---[ POV: Orvellas ]---

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The sound of lone footsteps echoed through the damp and dimly lit tunnels of the dungeon.

The man responsible was holding a lantern and walking with a severe expression painted over his sharp and angular features. The man took a small flight of stairs down to reach a different hallway, this time lined with small and mucky cells enclosed by rusty iron bars.

He walked for a moment, passing one empty cell after another until he stopped in front of the only one of any real interest. In a far corner of the prison cell, the silhouette of a woman draped in torn and stained noble garments started to move. The woman diverted her gaze toward the ground to avoid hurting her eyes now accustomed to total darkness by days of imprisonment in the depths of the castle.

"What do you want, Orvellas? Are you here to gloat and mock me? If there was ever an ounce of love in your heart toward me or your brother, please, just kill me and be done with it. You have won. Osgarath is yours. The Realm is yours. Now let me be in peace. You have already taken everything from me. There is nothing more you can possibly get by keeping me trapped here."

"Everything?" said the man, raising an interrogative eyebrow. "No, not everything my dear Doralia. I'll have you know that your precious little Lysidar is still alive. In fact, he has just been declared 'official Heir to the Crown of Osgarath and Prince of the Second Realm' by an ecclesiarch of the Pantheon."

The woman jumped on her feet and rushed toward the bars to face the man directly, forgetting about the light that was hurting her vision.

She had long blond hair that started to turn gray. Even covered in dirt, her skin bruised and her eyes red and puffy from crying, one could still say that she was an extremely beautiful woman. Her face was noble and full of character, but still delicate. The only thing betraying her age were subtle bridles at the corner of her eyes and lips.

"Surely you are mocking me?! Is he really alive? Why?! Why would you spare him? He is the only male heir left. Didn't you do all that to take the throne for yourself?"

The former queen had trouble believing a man who had assassinated his own brother to seize the power of the Realm. Some time ago, she would have believed him, but he had caused her so much grief over the last few days that she was not so sure anymore. She thought that maybe he was simply trying to torment her by giving her false hope before crushing them.

Doralia had grown together with the king and his brother and she had never believed Orvellas to be a cruel man. Despite his many flaws and gloomy nature, she had always thought he was just a difficult and recluse child that had grown into a sad and discontent adult. He was never a true menace, just a poor and tormented soul. How wrong had she been.

"I don't plan on justifying myself to you, woman. Believe me or not, I did not wish for things to go that bad, for our relationship to get that... strenuous. Everything should have been simpler..."

“And, by that, you mean I should have just stayed put and waited for you to dispose of me and my children like you did your brother?!”

“What is done is done. I’m telling you I never wanted to hurt you nor your children. Use you? Sure. Hurt you? Never. You make what you want of it, I don’t care.”

"If it’s true then why all of this bloodshed and nonsense?!” said Doralia with tears in her voice. “If you don't even want the throne, why put me and my family through all this?! Do you despise me that much? You have always been somber and it was no secret you did not saw eye to eye with your brother, but he was always there to defend you when his entourage was warning him about the darkness in your soul, saying a witch should be exiled or burned. Even if you never returned his kindness, Omen loved you and never listened to them for one second. He even had those badmouthing you punished! He deserved better from you. I should have helped your detractors convince him of the danger and let them deal with you as they intended to. Is this all revenge for choosing Omen instead of you?"

The man laughed dryly.

"I was young Doralia. We were young. This passion of youth is long dead by now. I stopped being jealous of Omen a long time ago. In fact, I have never really resented you nor my brother for the love you found together. On the contrary, I was happy for you. Him choosing you as a woman worthy of love was one of the rare decision he made I agreed with."

"Forgive me for saying you do not sound really convincing right now! If it’s not revenge then why?! Just WHY?! You killed my beautiful and innocent Amaryllis! You killed my baby girl! Your own niece!" the woman was now screaming, her eyes full of rage and hatred were on the verge of tears.

"As I said, I am not here to explain myself. I simply came to inform you that you will soon be moved to less demeaning accommodations than this god-forsaken hole. Some unexpected developments forced me to be harsher on you than you ever deserved and I thought that I at least owed you this meeting."

A distrusting look flashed in the woman's eyes and a disgusted smirk appeared on the corner of her lips.

"Stop your bullshit Orvellas. Don't try to ingratiate yourself with me for gods know which reason. It's far too late to act like we are still close or part of the same family anymore."

She spat on the man's face.

A glint of contained emotion about to explode flashed in Orvellas eyes but he abstained from any reaction, simply wiping his face and brushing his black hairs back before continuing his explanation with a matter-of-fact tone.

"Your new apartments should better reflect your status as the Queen Mother of the current heir of the nation. Lysidar is young, Doralia. He needs his mother to guide him in those dangerous times. As long as you behave yourself, you will be free to go about the castle ground - provided a proper escort, of course - and you will be allowed to see your child as much as you want."

