“Have you seen Morven?” Clythia was striding down the hall and poking her head into each room, asking anyone she encountered along the way. Of course, the werewolves and humans were grumpy, unwilling even to meet her gaze without cursing or glowering, but she couldn’t care less. She had to find Morven.

Now.

It seemed she wasn’t the only person roaming the hall in the morning, as dawn gave way to the warm ball of fire that was melting the chill of the night. Afia was storming towards her too.

Clythia wasn’t sure if she should be annoyed that Afia would be the one to tell her something bad happening to Morven, given how they were not afraid of each other, at the very least. And that kind of boldness leads to all types of stupidity.

“What happened to Morven?” Clythia halted, and so did Afia, her flaming red hair coming to rest. Her cheeks were flushed, and around her eyes, there were dark circles.

Afia was taken aback by the her question, and she tossed her a look that suggested it wasn’t her business to keep an eye on the vampire’s well-being. “Um, I don’t know. But we have a situation,” her voice went hollow. “We have lost a guard.”

Clythia was counting down until their stretched lack would come to an end. This was the third day since their encounter with the Charbydis, and the Shadow, with its rule broken, hadn’t given them a lengthy moment of reprieve.

It wasn’t the first, and if they kept on stumbling across unprecedented situations, it wouldn’t be the last either.

Clythia’s gut wrenched with the prospect of death awaiting them one way or another. “Who?”

“Bandi.”

Bandi was one of Clythia’s inner circle guards whom General Arkansov had assigned after Tiyus’ intrusion. She didn’t know the guard well besides the glowing review she had heard from the General about her. Bandi had served in the army with unwavering and utter loyalty. Even though she was average when it came to power, she made up for it with swiftness. And according to the General, that was a good enough reason to be her immediate guard.

But a lack of acquaintance mattered not; in the end, she was one of the martyrs who gave their life battling the Charbydis.

Clythia let out a breath. “Take me to her body.”

Afia gave her a curt nod and led her into a room where all the sorcerers were huddling around a low-footed bed, shielding the body lying on it. The room had a similar outline to hers, with creamy walls and a dome-shaped roof, but it was bland, with no decorations or paintings. They parted ways for her with a small bow.

Clythia, for a moment, wished they hadn’t. The sight made her blanch and stagger one step back.

All that was left of Bandi was pale skin latched onto a skeleton—hard to discern where the skin ended and the bone started—and her hair, once auburn, was charred and scarce on the chalky scalp.

Clythia's eyes found Casarda's. "This is what happens when it's overused?"

Casarda nodded, eyes glistening with tears. The Lady of Melop was wearing black; it was as sheer as all her outfits, but it was still funeral cloth. The guards were wearing high-collared black robes in honor of their colleague. The rest only wore sad faces, with no change in their usual attire.

There were charms placed around the bed so that Bandi would pass peacefully to the afterlife. It was more of a superstitious act than of truth, at least for Clythia, and many scholars would agree with her. However, some clans and families, like the nutcase Clutsweeds, believed it was as authentic as any magic they practiced.

“I will perform the funeral,” Clythia said. “Close the door.”

A thud from behind told her that no other race would be able to gawk at them anymore. “Hand me her urn.”

A tall, handsome guard, with a pointed face and messy brown hair, handed her a pistachio urn with dark ink that inscribed the word ‘bliss’ on all the space it had.

The only bliss a sorcerer could get after death was through the Bath of Fire. As no necromancy could bring back the dead from the ashes, and no one could raise a soul for their altruistic or wicked intent, a soul must belong to itself even in death; their flesh should be consumed in flames.

Clythia opened the urn and lifted it above her head.

“Bandi, I unbind you from the Holy Land. I claim you free from the knots of Zyvern, free from the ownership of the chosen, free not to be woken by any.”

This chant was as old as the first witches who migrated from the old world. It was believed they brought it from there. It was ironic that Clythia had no idea what the Holy Land was or who the chosen were. Somehow, the meanings had been lost along the line of generations; only the words remained, being rehearsed for several millennia.

No matter what it meant, it always worked, and that was all that mattered. Akin to Clythia’s summoning ability, its magic was ancient, independent of the Shadow’s or the Sovereign’s powers. It was also given to every witch and wizard to protect their deceased from evil sorcerers.

