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Chapter 36: The Scales of Kinship

 

Ivy pulled her shawl close, shivering as rain pelted against the manor window, illuminated by the two large floor candelabras tucked away in the corners of the bedroom. The candlelight cast long shadows across the large four-poster bed where Lady Hana knelt worriedly beside the unconscious Duchess. The Viscountess had taken over Lady Kirsi’s care the moment the royal physicians had finished their discreet examination and left with grim expressions.

The howling wind outside the manor whipped against the forest and the cluster of tents laid out upon the ground, some of which collapsed or tipped over beneath the storm. Ivy turned away from the miserable weather and flinched as a broken twig smacked against the windowpane behind her.

Her attention returned to the beady-eyed crows interwoven with the decorative foliage, exotic flowers, vines, and fruits painted on the bedroom wall. Curiously enough, the more she studied the painting, the more she discerned the camouflaged figures of women hidden behind the vines, their green fingers clawing blindly after the fleeing crows that carried away jewels, garments, and what looked shudderingly close to human eyes.

Ivy jumped at the loud knock on the bedroom door. Her gaze returned to the bed, where Lady Hana frowned at yet another unwanted disturbance. The Viscountess sighed as she moved the damp cloth and washbowl to a nightstand before rising to answer the door.

So far, the unconscious Duchess had received visits from the Crown Prince, Prime Minister, Viscount Gilwren, Earl Hawthorne, and Marchioness Kensington, who, along with several other seemingly curious nobles, had been turned away rudely at the door by Colonel Isaac, who stood guard outside.

‘I can’t tell if they’re worried Kirsi won’t wake up or that she will.’

Ivy moved nervously to the foot of the bed, where she got a good look at the Crown Princess, who now stood outside the open door.

“Please, Lady Hana,” Eleanora whispered urgently as the Viscountess nearly closed the door in her face. “I only wanted to check to see if your dinner had been brought up.”

“Yes, your Highness. Viscount Gilwren has seen to all our needs,” Hana replied with forced politeness.

“That is good. Then—umm—I wonder if I might—have a private word with you?”

The Viscountess frowned and crossed her arms in apparent disapproval. “Now is not a good time, your Highness. I must attend to the Duchess.”

“Oh, but surely.” The Crown Princess stepped closer, her amber gaze cutting sharply to Ivy. “The Duchess has more than one attendant who can look after her.”

Ivy quickly averted her gaze. She knew better than anyone why she was of little use to Lady Kirsi in her present state. The maid’s hand tightened around the vial of medicine hidden beneath her shawl that Hana had given her shortly after they had settled into the Duchess’s temporary rooms in the manor.

“Surely Lady Ivy has more experience caring for her mistress, given that they grew up alongside each other,” Eleanora pressed, the confidence in her voice drawing Ivy’s gaze back towards the door. “It will only be for a moment, Hana. My rooms are just down the hall.”

“I have said all that I wish to say to you, your Highness,” Hana responded with surprising calmness. “And surely, on a night like tonight, when Nicholas is celebrating an important milestone, you should be at his side supporting him—as his wife and crown princess.” The Viscountess steps back, clearly intending to shut the door, only for Eleanora to force her way forcefully into the room. “Your Highness!”

“Stop calling me that! Please, Hana! I can’t accept that you would do this—to us—all over a misunderstanding! Please, can’t you just—can’t you give me another chance.”

Ivy’s cheeks flushed at what was clearly a lover’s quarrel.

“This is neither the time nor place!” Hana hissed, no longer bothering with titles. “You have your duty, and I have mine.”

“A duty I did not choose, you know that! I need you—”

The Viscountess laughed mockingly, shaking her head as she glanced to where Ivy now hid awkwardly behind one of the bedpost curtains. “We both know that I was nothing more than a distraction while you grieved for the death of the First Prince.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Isn’t it?” The Viscountess took a step toward the Crown Princess, who blinked in surprise. “Then tell me, Elly, if Tristan and I both stood before you now—who would you choose?”

Eleanora continued to blink rapidly as if she were fighting back tears. “That’s—why does that matter? Tristan is dead. Why would you even ask me that?!”

“To help you understand,” Hana replied coldly as she met the princess’s gaze squarely. “You should give up on me, your Highness, because, as far as I’m concerned, you are dead to me too.”

The tickling urgency to breathe strained against Ivy’s frozen throat and lungs as the Viscountess’s cutting words stretched into awkward silence.

The Crown Princess drew in a sharp breath and appeared about to speak but then changed her mind. Ivy blinked as the proud princess spun on her heels and retreated down the hallway towards the stairwell. Eleanora’s ex-lover remained still for a few heartbeats before marching to the door and shutting it firmly.

“Hopefully, that will be the last interruption for this evening,” Hana muttered as she returned to Kirsi’s side to gently wipe the Duchess’s cold skin with a herbal mixture meant to stimulate blood flow.

“I—” Ivy’s grip on the vial beneath her shawl tightened, “—need to use the restroom—Lady Hana.”

The Viscountess barely spared her more than a glance before nodding permissively. “Take one of the Bastiallano Knights with you then. It’s best not to be alone on a night like tonight.”

“Of course. I—might stop by the kitchen for a bit more food—do you want anything?”

Hana frowned in frustration before turning to face her squarely. “It’s good that you’re feeling better, Ivy, but don’t push yourself. Let one of the servants bring up a tray. No need to risk exposure more than necessary until we’ve resolved your—condition.”

Ivy nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor as the Viscountess’s attention returned to the barely breathing Duchess, ignoring the maid altogether.

“I’ll be back quickly then,” Ivy whispered before moving to the door, resolved to obtain whatever closure she could from the one person she had hoped never to lay eyes on again.

❆❆❆❆❆

The Banquet in the main hall was in full swing, judging by the chaotic din that greeted Ivy as she reached the first floor. The nobles appeared eager to make the most of the extended curfew to celebrate Nicholas’s victorious hunt. Ivy pulled her shawl over her face and shoulders as she dipped into the servant’s passage, heading towards the back of the manor.

While the Gilwren estate was significantly larger than Turnbell Manor, it was simple enough to surmise where the cellars were located, given the constant traffic of servants with trays of food and wine that flowed back and forth from the kitchen. The maids and footmen glanced after Ivy curiously but made no attempt to accost the noble guest wandering alone through the halls.

The presence of two royal knights standing guard on either side of what Ivy guessed to be the cellar doors confirmed the whispers she had overheard among the household staff during their earlier visit to the manor during the morning hunt.

‘Now I just have to hope they’ll believe my story.’

Ivy took a steadying breath as the knights both noticed her approach.

“Are you lost, my Lady?”

“No,” Ivy responded firmly, lowering the shawl to her shoulders where it grazed against the witch mark that burned beneath the fabric of her dress. “I am here to ascertain the condition of the prisoner.”

The knights frowned in confusion before the one that had addressed her before chuckled. “Pardon my bluntness, your ladyship—but regardless of Lady Priscilla’s concerns—no one is allowed access to the prisoner without his Majesty’s permission.”

“What? No, I—” Ivy sucked in a quick breath as her fingers tightened around the shawl clutched to her chest. “I do not work for Lady Priscilla.”

“Of course not,” the knight responded with gentle dismissal as he gestured with his chin to the hallway behind her. “All the same, we cannot let you in. It would be best if you returned to the banquet—”

“I meant that I am here on behalf of Duchess Kirsi Valda!” Ivy snapped, opening her shawl and raising the necklace beneath it that Kirsi had gifted to her before leaving Bastalliano. “I am Lady Ivy Koresh, one of her Grace’s ladies-in-waiting, and I am here to ascertain the condition of the prisoner.”

The knight raised his brow incredulously before leaning in to examine the snowflake obsidian carving of a wolf head. “What’s this trinket supposed to mean?”

The second knight coughed awkwardly as he suppressed an amused laugh. “I believe it’s supposed to prove that she works for the Duchess?”

“Even if that’s true,” the first knight replied with a sardonic note of disapproval. “The orders of the Duchess do not trump those of the Crown Prince.”

‘No!’ Ivy could feel her heart rate increase as the chances of her speaking to the woman she had once called mother slipped through her fingers. ‘What do I do? How do I convince them?’

“Was it Lady Koresh?” the knight continued, studying her curiously. “Strange, I know that name from somewhere—”

“Another untitled noble family like yours, perhaps,” his comrade replied dismissively.

Ivy was actually afraid she might break the vial in her left hand if she gripped it any tighter. Anger and frustration, coupled with the familiar weight of chronic fatigue and illness, pushed away all hesitation as she raised her gaze to meet those of the men openly mocking her.

“It seems you are ill-informed, or you would know that both of the attendants who serve her Grace are Viscountess with lands and titles.”

