It had been hours since everyone retired to their chambers. The faerie king had given them permission to choose whatever room they desired, and they did—at least everyone but the werewolves.

Her companions had picked out the best room for her first. Then, they chose nicer bedchambers for themselves and didn’t hesitate to use force when the werewolves were interested in their choices. Some even had the nerve to hurl the werewolves out after they had occupied them first.

It seemed the sorcerers had lost the reverence they had for the werewolves after the embarrassing stunt she pulled on their king. This was why they say, “Lead by example,” as the action of the leader would ripple down the hierarchy. It was unwise given the long trek that awaited them all.

Yet, like many things nowadays, it was her fault.

She started it first.

Clythia gulped the contents of her red wine glass in one go. How many glasses had she had? Three? Four? Six? She had lost count because as soon as it was empty, it refilled itself, and the only indication was that she was leaving the tipsy territory and settling on the drunk ground.

The hall was in a tranquil silence, showered by vibrant orbs. Rays of pink and green were showering her, such a stark difference from the gloomy cloud vicing around her heart.

Sooner or later, she was going to enter her bedchamber. How long was she going to avoid the beast that awaited her?

The ceramic engraving of animals encircling the door was a beauty to behold; it was inviting, even soothing. However, if she stepped inside, she would be nothing more than an puppet maneuvering to the Evil’s whim.

Hence, she was leaning on the balcony and looking down at the breathtaking city whose name she forgot to ask. In normal circumstances, she would have, but normal had become a luxury that was spiking in price, one she couldn’t afford.

The outlandish spires and towers were gleaming with lights bright enough to pollute the night sky. The flowers coiling around buildings had more function than aesthetics it seemed; they were the torches of the city, bathing it in light so intense that even faeries dallying in deserted alleys were visible.

The only comparison she could find for the buildings was with cookies. They came in different sizes and shapes, as though the faeries had the architectural freedom to sprout any kind of building that came to imagination.

Who would think such an enthralling and whimsical place belonged to the Shadow?

“No sleep?” A voice came. Clythia whirled to see Vina in a rose nightgown occupying the space beside her.

“I don’t want to sleep,” Clythia admitted.

“Neither do I,” Vina said. “This place creeps me out. It’s too colorful,” she shuddered in disgust. “My favorite color was red, but now that I have seen a lot of it, I don’t like it anymore.”

Clythia gave Vina a long look. This was weird. The Lady of Hypercas talking with her in such a loose manner... she was imagining things, perhaps there was such a thing as too much wine.

The rivalry between Clythia and Vina began even before she became queen when they both attended Wigmond. Nothing had disappointed Clythia more than when Vina graduated in first rank and she was in third, the second occupied by her late husband, Din, the Asshole.

“What is your favorite color?” Vina asked, as though the stunt she was pulling was completely normal, her stern face overlooking the sprawled city.

Clythia wanted to bite back, to retort, to snap at the Lady of Hypercas about what game she was playing, to order her back to where she came from and leave her be.

However, that felt like a never-ending chore she wasn't willing to work on. Thus, despite her feral instincts that were being smothered by the wine, she simply said, “Grey, sadly I still like it too.”

Vina shifted her gaze to her, her expression unreadable. After a moment of silence, she said, “Why is it sad?”

Clythia only shrugged in response, gulping the contents of the glass.

“I was right, then,” Vina whispered, curiosity and dread in her tone.

Clythia whipped her head around, leaving her lightheaded but not wobbly enough to lose her ground. “Right about what?”

The Lady of Hypercas didn’t know about Tiyus, right? She was a smart woman, unfortunately, but not smart enough to connect grey with the Evil’s eyes.

And yet, Vina was still assessing her, as though she was waiting for Clythia to expose herself.

“Perhaps, I should put your head on a spike for your defiance,” Clythia sneered. "Answer my question!"

Vina took a long sigh. “There, finally. It took you long enough.”

“Long enough?”

“Yes, your manners were civil,” Vina snorted. “I almost didn’t recognize you with your calm response and demure.” She said the last two words with emphasis. “Which can only mean one thing.” She paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s the matter, my queen?”

The world was flipping on itself—Vina had called her ‘my queen.’

Clythia gestured with her hands to encompass her surroundings. “Have you seen where we are right now? Do you even need to ask what the matter is, when we are stranded in a foreign kingdom, stooping low and begging for sanctuary?”