The woman seemed dubious but, hearing she would be allowed to reunite with her son, her defiance faded and she nodded apprehensively.

"BUT! But... One step out of line, one look I do not like, one surreptitious word, and I cannot guarantee that the prince will make it to his coronation day in one piece. Am I making myself clear?"

The former queen gritted her teeth and acquiesced.

"Good. A guard will be down here soon to take you to your new quarters. I will have a bath and a good meal prepared for you."

The man turned and started to walk away.

"Wait! When can he see Lysidar?!"

The man stopped.

"Soon enough."

He was about to depart again but perked up, as if something just crossed his mind.

"Oh, and you might be happy to know that Amaryllis is probably still alive, somewhere. That monstrous woman she made her Warden was able to cut through my men and take off with her."

"I saw her being hit by a sword in the head!" The woman's voice had reeled into a hoarse sound, almost choking on her own emotions.

"An unfortunate accident, really. The corpse of the man responsible is already hung from the castle wall. A feast for the crows."

The former queen still seemed unsure but could not resist clinging to the glimmer of hope she was offered; there was a chance her two children were still alive.

"You're telling me she survived?!"

"She did, somehow. But I am afraid she won't stay alive long out there, without proper care for this wound. If she did not die from shock or blood loss soon after she escaped, an infection will most likely take her to the grave. But rest assured, I am doing everything in my power to get her back so that she can be treated adequately. You'll be reunited soon, don't worry."

On those last words, Orvellas left, bringing with him the only light that had pierced the darkness of the dungeon for days. Doralia fell on her knees, trying to suppress sobs of both despair and relief.

 

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Orvellas entered the office of the late king he had transformed into his own study. He reached for one of the exotic bottles of wine placed in a small wooden case near the door and poured himself a drink in one of the crystal glasses available.

He then sat in one of the cushioned armchairs of the office. On the wall in front of him, a large portrait of the late king, his brother Omen, stared down at him. There was warmth and goodness in those eyes, naivety almost, that annoyed Orvellas to no end. Omen had always been the brave and wise warrior that their father loved so much.

Orvellas had never been fond of his brother and made no secret of it. Despite it all, Omen had always treated him with love and respect, as an older brother should do. The fact that Omen never returned his animosity had made Orvellas feel like shit for years. It was hard to hate someone that love you unconditionally. Orvellas had always thought that Omen was unfit to rule and that his good and trusting nature would be the end of him. One day or another, he was bound to trust the wrong person and pay for it. This person was supposed to be Orvellas himself. Unfortunately, things had turned out differently. Orvellas sighed heavily.

Nothing was going according to plan.

Getting rid of his brother was supposed to be the hard part. He had schemed for years to get the right conspirators on his side, organize the perfect assassination and make sure the aftermath would go smoothly and according to his will. After all, killing the king was only the first step toward his goals and ambitions.

Instead, Omen had gone and killed himself during a hunting expedition in the Royal Hunting Grounds by falling off his horse while chasing a stupid deer. This had thrown all of Orvellas carefully laid schemes into the water and forced him to enact the rest of his ploys months before he was ready.

Unfortunately, the Queen, clever as ever, had sensed that something was not right even if Orvellas was not directly responsible for the death of Omen. Soon after she had learned about the demise of her husband, Doralia had arranged for a carriage to take her and her children away from the capital under the cover of night. Orvellas had no other choice than to send pursuers and use force to prevent them from escaping his grasp.

The queen, he did not particularly care about. Her children, however, were crucial. His niece Amaryllis, in particular, was crucial if he wanted to accomplish what he had set out to do.

Only one of the queen and her two children had been able to flee from his men and, to Orvellas damnation, it was none other than the princess.

This obligated Orvellas to revise all of his plans. He now had to play a more careful and patient game than he had anticipated to. Having prince Lysidar and queen Doralia under his clutch made things a lot easier but he would have traded them for the young princess on a moment’s notice. For now, they could both serve as bait and bargaining chips to get the princess back home.

In addition, Lysidar was but a young 9 years old boy, easy to scare and manipulate. He was the perfect puppet to put on the throne to avoid bringing too much attention to himself.

The nobility of Osgarath and the Second Realm was full of self-important idiots, but a number of them were also sharp and cunning. None of them would be duped had Orvellas decided to kill the young prince under the guise of an accident and take the throne for himself. Those still loyal to the late king - and the gods know that Omen had a lot of friends - would have raised in protest and caused all kinds of problems Orvellas had simply no time nor envy to deal with.

As he was seeping his wine and brooding over the unfolding disaster, Orvellas felt a sudden pressure on his mind as if someone was pushing down against his thoughts. He felt the presence of something, someone, trying to enter. As a witch himself, Orvellas was more than familiar with this phenomenon: somebody was trying to communicate with him using magic.