The knights both blinked in surprise before glancing at each other hesitantly.

“Be that as it may, surely you have heard that Lady Kirsi is unwell, which is why she has sent me to act in her stead and with her authority—which means that you are both currently blocking the path of the Lady Protector of the North.” Ivy arched a cynical brow, channeling the smug, confident expressions she remembered from what felt like a lifetime of serving under the Turnbell family. “Of course—if you feel it is necessary, I could interrupt his Majesty’s celebration and ask him to come here to explain all this to you in person—”

“What is it that you need to do exactly, Lady Koresh?” the first knight interrupted hastily with an appeasing smile. “If it’s just a quick look to verify that the prisoner is well—”

“I will also need to speak to her,” Ivy interrupted, attempting to look bored with the conversation as she approached the door expectantly. “Privately.”

❆❆❆❆❆

The ghost of a life Ivy barely remembered flickered behind her eyes as she took in the woman huddled and chained into one of the barred stalls that lined the cellar walls, which had been emptied of wine barrels. Miranda Koresh, the once proud noble wife of Lord Spenser Koresh, a royal historian, and mother to a small bright child, was nowhere to be seen.

Bitterness and the sudden fall in status had aged Miranda, while the years of struggle and menial labor had marred her skin and hands, adding more than a few silver strands to her caramel-brown hair. A pair of bleary hazel-blue eyes flicked over Ivy with a brief expression of confusion and wariness before narrowing in recognition. Whatever words the woman meant to voice, they came out in a hoarse, distorted groan as the prisoner clutched her throat pitifully.

“So it’s true you cannot speak,” Ivy muttered, clenching down on the treacherous emotions battling against her resolve. “I never thought I’d see you again—after what you did, I’m surprised you would even show your face.”

Miranda pressed her lips together in a familiar scornful look of disapproval before turning pointedly away from her visitor.

“I suppose there are those who would prefer that you never be able to speak again,” Ivy whispered as she examined the chains looping through the bars connected to the cuffs on her mother’s wrists. “But I am not one of them.” She extended the medicine vial mixed with Hana’s blood toward the chained woman, who eyed the bottle warily. “This is a rare, powerful medicine. If you drink this, it will heal your injuries and allow you to speak.”

Miranda scowled and quickly looked away.

“I couldn’t care less about how you got involved with the Borgheses or what role you played in their attempts to frame the Duchess. None of that matters now that you’ve been banished from the capital.” Ivy sighed as the woman refused to acknowledge her presence. “No one need know your injuries are healed aside from me. At least this way, you’ll have the option to speak if you choose.”

Miranda half-turned toward her daughter with a conflicted expression before extending an open hand. Ivy glanced down hesitantly at the dose Hana had prepared for her evening treatment but handed the vial over without comment. The prisoner pried the small cork free with her fingers, sniffed the strange liquid inside, and glanced once more toward Ivy’s neutral expression.

“It’s not poison. I may hate you, but I have no reason to wish you dead.”

This appeared to convince the prisoner, who quickly tipped the vial’s contents down her throat.

Ivy flinched as her mother flung the empty bottle down on the stone basement floor, shattering it as she clutched her throat and coughed loudly. Ivy almost laughed at the brief look of alarm and suspicion that crossed Miranda’s face before the beneficial tonic effects kicked in and her mother’s coughs subsided.

“A-aah—ahhh!” Miranda squeaked out as the gurgled distortion in her voice faded. “I—I can—speak?” Her hazel-blue eyes swung wildly from the broken vial to Ivy. “What sort of—medicine—was that?”

“Does it matter? Your throat is healed, and you can speak,” Ivy replied as she folded her hands at her waist, clutching her fingers as the burning itch along her spine grew more difficult to ignore.

“Why—heal me? What do you want?”

Ivy drew in a slow breath, struggling to compartmentalize the emotions of betrayal, pain, and abandonment that had resurfaced with her mother’s reappearance. “To ask—why?”

Miranda scoffed as she swept back her messy bangs. “I thought you didn’t care about—”

“I’m not speaking about yesterday’s events. I’m asking about what you did to me all those years ago when I was barely more than a child!”

The prisoner scowled, her narrowed gaze moving over the luxurious fabric of Ivy’s dress. “Why are you complaining? You seem to have done well enough for yourself.”

“I am where I am because of Lady Kirsi’s benevolence—not because of you!”

“Ungrateful—” Miranda muttered before shaking her head. “I’ve nothing to say to a sinner like you.”

Ivy half-choked out a mocking laugh. “Really? You want to claim a religious, moral high ground? Which one of us is a chained prisoner?”

“I was pardoned!”

“The only reason your head remains attached to your body is because I asked her Grace to show mercy! Not that you deserve it,” Ivy retorted, her words coming out harsher than she intended as guilt ate away at her.

Instead of looking admonished or even humbled, Miranda only looked more enraged. “Well, at least I didn’t sell my soul to a witch that killed my child!”

Ivy flinched as her fingernails bit deeply into the back of her hands. “What?!”

“I know what you did, you whore! Murdering my grandchild—all so you can continue to serve that demon!”

“Your—grandchild?” Ivy echoed, bewildered. “What possible right could you have to lay claim to any child of mine after you sold me into slavery?!”

“I had no choice. We had no food! What would you have me do? Prostitute myself like you did just to keep a roof over our heads?!”

“I—” Ivy nearly bit her tongue as she fought against the wave of bile rising up the back of her throat. “I never—prostituted myself.”

Miranda laughed scornfully. “You still don’t realize why the Borgheses got me involved. They showed me proof that you purchased herbs meant to kill an unborn and unwanted baby. If you weren’t selling yourself, then how did you become pregnant? You’re not married or engaged, so why—”

“Shut up!” Ivy snarled as she staggered back, her hands pressed to her stomach. “How—how could you even think that?! Did it never cross your mind what terrible things could happen to a girl abandoned by her only living parent and sold to become the property of men?”

“Don’t spin your transgressions against me. You were meant to be the companion of Lady Edith. Maybe if you had taken better care of her, you wouldn’t have ended up with the Turnbell family. What noble would bother to interact with the spawn of a traitor—much less touch you unless you seduced them first!”

“Shut up! Shut up!” Ivy screamed, flinching as her voice echoed throughout the cellar around them. “I can’t believe—Lady Kirsi was right—you’re nothing but a monster.” She fumbled about in the shadows as her vision blurred, clinging to the metal bars to remain upright as her breath grew shallow and tight beneath the invisible vise of pain that pressed against her lungs. “How could you be this cruel and heartless—to your own child?”

“I suppose I should be grateful,” Miranda retorted with a resigned sigh. “Despite whatever poison that witch has dripped into your ears, you still know to help your mother when she’s in need.”

Ivy turned away, sickened by the very sight of the despicable woman, who continued to prattle on without so much as a flicker of remorse.

“Since that witch gave you the authority to come down here—she can grant you the authority to set me free and expunge my record.”

“Your life has already been spared. Your injuries healed—what more could you want?” Ivy forced out through clenched teeth as she hurriedly wiped the trail of tears from her cheek. Her mother’s scornful laugh set the maid’s teeth on edge as she turned to face the snickering prisoner.

“I still know your sins, child,” Miranda spelled out with a sinister smirk. “If you want me to disappear quietly, then the least you can do for your dear old mother is give me enough to survive—comfortably.”

Ivy stopped breathing again as she stared at the woman incredulously.

“I lost my position because of you and that witch,” Miranda continued, fussing with the hem of her skirt as she rose to her feet. “Given my age and the fact that you’re unfit to be married to anyone capable of supporting us both—the least you could do is give me enough to retire and buy a small cottage in the south. Warm weather and a decent maid will help me enjoy my final years. Slaves are cheap enough these days, so perhaps even a footman.”

“You—” Ivy pressed a cold fist against her lips as she nearly vomited.

“Well, it’s not like you’ll be coming along to look after me, and any other children you might produce are likely to be useless bastards.”

“Stop!”

“What? It’s not like I’m asking to live with you. I wouldn’t want to step anywhere near your little witch Duchess.”

“Of all the evil I have seen in this world,” Ivy hissed as she scratched the distracting pain clawing up her neck. “You—are the absolute worst.”

“Tsk!” Miranda admonished with an eye roll as she stepped towards the pale young woman. “I may be in chains presently, but only one of us has ever killed someone. And an innocent babe at that.”

‘I should never have come here.’ Ivy shook her head, feeling dizzy and shaken by the rage coursing through her veins. ‘I can’t believe I wasted Hana’s precious blood on this woman.’

“I heard the father was a nobleman,” Miranda continued as she placed a hand on Ivy’s shoulders. “Foolish girl. You would have been better off giving birth and living as a mistress. Who knows—he might have even married you.”