A white thread sprouted out of Bandi’s mouth and glided into the urn’s opening. More white threads followed as though a fabric was being torn and long lines of fibers were pulled out of it.

As those threads disappeared into the urn, a flame appeared on Bandi’s head, leaving white ash in its wake as it licked down the corpse. The ashes drifted up and mixed in traffic with the threads, settling in the urn. The flame enveloped the corpse until nothing was left of the guard and all her remaining essence was captured in the urn.

Once the deed was done, Clythia closed the urn and placed it upon the hand of the guard who had given it to her.

Perhaps, it was a good thing she wasn’t well acquainted with Bandi because it would have been more devastating to lose someone close.

“Look, I can’t stress this enough,” Clythia raised her voice, and all murmuring died down. “If it isn’t absolutely necessary, don’t use magic. Don’t test fate,” she added with more vigor and then left the room.

Morven was leaning on the rail of the hall. He was wearing a white shirt, unbuttoned at the top, and brown breeches, his legs crossed loosely. Sunlight was bouncing off his slick hair, and though Clythia didn’t know what an angel looked like, in that bright ray, he looked like one.

Perhaps she should ask Afia to paint one, with Casarda guiding her.

“You were looking for me,” he said in a serene tone.

Only if he knew the danger awaiting him.

He frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Clythia almost rolled her eyes. “We need to talk privately,” her gaze scanned her surroundings, noting ogling human pairs and werewolves on the other side that were deep in conversation. However, Clythia wasn’t fool enough to trust their hypersensitive ears.

They walked in silence, earning interest from her companions and others alike. Clythia stopped in the same garden she embarrassingly retreated to during dinner, thanks to that Evil cunt.

She didn’t know any deserted spot in the palace, thus, even though it brought back a memory of weakness, she said with a faked tone of contentment, “This will do.”

“I am not going to make another deal with you,” Morven said with a hint of a sneer.

“Keep wishing that remains your worst fear,” Clythia said genuinely, which the vampire noted, and confusion clouded his features.

“What does that mean?”

“You are in danger,” she said. “You are even more in danger because I’m telling you you are in danger. But I’m only telling you to return the favor for your warning that has saved me from losing my sanity and sense of self altogether.”

Then his face retreated to its smooth state as understanding sank in about what she was talking about, and who she was talking about.

“Tiyus,” he said the name with clenched teeth.

“Shh!” Clythia put her finger on his cold ruby lips. “Lower your voice.”

Morven’s brows perked up. “Damn, he did a number on you,” he said beneath her finger before she retreated her hand. “But I need more than that to be scared of him like you are.”

“I’m not scared,” Clythia seethed, however, all her resolve had turned to molten fear, agitated that Tiyus might strike her or the vampire for the way his name was called.

Fuck, what had happened to that fearless queen?

“I can’t tell you the details, but because you warned me, he is coming after you. I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but he said, ‘Morven is deader than he already was,’” she shrugged. “I hope you have ways to defend yourself since you know the Shadow from firsthand experience.”

Morven shook his head. “I was a child then, barely knew much. I only know the Shadow won’t let go once it has you in its grip,” his chin quivered, his eyes glistening with the horrors he wasn’t daring to speak out loud. “But I’m afraid I don’t know more than what I’ve already shared with you,” he paused. “I think. And even if there is more, it wouldn’t be wise for me to tell you more, since that dick is after me.”

Clythia was too late to put a rein on her mini shiver of terror. Morven's jaw dropped, concern flicking on his features. He opened his mouth to say something, probably to comment on her reaction but he was lost for words so he sealed his mouth shut.

Thus Clythia continued, pretending nothing happened. "You're right, it won't be fair. " she said, "This is my shit, I will deal with it."

Her words didn't mirror what she was feeling on the inside. A pang of hurt lurched in her gut before she put it aside in a mental box.

But the hurt was peering through the lid.

Yes, Morven had every right to protect himself since he was already in trouble. She would have done the same without batting an eye.