Normally, the voice of the spellcaster would have echoed directly in his head, but Orvellas was too well experienced in the ways of sorcery and witchcraft to let someone poke around his mind as they pleased. Not only was his mind prepared to repel such attempts, but he also wore protective charms at all times. Years of studying and delving into the sinister secrets of magic had made him paranoid regarding those kinds of things.

Recognizing the magic signature, Orvellas lowered his mental barrier. His eyes turned white and foggy. A small rasp escaped from his lips as he leaned back in his seat and lost vision of his surrounding.

The presence finally broke through and the disincorporated voice of a man started to speak, only for him to hear.

"We have found her, My Lord."

Orvellas smiled. Finally, a piece of good news.

"About time. How is she? From what I was told, she took a nasty sword blow to the face."

"We found her, sir, but we were not able to get her back yet."

"Oh, common White! Stop playing around! She's escorted by a single woman. No matter how strong that Warden is, I have no doubt you and your team are more than a match. Unless you are telling me your reputation is overblown and I am actually paying you more than your worth?"

"I don't care about that stupid mutt playing knight around the princess. What I care about, however, is an army of goblins. The princess and her escort have decided to flee through the Frostpeak Mountains but they were discovered by a horde of goblins this morning before we could track them down and capture the girl."

"What?! Is she still alive?! You know just how important she is for everything going forward! Why in hell would they go through the mountains?!"

"She is alive, for now. They seem to be going north so they probably tried the mountains because the alternative, the Pass of the Middle Hills in Brenuach, is heavily patrolled by men under your command."

"Right. But they escaped the goblins? You saved them?"

"They escaped, in a way. We were not involved, however. Even for us, an army of goblins is a bit much. We are mercenaries and bounty-hunters, not soldiers."

"I know, I know. Cut the crap! What happened?"

"They were rescued by a man coming from gods know where."

"Good. Then just wait for the goblins to leave, kill the man that helped them hide, and get done with it. Don't waste my time and scare me with your story when it's not worth it."

"My Lord. The man... he killed the goblins. He killed so much, in the end, the survivors fled for their life."

"What do you mean, he killed the goblins? You said it was an army. So it was just a small band in the end?"

"No, it was more than a hundred of them, sir, with wargs and hobgoblins mixed in. I don't know who that man was but he wielded some kind of magical war hammer and used combat magic I had never seen before. Even Red said he would not be able to beat this man in a straight-up duel, and we both know there is not much better than Red in the Second Realm."

Orvellas let out a disgruntled groan. Another layer of shit and complexity was adding itself on top of the mess he was already dealing with.

"Don't worry sir. There are other ways to take care of a man than a blade in his guts. This is not the problem. No, the reason I am contacting you is that my detection and divination magic sensed something earlier. I can feel it even without the spells now; the princess, her essence has started to coalesce. She is undergoing the Awakening, and judging from the intensity of the flare in the Weave of Magic, she must be suffering from a pretty severe Arcane Fever."

"What?! It's too early for that! She was not supposed to awaken before another year or two! Why now?!"

"A Blooded like you is better placed than me to know that kind of stuff. I'm a Forged so I never went through the Awakening. I'll take a guess and say that the intense emotions: fear, stress, pain, sadness, and despair that she experienced in the last couple of days must have triggered the process."

"Goddammit! She won't survive the fever in her state! She is wounded and probably exhausted."

"I know sir. That is why I contacted you. What should we do now?"

"What should you do?! WHAT SHOULD YOU DO?! Everything! Anything that is in your power to make sure she survives and comes back to me alive! Do you understand! I cannot afford to lose her! WE cannot afford to lose her! I do not care if you have to force your way through her protectors and feed her your own blood to the last drop to keep her alive; I don't care if you have to sacrifice the soul of Black and Red to make a pact with a demon that will help her! You better find a way and pray she survive or I will make sure you and your little band of miscreant regret it for the rest of your life!"

"Demons and blood, eh? Of course, that's the first thing that comes to mind for a witch." snarked White.

Orvellas did not react to the insult. Forged mages had always considered themselves so much better than sorcerers and witches. It had been a long time since he had taken affront from such comments.

"Just do your job. Come back with her."

"Alright, Sir."

The voices in Orvellas mind faded away and the presence left.

He passed a hand in his pulled-back hair and massaged his forehead, trying to prevent the headache he felt building up. He stared at the portrait of his brother again.

"Look at the mess you have left me with! You must be cackling in your grave, dear brother. Even in death, you can't stop yourself from aggravating me. I swear to the gods you’re a vampire feeding on my grief and sorrow. Look at your legacy; instead of finishing what father had started to build, the kingdom you left behind is weak and pathetic, full of indolent wastrels and dissidents. Your 'friends' are prowling the court and the streets, waiting for me to make a wrong step. Your wife is a handful, and now your daughter is apparently doing everything in her power to get herself killed."

Orvellas sighed again for what he felt was the hundredth time since the morning. He returned to his drink of wine while resisting the urge to destroy the portrait of his brother that was continuing to cover him with his warm and affectionate gaze.

 

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