Ivy’s broken laugh echoed through the dimly lit cellar as she shoved her mother’s hand away. She stepped back from the prisoner, determined to leave before her illness and regret sapped the rest of her energy.

“That’s right, go ahead, run away and cry. You’re just as weak as your father was. Always blaming your failures on other people. Just make sure the funds are ready by morning before I depart, or else—I may have to reveal my miraculous recovery.”

Ivy froze beneath her mother’s taunting words as the cellar walls swayed precariously around her. “No.”

“What?” Miranda demanded softly.

“Was that not clear enough? I meant I won’t be giving you a single crescent.”

The prisoner chuckled uneasily. “Now, now, Ivy. There’s no need to be greedy. Your Duchess has more than enough—”

“Lady Kirsi won’t give you anything either.”

“That—would be foolish—”

Ivy gripped one of the stacked barrels as she turned around. The jumbled peel of her own mocking laughter echoed oddly in her ears. “No, mother. Impugning the honor of a noble would be foolish.”

“You? You’re nothing but a slave!”

“No, not anymore. Lady Kirsi liberated me before making me one of her ladies-in-waiting,” Ivy lied with a cynical smile. “I am neither a commoner nor a slave—unlike you.”

“What? B-but you’re—the daughter of a traitor!”

“Father was accused of treason, and we were reduced to commoners. It was you who drank and spent away his savings. You exploited the sympathy of his friends and acquaintances for money until they all turned their backs on us. Then you racked up debts you couldn’t pay, trying to maintain the lifestyle of a noblewoman without any means to pay for our basic needs. It was you who forced us to flee in the middle of the night to avoid being thrown into debtor’s jail!”

Miranda sputtered wordlessly as Ivy advanced towards the prisoner with her fists clenched.

“It was you who sold your daughter, your own flesh and blood, into a lifetime of servitude to pay off the debts you incurred—all for what? So, you could continue pretending to be a noble?”

“That was—you—you cannot—speak to me this way! I am your mother!”

“No—not anymore,” Ivy whispered hoarsely. “Our relationship died when you exchanged me for a bag of coins. I do not owe you anything now. In fact, I never want to see you ever again! And if you dare to speak against me or the Duchess, rest assured that next time, I will beg for your execution!”

Miranda’s eyes widened with a glimmer of fear as she pressed her back against the cellar wall away from her trembling daughter.

“Wherever you go, from this moment on, you are no longer my concern. Whether you live or die has nothing to do with me. You are a monster—and I can only hope that the rest of your life will be as miserable as the years of torment and humiliation you subjected me to.”

Ivy spun away, teetering unsteadily as a faint ring spread through her right ear to mingle with the pain prickling along her back. She paused to steady herself and regain her composure before facing the knights waiting outside—then blinked as the blurred tangle of chains dropped over her vision and tightened viciously around her neck.

The prisoner dragged the flailing maid back into the cellar stall, where mother and daughter tumbled back against the stone floor. “I thought there was nothing in this world I regretted more than marrying your imbecile of a father, but now I realize—giving birth to you—was my greatest sin.”

Ivy sputtered helplessly as she clawed against the metal links biting into her throat, unable to reach past Miranda’s legs wrapped tightly around her torso.

“But now I shall atone for my sins by sending your corrupted soul into the arms of the Saints to be purified!”

Ivy kicked her feet against the ground, twisting and squirming against the chain in her mother’s grip. The ripping pain of the witch’s curse along her back and lack of air hindered her ability to focus and think as her vision darkened.

“You should have just paid me the money,” Miranda admonished with a faint grunt as she leaned back, exerting more force against the chain. “Once you’re dead and the Duchess stands accused of trying to kill a prisoner of the crown—the Borgheses will have every reason to reward me with a life I deserve.”

A flicker of light pulled Ivy’s fluctuating gaze to the snowflake obsidian wolf pendant that slid across her bodice. She grasped the necklace frantically, recalling Kirsi’s cautioning instructions when she gifted the pendant to her.

‘Please—please work!’

With what little strength remained, Ivy yanked the necklace free and clenched it between her teeth before silently crying out the Duchess’s name.

 

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Chapter 35: A Culling of Honor

 

Nicholas glanced up at the ominous sound of rain drizzling against the canopy attached to the side kitchen door. The Silver Stag, which hung over a bucket with a good three inches of blood, now waited to be skinned and processed. Two members of the manor staff held the stag’s front legs while Lord Bromwell took a bone saw to the already cut skin of the deer’s neck.

The Crown Prince folded his arms as he watched the young nobleman complete his task. While he found the sound and smell of it all rather unpleasant, he preoccupied himself with visions of the stag’s magnificently mounted head.

“Can you imagine the noble’s faces when they see this?” Nicholas glanced at the Prime Minister, who waited at his side. “Just in time for my coronation.”

“It is a blessing from the heavens, your Majesty,” Attwood replied, reading over a letter sent from the capital. “It would also appear that our other hunt was successful.”

“Excellent.” The Crown Prince leaned closer as the Prime Minister tapped at a section of the message below. “I knew the Dowager could be relied upon to ensure discretion.”

“Just a bit more—and there it is!” Walter commented with a faint grunt as the saw grated through the last bit of vertebra. The nobleman promptly passed the saw to a waiting servant, then pulled his hunting knife from his boot to finish severing through the flesh and skin of the deer’s throat. Once finished, Lord Bromwell lifted the silver stag’s head and carried it over to the waiting silver platter.

“Well done,” Nicholas murmured enthusiastically as he knelt against the table to examine the clean cut.

“You’ll need a taxidermist to clean and mount it properly,” Walter commented, looking pleased with the young monarch’s praise. “Shall I remove the front legs while we wait for Lord Rykard?”

“Oh, please do.” The Crown Prince waved permissively. As excited as he had been with the prospect of skinning such an impressive creature—this was the first deer that he had ever attempted such a feat on. A task which, once faced with the reality of the blood and glory, he began to overthink as Lord Rykard regaled him with all the possible uses for nearly every piece of the creature.

‘I wonder what Eleanora would think of eating the testicles of such a specimen?’

In the end, Nicholas had decided the best strategy would be to leave the difficult parts for those with far more experience and step up when and where something simple and manageable could be left to him.

‘And who better than the Viscount of Gilwren and his successor, who participate in the royal hunt every year, to lend me a hand.’

“There looks to be a storm brewing, your Majesty,” Rykard announced as he joined them through the kitchen doors. “We’ll need to finish this quickly and get the meat inside for the cook to prepare.”

Nicholas watched in silent admiration as the Viscount promptly rolled up his sleeve, took the second bond saw from the table of tools, and set about severing the stag’s left leg just below the shoulder while Lord Bromwell finished off the right.

Once both limbs had been tossed inside the bucket, Rykard pulled out his hunting knife and made two shallow incisions on either side of the stag’s hind legs. “Your Majesty, if you’re ready. The primary part of skinning starts here.”

“Oh? Yes.” Nicholas stepped forward to take the offered blade, then watched as the Viscount demonstrated where to begin his incision.

“Place the tip of your knife there. Good. Now, you want to try and bring the knife down in one fluid motion all the way to the stag’s sternum. Right here. Feet apart like so, give it a practice run over the skin if you need, and be mindful of your limbs when you pull the blade down.”

“Yes. All right.” The Crown Prince exhaled as he attempted to mimic the Viscount’s position and gave it a practice run.

“You’ll need to move a bit quicker than that. Just like a sword swing, the momentum and direction do most of the work.”

‘Could we leave my shoddy swordsmanship out of this?’ Nicholas glanced towards the corner of the tent where Beaumont stood like a statue with a faraway gaze. ‘He’s been distracted since we left the Duchess in the woods.’ With a scoff, the prince steeled himself, returned the tip of the knife to the open cut, tightened his grip, took a quick breath, and pressed down.

“My Lord!”

Nicholas flinched as the knife in his hand veered sharply to the right, halfway down the stag’s stomach.

“Oh, by the Saints! We were in the middle of—what is it!” Rykard snapped as he turned towards the servant. Lord Bromwell quickly stepped forward to steady the prince’s shaking hand, removing the blade before turning to examine the monarch’s derailed cut.

“It’s fine, nothing a good seamstress can’t mend. Fortunately, you didn’t cut yourself.”

‘Fine?’ Nicholas blinked as the young noblemen fingered the severed, slightly frayed white fur. ‘It was perfect. And now….’

“Forgive me, my lord, your Majesty. But—I’ve just received word that Duchess Kirsi has returned from the forest—and that she’s injured and unconscious.”

The Crown Prince forgot about the mangled deer entirely as his gaze whipped towards Captain Beaumont. The ash-blonde giant’s violet eyes widened with a rare expression of alarm before he ripped his longsword free and sliced an opening through the back of the tent.