However, being the queen and the one at fault for inviting the Shadow to DavinSaw weighed heavily. Inviting Tiyus to bed just to satiate her lust, yet walking into a trap of destroying the Sovereign, the only salvation Zyvern had, weighed heavily. If it came to it, battling the leaders as though she was the villain weighed heavily—because she was the villain, whether she liked it or not. Finding a way to get rid of Tiyus, to nullify his endgame claim on her, weighed heavily. The seer’s warning of falling into the another wrong hands, while she was already in the wrong hands, weighed heavily. Searching for the powerful person that Tiyus latched onto...

All these were akin to a boulder tied to her heart, sinking her down into an endless abyss of despair. And it would have been nice to share all this with just a single soul. To look for a solution, to rectify even half of her mistakes if fate was merciful.

Clythia had kept many secrets in her life: countless royal line secrets, the secret of murdering her husband which was brought to light only recently, and many more small and big.

Nevertheless, none was as daunting as all these. Only one thought kept her from reeling into madness.

Her beloved son, Clen.

If stabbing everyone in the back kept him safe, then albeit her skin crawled to do so, she would do it for his safety.

“I am truly sorry—” Morven began, whatever he saw on her face throwing her into a pitiful situation.

Before she could sneer at him, building up her walls and washing away the vulnerability on her face, Modyr intruded.

“Ah, you are here,” the faerie said, clasping his hands behind his back. He was naked from the waist up, revealing a terrain of muscles, and below, he wore beige fabric wrapped around the middle that was longer than a loin cloth.

It was almost funny that he forgot to wear clothes but not the circlet on his head.

“If you knew the amount of formality alien rulers require out there, you would be shocked,” Morven said. “No one would let you out looking like that,” he gestured to the faerie king’s lack of courtly attire.

“You don’t like what you see?” Modyr’s lip twitched on one side, but he was asking Clythia rather than the vampire who had commented.

Instead of answering him, her attention shifted to Morven. “Well, when all your needs are met, you will settle for what you have, and if you settle for what you have, everyone will be secure,” Clythia shrugged. “Those aliens don’t have that like we do.”

“And now we don’t either,” Morven noted in a lower voice.

The faerie bellowed a long sigh, purposefully drawing their attention to him. “Cut it with your gloom and doom talk, Morven. We know we are in deep shit,” he cast the vampire a long look. “Breakfast is served. Eat and get the hell out of my peaceful palace, and march forward to the continent from which you will never return,” he smirked.

“Already?” Morven complained. “You really don’t know how to treat your guests.”

“You are not coming with us,” Clythia said in an indifferent tone.

“I am,” Modyr said, positioning himself so that the sun’s rays would bounce off his biceps from the perfect angle. “But I’m glad you’re leaving my palace—not you,” he pointed at Clythia, casting her a grin, “but him and the others,” his chin tilted toward the vampire.

Clythia was glaring at the faerie king and didn’t notice when Morven’s hot breath tickled her ear as he whispered, “Well, Witch Queen, now Tiyus is going to unalive one more king in your name.”

Clythia whipped her head around to gawk at the vampire, but he was already walking past Modyr without giving her another glance.

She placed her hands on her hips. “Why am I the only person following the ‘be professional interspecies rules’ in Zyvern?”

Clythia was talking about Modyr’s flirtations, and from the look on his face, he knew what she meant.

“You?” Modyr gave her a low chuckle. “You are as guilty as all of us in that area. Maybe even more so.”

“What?” Clythia said in disbelief. “How?” she demanded.

“Hypaxia and you were courting, and you were both the successors to your respective thrones,” he made a gesture of comparison with his hands. “Didn’t it take your parents and her guardians to keep you separated?”

Clythia hated that he was right. She opened her mouth, but he continued. “You and Morven,” he paused, giving her a searching look. “The way you were hissing at each other in low voices, it looked like you were planning to take over Nadir and arguing about which part you should rule. You were too... chummy.”

“Chummy?”

The faerie king nodded with a ghost of a smirk on his lips. When did he become this cocky? The Modyr she knew was aloof and kept to himself.

This was someone else.

“You are very wrong,” she then added, annoyed, “And I didn’t know you were keeping tabs on me.”

“I didn’t have to. Now, Witch Queen, let’s march forward to Stormia.” He widened his arms, gesturing for her to lead.