Fury was steaming off of her. “Are you too blind to see that I have left my kingdom for a journey we might not return from and that ‘might’ is stretching our luck.”

She heaved a sigh. “I wish I could get back to being feral on you lot,” her voice hitched, and she looked away. “I wish I could return to those times when we all used to bicker over stupid and petty things.”

“I wish that too,” Vina’s voice came softly. “Do you remember that one year in Wigmond when you burned down a classroom because I scored one more mark on Advanced J.H.N?”

Clythia chuckled. “And do you remember that time when our scores were a tie and you put a hex on me so that you could win the tiebreaker question?”

Vina nodded, tossing Clythia a very rare smile. "Good old days."

"Good old days." Clythia repeated.

They were staring at the city for a very long, silent hour, the silence breached occasionally by her rather busy mouth swaying with the wine.

For the very first time, Clythia wasn’t threatened by the Lady of Hypercas, and Vina’s mask of judgment had worn off too. She was rather occupied by the whimsical city before her, lost in thought, finding it far more interesting than nitpicking Clythia.

Vina retired first to her chamber. Not long after, Clythia did the same, her heart pounding as her fingers wrapped around the doorknob and opened it.

There was a low-footed bed with a curling leg perched on one corner, and on the white bedsheet, as though it was his territory, Tiyus was waiting.

“You are very honest when you are drunk,” he remarked in a low voice.

Here we go, that heady feeling again.

Tiyus sat upright, leaning on the creamy wall. The room was semi-dark. No light was in sight, but somehow Clythia was able to make out Tiyus’ form just fine.

“Don’t you ever get drunk like that,” he said. “I don’t want you to be spilling my plans to your comrades.”

Clythia chuckled, sliding down to sit on the mat, back to the door. “If I knew that angered you, I would have done it more often,” her chuckle resumed.

“Now, Master,” she gave him a wobbly smile, the headiness Tiyus was inflicting and the wine working in tandem, lifting off the dread of the situation almost by half. “Oh what is thine wish, thy servant is here to fulfill it.”

She giggled like a child, covering her mouth.

“You are not going to ask me anything about the Sovereign?” he asked.

“Should I?” The words slurred out. “What’s the point? I’m not here like the others on a heroes’ venture. I’m here to fulfill your command, and if I didn’t—well, you would hurt my son.” She raised a finger. “My mistake, you would kill my son. So dish it out, your plan, your mission, and let’s get this—” she pointed at both of them “—over with.”

“Oh my queen,” Tiyus’ lip quirked on one side. “You and me,” he mimicked her gesture, “are endgame.”

“Then how can we not be endgame?” her words felt like sand forming on her tongue. There should be a way. “How can I get rid of you?”

“By killing the host I possess.”

That response seemed to sober her up a bit. Like always, this seemed like one of his games. There was no way he was telling her his weakness.

“Is that one of your mysterious riddles to solve?” she asked. “You and your mother are fond of riddles.”

The Shadow and her Children.

“No, I’m afraid there isn’t this time,” he leaned forward, pinning her with his stormcloud eyes, goosebumps washed over her and her core began throbbing. “Speaking of riddles, have you solved the seer’s riddle?”

Clythia tisked. “Don’t go breaking rules on me now, Tiyus. You said, first you answer my questions, then you’ll tell me the mission.”

“I answered,” he raised one of those perfectly arched eyebrows. “And I thought you weren’t interested in that proposition?”

Clythia shrugged. “I changed my mind. Like you suggested, I will ask first and you will tell me why I'm in candy city, Master.”

“Perhaps I was wrong,” he tilted his chin, exposing his sculpted jaw to the light that was invisible to Clythia’s eyes. “I like it when you are drunk. I like it when you call me Master.”

His low voice reverberated through her bones, sending her back arching on its own accord, lips parting for a moan to escape.

Would it be wrong to bite on the forbidden fruit, just this once... just this once? To taste the honeyed skin on his neck, to slide her tongue on his chest, and go lower, and lower and—

No!

Clythia shook her head, as though she could visibly swat off the thoughts that were cascading up her mind and wrapping her senses. It was difficult to fight off her drunk self.

She couldn’t do it by sheer will, so she resorted to lower means.