“Beaumont!” Nicholas shouted after him, half irritated, half sympathetic, as he watched the giant storm off through the rain.

“Wha—what do you mean the Duchess is injured?” Rykard’s voice dropped lower with each word as the blood drained from his cheeks. “F-forgive me, your Majesty.”

“No, by all means,” Nicholas waved his hand permissively and sighed as he watched the Viscount push through the torn canopy wall. “Well—” the prince glanced over at the knife in Lord Bromwell’s hand and then grasped the worried nobleman by the shoulder. “Would you mind finishing this up for me? I should see how Lady Kirsi is doing.”

“But—I—” Walter swallowed down a protest as his grip tightened around Rykard’s hunting knife. “Yes—your Majesty.”

“Excellent.” Nicholas patted the nobleman’s shoulder sympathetically, then took off through the tent at an even pace. He blinked in surprise as four Bastiallano Knights fell in step around him.

‘Well, at least she’s still managing to do one job properly.’

❆❆❆❆❆

Colonel Isaac breathed a sigh of relief as the waiting group of Bastiallano knights stepped forward to move the unconscious Duchess from a hastily crafted litter to the properly supported stretcher. His hand on the reins shook as he relaxed his grip and dismounted. The memory of Kirsi being dragged underground before his eyes still frayed against his nerves.

‘That was no ordinary remnant.’

During his years of service to the Holy Church, Isaac had only ever witnessed the devastation left in the wake of such monsters. The undying possessed unnatural physical strength comparable to the magical power of a pureblood. Because of this, the church believed they were remnants of powerful witches whose corpses had not been appropriately burned after death.

The practice of burning witches began with the inception of the church and its Witch Hunter Order as a countermeasure to prevent the birth of such vengeful abnormalities. As a result, most remnants uncovered today were treated with caution due to the high probability of them being one of the famished, ancient specters who had long succumbed to the basic instincts of a savage beast.

Isaac could not even begin to imagine how the Duchess had survived her encounter with the two-headed viper remnant, let alone escape. ‘Then again, remnants are rumored to be far more vulnerable to elemental magic than physical, brute strength.’

The campgrounds were relatively quiet beneath the steady downpour of rain. As expected, most of the guests and servants present were either indoors or still making their way back from the hunting grounds.

The Colonel glanced over his shoulder to where the fake Harry remained on his horse at the end of the line behind the two knight horses that carried the mountain bear’s corpse.

Earl Hawthorne had briefly explained the dead man’s surprising return before handing Lady Kirsi over to the Bastiallano knight’s care. While Isaac had done his best to memorize the rather implausible lie meant to cover the afternoon’s extraordinary events, he had been far too distracted by the Duchess’s unconscious state.

‘The Scarlet Witch might have been a pureblood, but Maura was lucky to have been born a coven witch at all, given her mother’s mortal bloodline. Physically, Kirsi’s new body was still half-mortal. Even if she possesses the heart of a god, the backlash of using too much magic could cripple her in other ways.’

The fake Harry coughed obnoxiously, directing Isaac’s attention to the flurry of movement from the manor toward them. The Colonel was surprised to find the Crown Prince’s bodyguard leading the charge with intimidating speed.

“Captain, please step back!” Isaac called out with a cautioning hand as he moved to block Beaumont’s path. He blinked in confusion as a single swipe of the giant’s arm nearly shoved him off-balanced into the muddy grass below.

“Beaumont!” The Crown Prince’s reproachful tone only added to the Colonel’s embarrassment as he spun after the impertinent royal knight. He was pulled up short by Viscount Gilwren’s frantic voice.

“Colonel, what happened?”

Isaac clenched his jaw as he watched Beaumont grasp the Duchess’s wrist but composed himself quickly as the nobles and Crown Prince closed in around them. ‘I can’t let things get any more chaotic, especially while Kirsi is in such a state.’

The Colonel turned over the web of lies that Lord Percy had prepared in his head as he signaled the fake huntsman, who dropped down to untie the tarp placed over the suspended mound of muscle and fur tied to a pole between the two horses. “Your Majesty. Lord Rykard. We were attacked—by a bear.”

“A bear?!” Rykard stumbled back from the Duchess’s stretcher as he took in the giant predator with a gasp. “Saint’s Mercy—why—how? What is a mountain bear doing this far east?” The Viscount turned back to Kirsi, grasping the stretcher for support as he reached towards the blankets that covered her, turning visibly paler by the second. “Was she—is she seriously injured?”

“Her Grace was incredibly lucky,” Gladestone interjected, moving forward promptly to fill in the gaps in Isaac’s story. “The bear caught us off guard while we were spread apart, searching for more prey. Fortunately, it targeted her horse. The Duchess was thrown clear during the attack but managed to retain her crossbow. Before we could intervene, Lady Kirsi fired off a lucky shot that struck the beast’s heart. The injury caused it to panic and run—but it didn’t get very far.”

“Then—why is she?”

“Lady Kirsi’s head struck the ground when she fell,” Gladestone continued solemnly, lying so seamlessly even Isaac was tempted to believe him. “I can only assume the injury and shock, coupled with the horrific death of her mare, caused her Grace to faint. We decided that it best to return immediately.”

“And rightly so,” Attwood commented sharply as he and the Crown Prince joined the knights around the giant bear. “Viscount, how is it your huntsmen were not aware of a beast of such size lurking about in Gilwren Forest?”

“The Duchess was beyond lucky,” Nicholas murmured in disbelief. “To take down such a monster with a single shot? Just look at the scarring—this bear has survived more than one encounter with a hunter.”

“Alas, by the time I came within range, the beast had already turned tail,” Gladstone continued, looking solemn and shaken, believably so. “I followed the blood trail after the Duchess had been secured. It seemed a shame to leave such a prize behind given the enormity of Lady Kirsi’s feat.”

Isaac swallowed a laugh at the Viscount’s rather believable performance. ‘Then again, given what Kirsi actually survived, a bear is nothing by comparison.’

“Just what were the knights of Bastiallano doing?” Rykard bellowed as he whirled away from his unconscious granddaughter. “Her Grace could have been killed! Why was she even left alone long enough to be exposed to such a risk? If she had been gravely injured, crippled, or even—”

“Lord Rykard,” Nicholas interjected soothingly. “I’m certain the Colonel feels the weight of his failure far more than you or I could express. Right now, what’s important is having a physician examine the Duchess.”

Isaac did not miss the accusatory tone or the cutting glance the Crown Prince sent his way. His jaw twitched even as he bowed his head. ‘Bear or Remnant, it’s true enough that I failed to keep the Duchess safe.’

Viscount Gilwren inhaled sharply, then nodded feebly as he released the stretcher leaving Beaumont alone beside the Duchess and her knights. “Yes. Of course, your Majesty. I would like to take her to the manor immediately!”

“Excellent, I will have our royal physicians sent over to examine—”

“That will not be necessary!”

The nobles and monarch turned in surprise as Viscountess Hana strode towards them beneath a pink parasol that did little to shield the bottom of her dress from the steady drizzle.

“The Duchess will be well looked after in her own tent with those she trusts!” Hana continued with surprising authority as she strode towards the stretcher, forcing Beaumont to withdraw as she took Kirsi’s hand, holding the parasol over the unconscious Duchess to shield her from the rain.

“A tent is no place for an injured noblewoman!” Rykard retorted sharply. “And how dare you imply that Maura will not be well cared for by me, her grandfather!”

“Lady Kirsi!” The Viscountess corrected with a notable curl of disgust. “And she is no longer your granddaughter!”

“Lady Hana, please. I must agree with Lord Rykard,” Nicholas interjected placatingly as he grasped the angry Viscount’s shoulder. “Surely it would be more advisable to have the Duchess rest indoors away from the damp and cold to prevent further illness while in her weakened state.”

Hana narrowed her turquoise blue eyes. While Isaac understood her protectiveness of Kirsi and distrust of the monarch, he was still surprised at her flippant display of disrespect.

‘Fortunately, the Crown Prince isn’t making an issue out of it now, likely due to the Duchess’s fondness for Lady Hana.’

The Viscountess appeared to rethink her position as her gaze swept over the frowning nobles around them. “Very well then, your Majesty. But as the Duchess’s ladies-in-waiting, Lady Ivy and I will remain at her side and handle all matters related to her care.”

Lord Rykard looked ready to protest, but Nicholas swiftly interjected. “I’m certain that can be arranged. Let’s get Lady Kirsi indoors and out of this blasted rain!” The Crown Prince tapped the Viscount’s shoulder reassuringly before moving to intercept his distracted bodyguard. “I’ll send over the royal physician to examine the Duchess shortly.”

