maura,” the Earl said formally, his winter grey eyes unreadable as he steadied the pitcher in her hand.

Carina edged around him and stepped back. “Forgive me, Earl Hawthorne, but I’m a bit busy right now.” A flicker of movement past his shoulder showed Haemish had finally raised his glass for a refill. “Excuse me,” Carina murmured as she moved to circle past the Earl.

Percy caught her arm and held her fast as he leaned towards her ear. “I just wanted to apologize for the rumors. I will resolve them quickly.”

Carina exhaled sharply as she half turned towards him. “Perhaps, Earl Hawthorne, you should reflect on your actions that have led to such rumors.” She tried to pull her arm free but failed when his grip tightened. She raised her gaze to snap at him but choked beneath the genuine look of hurt painted upon his countenance. With a futile sigh, Carina quickly averted her gaze. “Please, release me.”

“It’s not all false,” Percy replied suddenly.

Carina’s brows furrowed, but she refused to meet his gaze. Percy’s grip relaxed as his fingers glided down towards her wrist.

“They weren’t wrong about my infatuation with you, Lady Maura.”

Carina nearly dropped the pitcher as a jolt of surprise drew a startled gasp from her lips before she could clamp them shut. She turned instinctively to protest—but remembering the many eyes and ears around them—pulled free and fled his presence instead.

‘Damn it. What the hell did he mean?’

Logic and knowledge of the Winter Rose’s secret enchantments echoed the simple reality of her question as Carina’s cheeks flushed and she walked blindly past the Ambassador’s waiting cup.

‘But—what the hell am I supposed to do if Percy is, in fact, infatuated with me?’

She reached the opposite end of the royal table and turned to follow the banquet seats of the nobles back towards the kitchen. A hand shot out, nearly clobbering Carina in the face, and she stared down at a very intoxicated Lady Hendrix, who was saying something that was practically gibberish to a relaxed but smiling Lady Lavinia.

‘Oh, wouldn’t it be an irony if Evelynn ended up marrying Lord Marco and had to leave Lafeara?’

Carina resisted the urge to empty what remained of the wine in her pitcher upon the noblewoman. Instead, she filled the noblewoman’s cup and continued towards the palace doors.

Saul leaned casually against the open entry doors and nodded to the pitcher as Carina approached. “I’ll take what’s left of that if you’re done with it.”

“Are you sure?” Carina asked with a single raised brow. “Some of that glitter got into it.”

Saul sighed disappointedly and shook his head before moving further into the hallway.

‘That reaction. So, there was something in that glitter!’

“What’s in it?” Carina pressed as she followed.

“Just a little something to lighten the mood and leave the nobles with a fuzzy memory of the night's events,” Saul replied with a knowing wink.

“You—” Carina stepped closer as she backed him against the wall “—did you just drug the entire royal family and the House of Lords?”

Saul scoffed. “Nothing worse than what a night of drinking that fine Caligo wine can do. Its effects are neither grave nor serious, or those poison tasters would have picked up on it by now.”

Carina let out a sharp exhale as she stepped away from him and leaned against the wall instead.

“Maybe you should have a drink yourself? Help you relax a bit,” Saul suggested with a knowing grin. “Either way, we're both in need of a drink to celebrate tonight’s success.”

“You’re that confident?” Carina asked as she rubbed at the tension in her neck.

“Look at them,” Saul nodded back towards the banquet.

Carina followed his gaze and nearly choked at the sight of one of the twins—Lilaru, if she had to guess—laid out across the royal banquet table while Lord Haemish poured the contents of his refilled wine glass into the dancer’s open, waiting mouth.

‘Well, if that doesn’t get the Ambassador’s attention—'

“Let’s hope you’re right,” Carina whispered as she turned back towards the bodyguard. She stiffened as her gaze flew past him down the hall to where the floating dark specter stared back at her. Maura spread her gruesome mouth in a scream that emitted a single nearly unintelligible word.

‘Hana!’

Table of Contents

- Table Of Contents -
[B1] Chapter 51: A History of Witches
[B1] Chapter 52: The Scent of Suspicion
[B1] Chapter 53: Wolves in the Garden
[B1] Chapter 54: The Queen of Wolves
[B1] Chapter 55: The Corruption of Paradise
[B1] Chapter 56: The Winds of Sorrow
[B1] Chapter 57: The Final Challenge Begins
[B1] Chapter 58: A Banquet of Wolves
[B1] Chapter 59: A Gala of Discord
[B1] Chapter 60: A Glimmer of Magic
[B1] Chapter 61: The Fortune of Fools
[B1] Chapter 62: The Claws of Guilt
[B1] Chapter 63: Weight of the Dead
[B1] Chapter 64: The Chill of Death
[B1] Chapter 65: A Garden of Secrets
[B1] Chapter 66: A Test of Loyalty
[B1] Chapter 67: Chosen by the Scorpion
[B1] Chapter 68: An Oath of Loyalty
[B1] Chapter 69: A Mother's Love
[B1] Chapter 70: The Treachery of History
[B1] Chapter 71: The Color of Desire
[B1] Chapter 72: The Shackles of Pride
[B1] Chapter 73: The Shadow of Grief
[B1] Chapter 74: The Solace of Friendship
[B1] Chapter 75: Scent of a Witch
[B1] Chapter 76: Secrets of a Lady
[B1] Chapter 77: A Matter of Trust
[B1] Chapter 78: The Color of Betrayal
[B1] Chapter 79: A Shadow of Deception
[B1] Chapter 80: A Brotherhood of Sorrow
[B1] Chapter 81: A Vendetta of Power
[B1] Chapter 82: A Clash of Wills
[B1] Chapter 83: A Lover's Cursed Fate
[B1] Chapter 84: A Broken Family Affair
[B1] Chapter 85: An Unholy Reckoning
[B1] Chapter 86: A Baptism of Fire
[B1] Chapter 87: A Pure-Blood Devil
[B1] Chapter 88: A Spark of Chaos
[B1] Chapter 89: A Trail of Destruction
[B1] Chapter 90: A Twist of Malice
[B1] Chapter 91: A Storm of Crows
[B1] Chapter 92: A Sanctuary of Sin
[B1] Chapter 93: A Feast of Crows
[B1] Chapter 94: The Rot of Power
[B1] Chapter 95: A Crown of Vengeance
[B1] Chapter 96: An Official Death Notice
[B1] Chapter 97: The Absence of Grief
[B1] Chapter 98: The Wings of Fate
[B1] Chapter 99: A Crown of Crows
[B1] Chapter 100: A Specter of Betrayal
[B1] Chapter 101: A Treacherous Path Forward

