“The sun is coming up,” Morven peered at the horizon, a canvas of purple and orange. “Kay, take over.”

The vampire began sauntering to his cabin, rubbing his eyes, as Kay waltzed up the steps and took a grip on the wheel, yawning and mumbling. Even half-asleep, the human king was striking. He caught her watching. She didn’t move her gaze away but gave him the impression of assessing him coldly instead of gawking at him.

“Wait, if Kay can sail the ship all along, why did you wait to arrive until night?” Afia asked, glancing around her as she brushed on her parchment.

The audacity of this servant—not caring if Morven was one of the deadliest and oldest beings that roamed Zyvern. The vampire wasn’t startled by her bold inquiry either; instead, he gave her a warm smile—well, what his marbled features could afford. Not even Casarda had the nerve to speak with the rulers of Zyvern. The companions they brought with them tended to avoid any conversation with the rulers but their own.

“Just being petty,” he said. Afia perked her eyebrows at him. “I am random like that sometimes. Plus, I have to prove a point.” He made a subtle jerk of his head towards Clythia.

“A point of reminding us you are a vampire?” Clythia scoffed. “You look too dead for anyone to think otherwise.”

The point had everything to do with how the leaders were the dramatic sort around each other, swelling with steel pride and an unyielding ego. For instance, at the last Tithe, Zahar was clad in a garment woven with pearls, and the fabric bore the insignia of Elfive: four rings tangling to form a cross. They were hued in different colors, making the elf queen resemble a bowl of candy.

The vampire gave Clythia a long look. “I am starting to see why Glythia was feral around you,” he cocked his head as a breeze ruffled his coat and her braided hair. “You really like to get under people’s skin.”

It’s cute how you consider yourself as people, she said in her head. However, she wasn’t in for another fight; instead, she gave Morven a bow of mockery. “I am talented like that.”

It had taken Morven’s and Kay’s earnest involvement for her and Glythia not to bite each other’s heads off. Kay had escorted her to a cabin, where her mind was too fogged to struggle against his firm arm—the Charbydis and the deaths of her companions, the over-expectation of the werewolf all mixing up into a torrent of vehemence.

Despite all the upheaval of emotions, her limp joints, drained of magic, won as the web of sleep swept her off her feet. She hadn’t seen the Prime after she woke. Since it was early, the deck was empty save for the three.

The vampire clasped his hand behind his back. “You need to be careful, witch,” he said, but in no terms of a threat; rather, a peculiar concern was read on his features.

“Why is that?” Clythia cocked her head at him, letting the breeze ruffle her braids, wafting the familiar saline smell.

“You are the slave of the Shadow,” Morven made a stiff shrug. “I know what the Shadow was like firsthand.”

“I am no one’s slave,” she said with a clipped tone. “When will you all understand the difference between a trade and slavery?” She shook her head, resting her arms on the railing and staring at the quiet mass of blue. “Look, I’ve already had a grueling conversation about leadership, sacrifice, and whatnot with Glythia, alright? I don’t need another one. And I don’t need to explain myself to any of you. I run my kingdom the way I see fit.”

Morven stepped beside her, with no footsteps echoed on the planks. He should wear a bell or something; how can anyone not be spooked out? “I am in no business to tell you how to run your kingdom,” he said. “In fact, I would have done the same thing if I were in your shoes.”

Clythia’s gaze landed on him. “Then why didn’t you? I heard Cravax is in deep shit.”

“Because I am not in your shoes,” his coal eyes intensified on hers. “You are oblivious to its consequences. I have lived in the Shadow’s era, the worst of times...” he trailed off, as the clouds moved to reveal an orange ball of fire creeping up the horizon. With a blink of an eye, he ducked under a cabin’s shade.

It was the vampire who seemed startled by the intrusion of the ray, nonetheless, it made Clythia jump.

“Why am I up early, when you are perfectly fine in bright daylight?” Kay yelled from the wheel. “Maybe I should go back to sleep.” The human began walking down the steps.

“Alright, I am going to sleep,” Morven said, following the long shadows cast by the sunrise. He gave Clythia a wink before disappearing into a cabin.