❆❆❆❆❆

Marquess Borghese’s mood only darkened with each squelching step of his return to camp. Upon entering his tent, he immediately peeled off the drenched hunting jacket, paying no attention to the tired, similarly depressed nobles who trudged off to their respective quarters to escape the rain.

“Damnable weather!” Borghese hissed as he flung the jacket to the floor and then slumped into the fur-lined chair adorned with the antlers of deer he had previously hunted.

The squire who shadowed his master’s footsteps slid out of his muddy shoes before moving to attend to the irritable Marquess’s boots.

“Get these damn things off and see to it their dry by tomorrow morning!”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Just when will this perpetual misfortune cease?” Borghese clenched the armrests tightly as the servant struggled to remove each muddy boot, careful to avoid spilling rainwater on the woven black carpets below. “First, the forest is practically barren of deer, and now there’s a bloody rainstorm.”

The Marquess had finally bagged his first deer late in the afternoon. Another four deer had been added to their tally after the party split into smaller groups to cover more ground. Their assigned huntsman, a commoner with barely any hair on his cheeks, had tried to keep the nobles together based on Viscount Gilwren’s rules, but Borghese quickly put the upstart in his place. As long as they could verify their kills with specifically marked arrows, there was nothing a mere Viscount could say to counter their claim.

‘It’s not like Lord Rykard will cause a fuss anyway, given how far behind we are in this competition.’

As the squire carried the boots over to a drying rack in the corner of the tent, Borghese began the tiresome process of stripping off his wet clothes, which he flung in the servant’s direction as he brooded over the many slights he and his daughter had suffered in the last twenty-four hours.

‘Things will go differently once my Shadow Army arrives.’ The Marquess’s chartreuse-green eyes narrowed as he stepped out of his soaked undergarments and kicked them over to the squire. “Were any messages delivered while I was away?”

“I do not know, my lord.”

“Well, find out!” Borghese snapped as he yanked the towel from the servant’s offered hands. “Send for Lord Norley while you’re at it. Bastard’s been sniffing about the women folk all day instead of joining the hunt. He should be aware of any pertinent news.”

The squire bowed and hastily exited the tent leaving the Marquess to mutter impatiently as he wiped down his naked body and shriveled manhood. His steward and other attendants entered promptly and set about making their master comfortable. By the time the squire returned, Borghese was wrapped in a velvet robe, seated in his fur chair, enjoying a glass of brandy by a lit brazier while the servants laid out his evening garments.

“Took you long enough,” Borghese muttered as he set aside the empty glass. “Well—did you find out anything?”

“My Lord. The manor butler informed me that Lord Norley was summoned away by Duke Hargreve but is expected to return before nightfall,” the squire explained hastily. “No letters were delivered to the manor from your estate, but—one of the mercenaries passed me this message on my way back.”

Borghese snatched the offered letter from the servant’s fingers and promptly snapped the wax seal in half. His mood brightened considerably as he read over Captain Weylin’s brief message, which stated the Shadow Army had arrived at the border of Gilwren Forest and now awaited further instruction.

“Ahha!” The Marquess chuckled, grinning as he tossed the message into the brazier. “Finally, some good news.”

“My Lord,” the steward announced as he returned with more dry wood for the brazier. “Earl Coldwell is asking for permission to enter.”

Borghese stood quickly, then paused and glanced down at his undressed state. “I am not fully decent, Lord Chase. But you may come in out of the rain if it pleases you.”

Earl Chase Coldwell stepped through the tent flap with his gaze discreetly averted as he bowed and then turned to face the canopy walls. “Forgive the intrusion, Marquess. I thought I should check in with you before the celebratory banquet.”

“What’s this?” Borghese scoffed as he removed his robe while his servants rushed to dress him. “I wasn’t aware we had anything to celebrate this early on in the hunt.”

‘It’s not as if the Crown Princess could be with child.’

“It seems the Crown Prince brought back the Silver Stag during the first hour of the afternoon hunt.’

The Marquess stiffened halfway through his cotton shirt. He pulled the material down roughly and exhaled. “The Silver Stag, you say?”

“It’s said to be the main course of tonight’s feast, which his Majesty is generously sharing with all of us.”

“Bah!”

‘How unfortunate. That arrogant boy will only behave more insufferably after this.’

“I would suggest the Marquess and his daughter both tread cautiously until you are certain of your next move,” Coldwell continued reasonably as he brushed raindrops from his jacket.

“You need not worry, Lord Chase. I am a cautious man by nature, and I certainly have no intention of setting my ambitions on fire any time soon,” Borghese retorted as he stepped into a clean pair of trousers. “Everything is in place. Including the gift my sister sent over from the caves of Fogtooth Mountain.”

“Ahh, yes. Quite the risky investment—not to mention dangerous. I’m honestly surprised my Lord would put so much faith in a simple beast.”

“You heard Lord Acheron’s comment this morning. They must have already come across the tracks of our mountain bear.” The Marquess smiled cynically as he perched on the corner of the bed while the steward pulled on his evening shoes. “One can only hope that the reckless, brainless barbarian princess took the bait and went after it. That beast took down six huntsmen before they finally managed to drug and cage it. I’ve no doubt it will do far worse to a hunting group of amateurs after being cooped up for a week and fed only scraps.”

“A masterful plan if fate works in our favor.” Earl Coldwell shook his head before casting a glance over his shoulder. “But what if the beast wanders into a different hunting quadrant?”

“If it tries to return west to the mountains—wouldn’t that take it through the Crown Prince’s quadrant,” Borghese replied dismissively as he pulled on his dinner jacket. “Whatever tragedy occurs need not concern us. The blame will be placed on Viscount Gilwren. In any case, we left a small barrel of fish and a few special berries to keep the beast bewildered long enough for the barbarian princess to track him down.”

“I suppose that if the Crown Princess manages to shoot the creature, it would be but a small loss.”

The Marquess chuckled. “You may turn around, Lord Chase. Rest assured. That beast has survived more than one hunting party. Tharyn mountain bears will tear through anything they consider a threat until their last breath. If we’re lucky, the Crown Princess won’t return from today’s hunt. Even if she survives—the claws on that creature would leave her disfigured if not scarred for life.”

Earl Coldwell clapped his hands thoughtfully as he turned to face the acting head of the Royal Party. “My Lord intends to take advantage of Lafearian’s tradition that forbids a King from marrying any woman with blemished skin, but—they are already married.”

“I am a patient man, Lord Chase. If Eleanora is disfigured, how long before Nicholas can barely stand to look at her, much less lie with her? Once she is pronounced barren and infertile, it will become a political issue to choose a more suitable Queen that can provide Nicholas with an heir.”

“At which point, our party can push forward Nicholas’s previous engagement to Lady Priscilla and ask that it be honored,” Coldwell murmured with an understanding smile. “Despite today’s unfortunate events, your daughter remains the best candidate among the noble ladies. Who could be more suitable than the niece of our Lord Protector to sit on the Lafearian throne beside the King?”

“I’m glad you agree.”

“But—if the beast should fail?”

“If a blunt instrument will not work, I have alternative moves to make.” The Marquess hesitated as he adjusted the signet ring on his left pinky. “I had hoped to use the royal favor to push Priscilla forward as a Royal Consort. Whatever sins I have committed, my daughter is blameless after all, and even a King would hesitate to accuse his father-in-law of treason.”

“There is time yet,” Coldwell replied. “And Attwood is a smart man. He knows better than to push a dangerous, ruthless opponent into a corner with nowhere to retreat. I trust he will see sense and the benefits of such a union.”

“The Prime Minister may be a man of diplomacy—but the Duchess is another matter. Her knights have nearly overrun the entirety of the Gilwren Estate. She even has them watching the borders of Gilwren Forest.”

“Lady Kirsi is barely more than a child of ten and sixteen years,” Coldwell retorted. “It is Percy Hawthorne we must be wary of. The Duchess is little more than a paramour he has dressed up to distract us.”

“Paramour or not, that half-blood has risen far above her station and made herself a public enemy of my family,” Borghese growled as he refilled his cup with brandy. “That cunning bitch holds too much power for us to ignore or challenge her directly.”

Both nobles flinched in surprise as Viscount Kendall burst into the tent, nearly colliding with them.

“Oh—forgive the intrusion, Marquess,” Kendall apologized hastily as he wiped the rain from his face. “I thought you’d want to know right away.”

“Well, go on then,” Borghese grumbled as he eyed the muddy water already overrunning the trenches dug around the tent.

“The Duchess—she was thrown from her horse. They have her up in Gilwren Manor. Apparently, she’s unconscious, and the royal physician isn’t sure she’ll wake up!”

The Marquess blinked in stunned disbelief while the Earl quickly pressed for more information.

“What happened? Was she attacked? How did she fall?”