“Please, Tiyus,” her lips trembled; she shut her eyes. “Please. Don’t.”

The tickling, the pleasure that was building up, eased, still lurking in the corner like a predator circling its prey.

“Sorry,” his voice came. “I got excited for a moment there. You can open your eyes. And ask me what you want. I will allow two more questions only.”

She opened them but didn’t dare to look him in the face. “Why did you tell me about—”

“How to get rid of me?” he finished. “Because you can’t get rid of me. Because you are too weak and arrogant. The host I possess is very powerful. I don’t think you can beat them even if you plot for two folds of your lifetime. A countless millennia might not be enough either.”

“Them?” she said, shock rippling through her. “You possess the Sovereign?”

A laugh boomed in the room. Clythia dared to look up and saw Tiyus shaking with laughter, his head tipped back. “I don’t know why you mystify the Sovereign, as though she is untouchable, a mystical being that exists far, far away.”

Tiyus met her gaze. Before wrong feelings could start to seep in, she averted her eyes. “I don’t possess the Sovereign, sadly. That’s why I want you to destroy the Sovereign.", he said. "I don’t want any of the rulers to interfere and bring the Sovereign back to power.”

“The Sovereign isn’t in power anymore,” Clythia said, her throat dry, and the wine wasn’t the only thing responsible for the dehydration, but the revelation that was brought to light. “What happened to her?”

“That would be a third question. You know the rules, my queen,” he smirked.

“I thought I was weak. I don’t think I can destroy the Sovereign,” Clythia said, after carefully adjusting her question to a statement.

Tiyus seemed to know because his grin widened, revealing the most beautiful teeth in the universe.

“You will if you solve the riddle,” Tiyus said.

“In land forsaken, dreams awake,” Clythia began to sing-song.

“With the wisest one, a pact was made.” She was impressed her mind wasn’t too foggy to remember.

“It swooned the queen to abandon her bed.” Clythia paused. “It’s talking about the Sovereign. It wasn't talking about me like I thought.”

“Leaving her land for the flair to take.” Her gaze pinned on his face, though the action was melting her being, she didn’t cower in the Evil’s bliss. “The Shadow.”

Tiyus had said the seer was one of his minions and the seer had been sent for Clythia by the Shadow or him, and warned her about falling into the wrong hands.

“Can I ask one more question, please?” she asked, in an unconvincing tone of politeness.

“You can ask another two more, if you let me touch you,” he said. “And when you talk to me, address me as your master, my queen.”

Was the question worth his touch? Yes! her animalistic side, in the chokehold of alcohol, bellowed. No! her saner side retorted back.

No one made her feel like the god before her, who was the personification of desire.

He was Desire himself.

However, the fire that was licking his iris hungered to touch her too, as she yearned to let him do so.

“Don’t fight it,” he whispered.

The wisp of air that left his mouth latched onto her, and she couldn’t control the tremble her body was obliterating into.

“You are not playing fair,” she said through clenched teeth, her pointy nails biting into her palms, the sting and the wetness telling her she was bloodying them. “The more you pull your tricks on me, the more I will fight.”

“That’s because you’re a brat, my queen,” his tone lowered even deeper. “You enjoy standing straight like the queen you are, until I bend you over.”

“No!” she yelled.

“Yes,” he said softly.

“No means no,” she said, slithering like a snake on the mat, her body betraying her.

“I have millions of questions, but Tiyus, none of them are worth binding myself to you more than I have,” she gritted out, her voice quivering and her throat aching to moan. “You leading me to a release I have never experienced before with a finger and magic I can't understand was the first step I took to seal my miserable existence to you.”

She shuddered out a breath, her eyes trained on the dome-like roof engraved with two fairies kissing. Not helping! She slammed her eyes shut.

“But that isn’t the final seal, because I still have the will to say no. Because that will be taken away from me when I let your cock in me!”

Clythia was gambling on the last part. When Morven asked her if she had slept with Tiyus, she was uncertain of her response. Because technically they hadn’t shared a bed yet, hadn’t become intimate...fully.

And now she was in a moment where she could confirm her response to the vampire as the truth or not.

“Morven is more dead than he already was,” Tiyus gritted out.

Clythia’s gamble had paid off; she was right. She could cling to her frail will for as long as she could.

But woe for the vampire king.