Clythia stretched, causing a liquid of exhaustion to magnify in her joints. Maybe she should go back to sleep herself. She could feel the thrumming of her magic, yet it was weak, akin to the time when she was rushing to access the Tome.

Perhaps she was a slave after all, selling herself and her kingdom to a strange magic she didn’t have the barest of clues about, albeit she thought she had in the first place. Thinking she was the winner, that she had the advantage while she was drenching DavinSaw in inescapable muck.

She trudged back into her cabin, telling her guard stationed there to wake her when they reached Nadir.

Funny, she hadn’t noticed the silver drapes hanging on the small window, dancing up and down with the peaceful breeze last night. She sprawled on the bed, small in its size, with a fluffy brown blanket soothing her to sleep.

A creak and a thud of a door closing snapped her eyes open. She had closed the door when she entered, hadn’t she?

But when her eyes met those of the intruder, she didn’t bother to care for the answer because it mattered not.

The figure removed his hood, revealing thick and slightly arched eyebrows gleaming with a pebble of diamonds each, sharp jaws, broad shoulders, muscles bulging in all the right places.

And silver eyes.

Her heart was thundering in her ears as her sight lingered on a familiar presence of metal twisted around her neck.

“Oh, not this again,” Clythia mumbled, pinning her gaze away from him, well aware of his movement as he leaned against the wall.

Her fingers traced the cool metal embracing her neck. She thought of unclasping it by whatever means. However, the thought of the agony it caused the last time she attempted to disobey him, stopped her fingers in their tracks.

“You didn’t miss me?” His reverberated tone sent a shiver down her spine. Her building resistance became a debris, curling her feet with it.

“I hardly miss someone who threatened to kill my son,” she gritted out as the sweet, blissful headiness leisurely clawed at her mind.

To make things worse, he began to stroll towards her, and the scents of leather and dew seared through her nose; she shuddered. Tiyus chuckled, making the last crumbs of common sense sweep away with the wind.

“Look at me,” he said.

Every fiber of her neck ached to crane towards him, but she bit her tongue, a coppery taste filling her mouth.

“I said, look at me.” His voice was laced with promises of what was to come if she disobeyed

Promises of torture.

He didn’t need to further elaborate as she heeded his order and met his thunderstorm eyes, her gut churning with disgust and desire all the same.

“Why do you resist me?” his voice plopped to softness, as he ran his nails on her cheeks, igniting a fire on her skin. Her teeth dug deep into her tongue, yearning for a pain, any pain to cloud the headiness that was overwhelming her.

“What are you?” she managed to say, unable to hide the whimper in her voice.

“I do the questioning; you do the answering,” his fingers trailed on her lips, her breath caught in her throat.

She scooted backwards until she was blocked by the wooden headboard. He mimicked her movement, closing the distance between them, his thigh brushing hers. “I am tired, Tiyus, I can’t handle you right now. I can’t handle you ever. I don’t want to handle you. I don’t want you in my life!”

The door burst open, and a figure loomed in with a flurry of air. It was Morven.

And Tiyus was gone, vanished into thin air, as if he had never existed, as though she hadn’t felt the fire on her cheeks. Like always, leaving a trail of a faint smell of dew and leather.

“What was that for?” Morven complained. “Are you in trouble or something?” His eyes swept through the tiny cabin.

Clythia was extremely relieved that someone had barged in. It didn’t matter if it was the ruler that made goosebumps run wild on her skin. Even though Morven was the reflection of death’s countenance, she cherished his presence as the fog of desire lifted from her mind and once again her body and mind wholly belonged to her.

“I am fine,” she snapped, trying to hide the relief showering her.

“If that’s the case, then don’t disturb those of us who are trying to rest,” he grunted and turned to leave.

“Please wait.” Her tongue blurted out the words before she could think better of it. Perhaps her sensible side of her mind hadn’t fully taken control. As soon as those words left, regret was gnawing at her.

The terror of Tiyus reappearing got the better of her ego, it seemed.

Morven turned, assessing her with a look she couldn’t decipher, and tucked his chalky hands in his pocket. “What is going on?” he asked quietly.