“They said it was a mountain bear. I haven’t seen it, but it’s caused quite a stir—apparently, the creature is absolutely monstrous! Everyone’s saying the Duchess was lucky to have survived—let alone kill it!”

“She—killed it?” Borghese sputtered.

“That’s what everyone’s saying. Her huntsman confirmed the kill, and the examiner pulled out a silver bolt that Lady Kirsi uses—so—” Kendall trailed off uncertainly as the Marquess’s face darkened with rage.

“Thank you for telling us, Lord Kendall,” Coldwell replied reassuringly as he pushed the Viscount firmly towards the tent exit. “You should return to the manor and let the others know we’ll join them shortly.”

“What? Oh—yeah.” Kendall bid a hasty farewell and stepped back into the rain, which appeared to be finally letting up.

“How? Tell me how?” Borghese snarled in disbelief as he glared after the Viscount.

“Her knights must have saved her,” Coldwell responded calmly. “Either way, this is an unexpected bonus for us. With the Duchess unconscious and likely too injured to continue the hunt, our only competition is Lord Percy.”

“Who will be impossible to beat! Bastard is probably using witchcraft to win.”

“We can pressure Lord Rykard to send an official observer to monitor the Earl’s party. Ensure there is nothing dubious about his kill count. In the meantime, we can also take advantage of the Shadow Army to increase our lead.”

“No. Any restrictions we apply to Lord Percy’s hunting party will only be applied to our own. And I’ll not risk exposing my men for a few deer!”

The Earl sighed but nodded in agreement as he tapped his cane against his leg. “Very well, we’ll do things your way. But for now, we should show ourselves, congratulate the Crown Prince, and attempt to appear as concerned as possible for the half-blood.”

“Concerned? I hope the bitch dies!”

♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝

Chapter 34: A Weakening of Truths

 

Carina stared at the immortal god of wind with mounting unease. The faint tingling of Kirsi’s resentment beneath her skin offered a strange comfort as the Duchess faced Veles alone in Gilwren Forest. At first glance, the cunning deity of the Air Covens resembled an old man shrouded in a simple black cloak. However, upon closer inspection, the mantle’s dark fabric gave off a strange sheen and rippled with the immortal’s movements like a shroud of woven tiny black feathers. A sharp nose, framed by two crimson eyes, pierced the shadows of the cloak over thinly drawn lips that conveyed an indecipherable expression.

“I see much of Viktor’s power in you,” Veles observed in a hoarse, accusing tone. “It would seem that reuniting you with your missing fragment has not altered your decision.”

Carina grimaced as she reigned in the Scarlet Witch’s flaring anger. While Veles was not the first immortal she had met, he was notably more powerful than Viktor—and more alive.

‘Is he simply well informed, or was he involved in some way with Arachne’s plot to weaken Kirsi and Viktor.’

“Why are you here?” The Duchess asked pointedly, wishing belatedly that she had not dismissed her ice armor.

“My chosen informed me that you were in peril,” Veles replied with a not-so-subtle sigh. “I was concerned that you might perish before you had a chance to correct your past mistakes.”

‘Mistakes?’ Carina’s lips twitched with a faint mocking laugh as she raised her arms in a dismissive shrug. “As you can see, I am quite unharmed.”

“It is no coincidence that remnants of your past lives have awakened, Kirsi.”

The Duchess frowned as the Scarlet Witch’s energy rippled with rage. Carina’s fatigue from battle gave her predecessor all the edge she needed to break free as the two souls uncomfortably aligned with each other.

“You mean the souls that you and Arachne twisted against me?” Kirsi retorted with a cynical chuckle. “Let them come. I am more than happy to settle past scores.”

“It is not the past but the present you should concern yourself with!” Veles snarled as he studied the ice witch critically. “This is your last life, Kirsi! I have exhausted nearly every member of the Hawthorne bloodline to give you every opportunity to make your decision. Once the Saint awakens—there is nothing more I can do.”

“Sacrificed?” Carina echoed in confusion.

“The most valuable resource to mortals and immortals is time!” Veles retorted. “Even I cannot bend the rules of the heavens without paying a price.”

“So you sacrifice—your own followers?”

“The Chosen know that the powers granted to them by the gods come at a price!”

“Then does Percy know what that price is!?”

The immortal hesitated. Beneath the folds of his robes, rough, dry fingers with long black talons curled around the tall, winding staff the god leaned heavily against. The more the Duchess looked at his hands, the more their texture reminded her of a bird’s foot. ‘Perhaps he is more bird than man?’

“It’s not like you to be so concerned with the lives of others,” Veles observed speculatively. “I suppose that part of you has altered—and yet you still insist on pushing Viktor to his doom?”

“You make it sound so simple,” Carina retorted defensively. “I have no desire to see Viktor suffer any more than I wish to die myself.”

“Ahh, the selfish love of a child.” The immortal chuckled dryly. “I suppose that is the affliction of mortal behavior. Each expecting the other to sacrifice themselves for their own personal happiness.”

“You speak as if the gods will not benefit from my sacrifice!”

Veles’s crimson eyes flashed with annoyance. “How many lives have you been granted, Kirsi? Far more than any mortal—yet you still refuse to return Viktor’s heart!”

“It is not ours to give or take!” Kirsi snapped, overriding Carina’s irritation with deeply seeded outrage. “Nor is it yours to demand. We are not to blame for Arachne’s actions or Ramiel’s ultimatum.”

‘Stop saying we!’ Carina hissed internally.

The immortal’s gaze narrowed as he tapped a long nail against his staff. “I have never condoned the actions of my sisters against Viktor—but they were clearly provoked. A child for a child. Viktor should have let the matter rest there, but he and Minerva broke the rules by bringing you back and meddling in the bloodline of Saints.”

‘Viktor also mentioned something about the blood of the First Saint. Is that why Ramiel is so set against us?’

“Regardless of what seems fair and right to you, Kirsi, you know you cannot win. Even if you somehow manage to survive, you lack the support and power necessary to reach your goal. Not only that, but three out of the four surviving gods stand against you.”

‘Kritanta, Arachne, and Ramiel.’

“And what position have you taken?” Carina pressed cautiously.

“The same position I held when Viktor broke the balance of the gods,” Veles replied firmly. “I am a neutral observer.”

“Who has sacrificed countless witches to keep me alive.”

The immortal drew in a sharp breath. “If you are at all grateful—then consider my request. Let Viktor return to his rightful place so that peace may be restored.”

‘Easy enough for an immortal to suggest.’ The Duchess clenched her jaw and hands. At this point, she was beginning to understand Kirsi’s hatred for gods in general.

“Tell me something, Veles,” Carina continued cautiously. “Why expend so much effort to achieve your goal? What would happen if Viktor and I both perished?”

The wind stirred uneasily around them as Veles’s rough fingers tightened around his staff. The Duchess flinched as the immortal threw back his cape and spread his arms wide. The glittering material stretched and transformed into dark, powerful wings that propelled the god toward the ice witch with terrifying speed.

“If Viktor yields the last of his power to you, then he will die, Kirsi!” Veles snarled as his crimson eyes bore into her with a tangible pressuring threat. “If that happens—you will suffer. None of the gods are on your side. And while we cannot intervene with your decision, once Viktor’s seat lies empty, we will be forced to remove any impediment to the birth of a new immortal.”

‘That impediment being me.’

Carina swallowed a lump of fear as she focused on the black veins that spread down his neck into the dark plumage of his chest. “If that is your ultimate decision, what’s stopping you from killing me now and returning Viktor’s heart yourself?”

“As I said, we cannot directly intervene—”

“Why? It’s not like Viktor has the power to stand in your way. All the gods are against me, as you’ve already stated—so why not end this ridiculous farce instead of sacrificing, threatening, and twisting the lives of so many to pressure me into yielding to your demands!?”

“You—foolish—stubborn half-blood!” Veles shrieked. “By what authority do you demand answers from me? I am the god of air! The god of wealth and knowledge! I do not bow to the will of a mere half-immortal!”

The Duchess scoffed and rolled her eyes, biting back the terror that crept up her spine as the forest around them darkened beneath the immortal’s anger. “If you’re the god of knowledge, then it should be easy enough for you to clarify the matter!”

“The answer should be obvious, even for one as dull-witted as you!” Veles snapped. “Even the gods have rules they must follow!”

“And yet Kritanta and Arachne suffered no punishment for what they did to Viktor!”

“You—insufferable—waste of a god’s excrement! Viktor’s downfall was his own doing. Per the rules of the gods, he could have claimed his revenge, but he made a deal with—” Veles cut off sharply, then spun away, his wings knocking the Duchess off her feet as he stormed off.

“Made a deal about what? With whom?” Carina demanded as she struggled to rise, only for her shaking legs to give out beneath her.