[B1] Chapter 102: The Beginning of the End { Part 1 }

[B1] Chapter 103: The Beginning of the End { Part 2 }

[B1] Epilogue: The Pope of Zarus
Interlude Part I: The Disgraced Prince
Interlude II: Mask of the Ghoul
Interlude III: The Betrayed Prince
Interlude Part IV: Goddess of Destruction
Special Interlude V: The Crow and the Earl

Story Art Work: CoRW - Book 1 & Book 2 (to come)

[B2] Prologue: A Husk of Mortality
[B2] Chapter 1: The Fragrance of Sorrow
[B2] Chapter 2: The Fate of Sisters
[B2] Chapter 3: The Sting of Gossip
[B2] Chapter 4: Roses at a Funeral
[B2] Chapter 5: Tortured and Twisted Grief
[B2] Chapter 6: A Whisper of Malice
[B2] Chapter 7: The Weight of Guilt
[B2] Chapter 8: The Shadow of Valor
[B2] Chapter 9: The Ties of Blood
[B2] Chapter 10: The Mark of a Master
[B2] Chapter 11: A Blade of Secrets
[B2] Chapter 12: A Trade of Secrets
[B2] Chapter 13: The Color of Fear
[B2] Chapter 14: Prince of the Desert
[B2] Chapter 15: The Bloodlines of Covens
[B2] Chapter 16: The Shackles of Power
[B2] Chapter 17: The Ripper’s Smile
[B2] Chapter 18: Shadow of the Witch Hunters
[B2] Chapter 19: A Lady of Mystery
[B2] Chapter 20: The Divide of Power
[B2] Chapter 21: A Bog of Poison
[B2] Chapter 22: The Sounds of Discord
[B2] Chapter 23: A Prick of Cunning
[B2] Chapter 24: A Breach of Trust
[B2] Chapter 25: A Trace of Poison
[B2] Chapter 26: The Scent of Violence
[B2] Chapter 27: A Play of Power
[B2] Chapter 28: The Guilt of Providence
[B2] Chapter 29: A Breath of Deception
[B2] Chapter 30: The Labyrinth of Anthraticus
[B2] Chapter 31: Daughter of Frost
[B2] Chapter 32: The Price of Immortality
[B2] Chapter 33: A Dangerous Deviation
[B2] Chapter 34: The Politics of Marriage
[B2] Chapter 35: A Wave of Ambition
[B2] Chapter 36: A Prison of Fear
[B2] Chapter 37: The Web of Politics
[B2] Chapter 38: The Peril of Gossip
[B2] Chapter 39: The Scent of Manipulation
[B2] Chapter 40: A Mark of Enmity
[B2] Chapter 41: The Taste of Emptiness
[B2] Chapter 42: A Menu for Disaster
[B2] Chapter 43: The Weight of Dawn
[B2] Chapter 44: A Wrinkle of Truth
[B2] Chapter 45: A Testament of Humanity
[B2] Chapter 46: A Questionable Alliance
[B2] Chapter 47: The Spoils of Matrimony
[B2] Chapter 48: The Fate of a Queen
[B2] Chapter 49: The Fragrance of Treachery
[B2] Chapter 50: The Prodigal Son Returns
[B2] Chapter 51: The Spice of Discord
[B2] Chapter 52: A Conflict of Interests
[B2] Chapter 53: The Fangs of Winter
[B2] Chapter 54: The Consequences of Fate
[B2] Chapter 55: The Unveiled Truth
[B2] Chapter 56: The Path of Failure
[B2] Chapter 57: A Channel of Power
[B2] Chapter 58: A Vision of Ghosts
[B2] Chapter 59: The Trouble with Twins
[B2] Chapter 60: The Arrival at Dawn
Interlude VI: Predators of the Desert
[B2] Chapter 61: A Peddler of Betrayal
[B2] Chapter 62: The Gift of Family
[B2] Chapter 63: The Art of Seduction
[B2] Chapter 64: A Banquet in Red
[B2] Chapter 65: A Shiver of Dread
[B2] Chapter 66: A Dance of Assassins