“I apologize; this is really inappropriate,” she managed to give him a false grin. “You really need to rest. I was just having a nightmare—” Damn it, why would she say that? “I mean—ugh—never mind. I am not a child who needs coddling, sorry to disturb you—any of you,” she heaved a sigh.

Fuck you, Tiyus! You fucking whore!

Morven’s jet-black brows rose. “Something big is wrong, and I am not leaving until you tell me.”

“There is nothing wr-”

“You apologized for ruining my sleep,” he cut her off. “That’s very unlike you, Witch Queen. I know you hate me. I see how you look at me with disgust, and yet you just begged me to stay.” She didn’t argue back as she watched him blankly. “And you and I both know a stupid nightmare isn’t capable of making you do that.”

Damn it, why couldn’t she get a hold of herself instead of whimpering like a child? She was expecting to tip the scales on this endeavor, to learn the vulnerability of the rulers as she did whatever Tiyus wanted from her. But here she was, the second day on the trek, and she cried like an infant in need of its mother, of all races to a vampire.

Her worst nightmare—before she crossed paths with Tiyus and the Charbydis.

“Why do you care?” she glowered at him. “You were about to leave, were you not? Off you go.”

“I don’t care,” the vampire admitted coldly. “But an excruciatingly long existence on Zyvern and other planets has taught me how to connect dots. I was about to leave because maybe I was interrupting your precious moment with a man.”

“You—you heard a man’s voice?” Clythia had wondered, more often than not, if Tiyus could be the cruel play of the Shadow’s magic, like a hallucination conjured or a force causing malediction on her son.

“I was not supposed to, why? I can’t help it, I have the heightened senses of a vampire, but no, that is not it,” he scanned her face. “You thought you were the only one who could see him. This... Tiyus.”

“Leave, Morven,” her gaze darted to the window veiled with drapes and back to him. “Or I will open the window. I need only lift a finger.”

“If it is the thing I think it is, I am not leaving. I need answers because eventually, it will affect not just me but Zyvern as a whole.” Morven grabbed a chair and sank into it, leaning forward, elbows on knees.

“A certain race visiting people, in the privacy of their bed, bending their will, sealing their loyalty to the Shadow even further...” he trailed off. Clythia wanted to argue, to deflect, to tell the vampire to stop probing, yet some part of her wanted to get to the bottom of things. To know who this Tiyus was, what he was, the demon that threatened her one and only son. Hence, she held her tongue. “The witches and wizards, the faeries, and the elves were the most susceptible to the Shadow as they were the main practitioners of magic. They were in touch with the Shadow more often than not, so its sons and daughters touched them too.” Clythia stiffened; the way he said “touched” was of a voluptuous nature.

A lump caught in her throat, and she swallowed. His coal eyes darted to the bob of her neck. At that moment, Clythia wished for nothing more than to be the dinner of the Charbydis’ belly underwater.

“Not only the Charbydis but, as I suspected, the Evils are coming back. Possibly, the beasts of Surial too,” he said more to himself than to her, then he focused on her. “You are being visited by one of them, aren’t you?” his inquiry came quietly.

Clythia opened her mouth, then closed it, opened it again, but nothing escaped.

“This is really bad,” he clasped his chin, rubbing his mouth. “This is so fucking bad. What have you done?”

Finally, her tongue loosened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, enough with the folderol,” he grated, eyes burning with impatience. “How can you not know this? Ilyana was well aware. How can you not—”

“Well, Ilyana seemed to have left out an important detail for whatever reason,” she seethed. “Tell me what is making you fidget like a cricket, or get the fuck out of here before I kick you out myself.”

Morven stilled akin to a doe listening to its hunter, never ceasing to unnerve her even as dread coiled around her gut. “Have you slept with him yet?”

She hesitated, uncertain of the answer. When it came to technicality, she hadn’t slept with him, though he had played with her.

“Have you?” he asked again, echoing the dread in her.

“No,” she replied.

“Good, don’t ever sleep with him. No matter how much he gets in your head, he hasn’t had the final win over you yet. So don’t.”

“What if he hurts my son?” she whispered, but the question was directed toward herself rather than the vampire king.

His expression softened. “He can’t. There are a few stages of submission, and each and every step requires your consent. If you fall into his temptations...” The vampire king shook his head. “May the gods save us all.”