“It doesn’t matter!” The immortal whirled about to face her and exhaled forcibly as he calmed himself. “Even after all these years, you have yet to meet any of the necessary conditions. So, in the end, Viktor will have sacrificed everything—for an impossible dream.”

The Duchess opened her mouth to demand more answers but felt her throat close beneath the invisible pressure of the immortal’s power.

Veles smiled at her cynically as his wings relaxed and lowered to resume the appearance of a tattered cloak. “Take your questions to Viktor. If he cannot answer them—then why should I? Just know that if you refuse the will of the gods, a great many mortals and witches alike will suffer because of your selfishness!”

Carina coughed as the pressure around her neck lessened. “Why? Because I’m the Witch of Calamity?”

The god of air did not respond as his figure dispersed into another cloud of crows that quickly scattered toward the darkening sky above them.

‘How like an oppressor to blame the oppressed.’

The Duchess scoffed as she rubbed her neck and tried again to rise but found her body lacked even the minimal amount of strength to do so. She shook her head and slumped against the leaves of the forest floor, fighting the fatigue that clung to her heavy eyelids as the shadows crept in around her.

❆❆❆❆❆

At first glance, the Duchess hardly appeared to be breathing. Percy hastily dropped to his knees beside the unconscious ice witch, flinching as his fingers grazed against the shockingly cold skin of her wrist and found a pulse. The Earl closed his eyes tightly, then pressed a hand over his mouth as he exhaled in relief.

Behind the Witch King, Marquess Winifred settled onto the forest floor, accompanied by his eldest, Lord Ernest. The purebloods exchanged glances as they watched Percy fold Kirsi’s hands across her stomach before scanning her body for injuries.

“Your Grace, how is she?” Winslet asked tentatively, signaling for Ernest to search the woods around them.

“She survived by some miracle,” Percy replied gruffly, brushing the damp clumps of frost from the Duchess’s ash-brown hair. His eyes narrowed at the faint bruise just below her left ear. He tilted her head gently to the side and blinked as he took in the vibrant section of white hair at the nape of her neck.

Ernest returned, eying the Witch King and Duchess as he strode over to join his father. “No sign of the remnant anywhere. Nothing out of place either, other than her.”

“Odd,” Winifred murmured pensively before moving closer to examine the unconscious Duchess.

“A few scrapes and bruises,” Percy commented before gesturing to the curl of white hair. “Although it appears she strained the limits of her mana reserves.”

“Safe to say Lady Kirsi was incredibly lucky if that’s the only injury she walked away with.”

“What? It doesn’t look serious,” Ernest muttered as he brushed a stray pine needle from his hair. “Don’t most ice witches have white hair anyway?”

“Only because they lived long enough for their hair to turn white naturally,” Percy growled, his winter grey eyes shooting the Marquess’s firstborn a warning look. Ernest quickly dropped his gaze and retreated to a safe distance while his father removed his cloak and passed it to the Witch King.

“We should return, your Grace,” Winifred murmured with a glance at the storm clouds gathering above them. “Now that the Duchess is safe, the Twilight Coven can release a rainstorm strong enough to wash away any traces a remnant was here.”

“A storm will drive all the other hunting parties back to the manor,” Percy replied as he folded the cloak into a pillow and placed it under the ice witch’s head. “We need a reasonable story to explain Lady Kirsi’s condition as well as the loss of her huntsman.”

The Marquess frowned as he watched the Earl remove his cloak and jacket, draping both over the Duchess to provide her with warmth. “It’s true—the Crown Prince is certain to raise a fuss if the Duchess returns in this state.”

“Why not say it was an accident—or perhaps pin it on the missing huntsman!” Ernest suggested, eager to correct his earlier lousy impression.

“Blaming the huntsman lays responsibility at Viscount Gilwren’s feet?” Percy retorted with a glance at the Marquess. ‘This is why I favor the second son when it comes to inheriting his father’s position.’

“We need a believable excuse that won’t weaken Lady Kirsi’s image or cause harm to our allies,” Winifred pondered, furrowing his brows as he studied the ice witch’s pale face. “Her Grace might be out for a day or two, depending on how depleted her magic reserves are.”

The Earl frowned as he tucked the edges of his cloak under the Duchess’s arms. He checked her pulse once more, this time at her throat, and measured the sluggish pace of her heart worriedly.

‘Winifred is right. If we want the mortals to remain ignorant of our world, we need a plausible excuse to buy Kirsi time to rest.’

“Perhaps I could be of some assistance?”

The three purebloods whirled in surprise toward the huntsman, who strode towards them with his hands cautiously raised.

“You!” Percy blurted out as he rose to his feet. “Weren’t you originally with the Duchess’s hunting party?”

“Careful,” Winifred growled, drawing a line in the forest floor with a flash of wind. “He smells of the sea.”

The Earl’s eyes narrowed as the huntsman lowered his hands with a grin, then presented them with a bow.

“They call me Jasper, and yes—I was originally the huntsman for the Duchess before Viscount Gilwren replaced me.”

“What’s a Strugna witch doing this far west?” Ernest demanded warily. “And how did you get past my barrier? There are no water sources near here.”

“Ahaha,” Jasper chuckled as he tapped the tree beside him. “Water exists in more places than you realize.”

“Nevermind that now,” Percy interjected sharply as he moved to stand between the Strugna witch and Kirsi. “You said you could help?”

“I just happened to run across one while searching for a means to assist the Duchess—” the huntsman shrugged casually, “—but it should more than do the trick.”

The purebloods watched with baffled frowns as Jasper knelt and scraped a hole in the ground with his hunting knife. A moment later, he filled the hand size hole with water from his canteen, then glanced towards them with a smug grin of satisfaction. “Air witches may have speed and other handy tricks, but even you can’t cross a continent or the ocean as quickly as we can.”

“Save the boasting for after you’ve provided a—” Ernest stumbled to a halt as a massive brown bear appeared at the huntsman’s feet with the snap of his fingers. “What?!”

“Large enough to spook a horse and cause an accident,” Jasper commented as he took a seat on the animal’s giant neck.

“Also ferocious enough to maul a man alive,” Winifred murmured with a nod of approval. “We just need a corpse to pass off as the other huntsman.”

“Why not use him then?” Ernest snapped, scowling at the grinning water witch.

‘Why not indeed.’ Percy eyed the huntsman warily. He knew enough about the water covens to know they were dealing with a pureblood from Strugna. One who had managed to insert himself into the Duchess’s hunting party, no less.

The Earl glanced from the bear to the sleeping Duchess and heaved a sigh. “Marquess, bring Colonel Isaac and the Bastiallano knights to our location. Lord Ernest, you have two hours to find a body to pass off as the dead huntsman—”

“No need for that,” Jasper interjected with a scoff. “Besides, I’d rather not know how you plan on finding a body, recently deceased, close enough to Harry’s size and build.”

“Do you have a better solution?”

“Yes. Me!”

Percy frowned. The more he interacted with this water witch, the more the huntsman’s cocky confidence irked him.

“Perhaps you could explain?” Winifred pressed, attempting to keep the peace.

“I’ll just show you,” Jasper retorted as he jumped up from the bear and poured the rest of the water from his canteen into an open palm. The clear fluid piled up within invisible restraints between the water witch’s fingers. The Earl and his purebloods watched in pensive silence as the huntsman pressed the congealed liquid against his face without losing a single drop.

Percy’s annoyed expression shifted to one of surprise as the young man’s face shifted, his cheeks growing wider while his skin lightened and aged with spots, wrinkles, and a familiar wispy, raggedy beard.

“Well—I’ll be—” Winifred murmured in surprise.

“How long will it last?” Percy asked quickly as the huntsman stroked his new beard with a confident smirk.

“Only be a couple of hours since I lack the target’s blood for the spell,” Jasper explained with a hint of regret. “I’ll need a decent cloak to mask other differences in height and build.”

“You can only do the face?” Ernest questioned curiously.

“Yes, that is, if I want the illusion to last long enough to clear the Duchess of any involvement in his disappearance.”

“What about your voice?” Winifred pressed.

Jasper offered a resigned shrug. “There’s only so much I can do with an incomplete spell unless you can retrieve some of Harry’s blood for me?”

“Afraid not,” Percy replied grimly. “A simple charm spell should cover any flaws in your disguise. As long as people see you return with the Duchess—we shouldn’t have any issue creating an excuse for this Harry to disappear of his own volition.”

‘At which point, I’ll find somewhere nice and quiet to interrogate you properly.’

“Excellent,” Jasper exclaimed as he slapped his hands together. “Ahh, just one more thing—do you happen to know where the Duchess’s crossbow is.”

The Marquess and Earl exchanged glances before Winifred replied. “Perhaps. Why?”

“I drowned the bear, so if we want to pass it off as the Duchess’s kill, we should at least shoot it!”

Percy’s scowl deepened. ‘If he’s gone through all this effort to help the Duchess win the Royal Hunt—he’s probably not an enemy. But I still don’t want him anywhere near Kirsi.’

❆❆❆❆❆

Acheron couldn’t make heads or tails of the giant bear tracks before him. The Crown Princess’s hunting party had spent the last hour tracking the ferocious animal after spotting its tracks earlier that morning, hoping to pin it into a small ravine.

By pure luck, he had spotted the giant predator lumbering through a small clearing that led down to a small creek. After rousing Eleanora, their huntsman, and the rest of their eclectic hunting party to this unexpected challenge, the rogue had crept down the trail after the beast.

He had seen the bear drinking from the creak one minute—and then it was simply gone.

“I don’t understand,” Acheron murmured numbly as he traced the frantic claw marks along the bank. “It’s almost as if it got dragged in—” He shook his head incredulously. Even at a glance, the modest stream could hardly be more than a foot deep, less than half that in the shallows.

“Nevermind, it’s gone now,” Eleanora said with a disappointed sigh as she eased the tension on her bow while scanning both ends of the creek.

“We should probably head back. Weather looks like it will turn for the worse any minute,” Marco added, sniffing the breeze with a faint scowl as he studied the darkening clouds above.

“Yeah,” Acheron muttered, shaking his head again in disappointment. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

‘A bear that size would have helped us catch up to the Duchess’s party at least. Perhaps the gods are simply set against me.’

“Shame,” Eleanora murmured as she clapped the rogue’s shoulder sympathetically before moving off to join her cousin. “I was rather looking forward to showing off such a prize. Even if we don’t win the competition—I doubt Nicholas could catch anything that will outmatch a mountain bear.”

♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝

Chapter 33: Of Rage and Hunger

 

The back of Carina’s skull felt as if it had been stretched and scraped into the shape of a clanging tambourine. The single-horned viper who held the imprisoned ice witch in its mouth appeared to derive some sick enjoyment from flinging the frozen egg-shaped barrier against any solid surface that got in its way. Not long after escaping Percy and the Air Covens, they had entered an eerily similar system of tunnels that reminded the Duchess of the underground labyrinth of Anthraticus.

‘Just where the hell is it taking me?’ Carina wondered as another abrupt turn jarred her shoulder and tailbone.

“Taking us!” Kirsi corrected with stinging resentment. “Nowhere good, I promise you. Now—will you let me out so I can rip this spineless worm to pieces!”

‘Only if you promise to relinquish your hold once we’re safe.’

“I grow tired of your petulant demands! I see no reason why we can’t share this body equally, especially when you have me doing all the heavy labor with regard to training you and keeping you alive!”

‘What benefits me benefits you, Kirsi.’

“Ha! You may be a piece of my soul—but you’re still just a small insignificant fragment—little more than an unwanted burden that’s been hung around my neck.”

Carina gritted her teeth as the second remnant shoved the frozen egg barrier down a tight hole. Unyielding ice grated against stone as the viper headbutted the egg until the rock cracked and gave. The passage opened beneath them, and the trapped ice witch spiraled downwards, bouncing off the bumpy, uneven, slopping terrain until the ice egg crashed into the solid flat surface below.

The dazed Duchess groaned as the egg rolled to a stop. She stared blankly at the damaged carved stone pavements that formed a road leading into the darkness. The soft glow of the frozen egg illuminated little of the cavern beyond a few feet of pavement around them. ‘This looks man-made—but what’s it doing this deep underground? Is this another witch coven hideout?’

“I think—I know,” Kirsi replied, her voice strangely quiet and reserved.

The single-horned viper wriggled down the hole in the ceiling and hissed in Carina’s direction before dropping to the ground beside the trapped ice witch. Its severed lower half was visible for a moment before it slithered out of view, leaving a trail of acidic black venom in its wake.

‘Was that thing—the other half of the two-horned viper the Air Coven ripped apart?’

The Duchess crawled cautiously to her knees, clutching her ringing skull as she blinked and searched the oblivion of shadows around the egg.

A dull booming peel rang through the tunnel, followed by a soft rumble that drew Carina’s gaze fearfully to the open ceiling above her. A flicker of light appeared in the form of thousands of neon green beetles that crawled and flew down the tunnel to gather around the imprisoned ice witch.

The single-horned viper returned and pushed the Duchess’s egg along the beetle-lit path to where a gaping chasm appeared. Carina took one look at the bottomless ravine below and felt her stomach clench in terror. The egg might keep her safe from external attacks, but it would not stop gravity or fall damage from such a height.

“Look, Carina, over there!” Kirsi prodded as the beetles took flight, lighting up the remains of the tattered, broken bridge that once transverse the ravine. “I knew it felt familiar.”

‘What is it? Where are we?’ Carina focused her attention on the glittering black roots that dangled over the opposite side of the ravine.

“A place lost to memory and time. The burial ground of the first Queen of Lafeara.”

The Duchess raised her gaze to where the glowing green beetles had gathered around the carved image of Kirsi’s snowflake sigil at the top of a man-made doorway.

‘I don’t understand—why bring us here? Is this remnant friend or foe?’

“Far from friendly, Carina,” Kirsi growled with surprising bitterness. “They—are the Unforgiven.”

‘They?’ The Duchess shivered in comprehension as the oily black roots slithered and wove themselves into a bridge for the single-horned viper to cross. The remnant picked up the ice egg and then slithered across the ravine.

Carina jerked her hand away from the cold ice barrier that lay between her and the swarming river of faceless serpents that squirmed beneath them. She clenched her jaw and focused on the carved doorway they approached with growing dread. ‘If this is the crypt of the first Queen of Lafeara—then doesn’t that mean you are buried here, Kirsi?’

“You’ll understand soon enough.”

The corner of Carina’s mouth twitched with irritation while her eyes watched as more of the oily black snakes slithered from cracks and gaps in the earth on either side of the door.

‘What exactly is a remnant? Are they some sort of ghost or specter?’

“Ghosts and specters belong to mortal souls trapped by greed and rage. Most remnants are witches who reject reincarnation in pursuit of immortality. The unforgiven, however, were cursed to this fate. They cannot be vanquished nor released from their purgatory.”

‘Okay—if they can’t be beaten—how exactly do we get out of here?’

The single-horned viper set the trapped ice witch down and gave her frozen prison a firm push through the doorway. The ice egg rolled over dozens more beetles that lit up and fluttered about the chambers, illuminating walls of human bones preserved in full suits of armor encased into the earth.

Kirsi’s sigil was engraved into nearly every visible piece of armor, weapon, and even the faded, frayed cloth of the dead’s tabards and capes.

‘I don’t understand. These—they were your soldiers?’

“They were one of the first Covens of Lafeara. In the years following Viktor’s fall, I was named the first Queen of the Isbrand throne. As Viktor’s heir, it was my duty to recover his heart from Kritanta. I took the three Covens of Lafeara, Icebound, Frost Wolf, and the Immortals, with me to hunt down and kill the goddess of war and destruction, but I—failed.”

The Scarlet Witch fell silent as the single-horned viper slithered to a halt beside them. The colossus viper’s head trembled and crumbled away, shedding mud and stone, until only the oily black humanoid figure remained with a single bone horn upon its head.

“I do not remember why our mission failed—only that I returned to Lafeara, gravely injured—and with less than half my army,” Kirsi murmured hesitantly. “The Frost Wolf Coven nearly perished fighting to defend our retreat. In the months that followed, even the Immortals blessed by Viktor grew weaker as they aged rapidly. Our immortal Father’s enfeebled state began to strip the covens of their immortal powers. Witches who had lived for thousands of years crumbled to dust, one by one, until nearly all of the Immortal Coven had perished.”

A persistent dripping sound drew Carina’s attention to where black oil poured from the eye sockets and mouths of the witch skeletons encased in the walls around them. The foul substance rose like a stalagmite from the chamber floor, slowly taking shape until over a hundred remnants stood before her, their faces replaced by a single row of gaping black teeth that stretched into hungry smiles.

“My Queen, you have returned!” A remnant hissed as it slinked toward them. Its steps were awkward and discordant as its boneless body bowed and swayed precariously with each movement. “Are you injured? You appear—quite weakened.”

“Shall I fetch you a glass of wine, my liege?” Another remnant slithered forward, holding a tarnished golden chalice with glittering diamonds. The unforgiven mimicked filling the cup with the black sludge of its libs before offering the bubbling oil to the imprisoned ice witch.

“Have you returned from battle? Have the forces of Kritanta finally been pushed back into the desert?”

“Why do you not speak to us, my Queen? Are you still angry?”

“Have you still not forgiven us?”

Carina flinched beneath the echo chamber of screeching voices that assaulted her ears. She shrank back from the terrifying figures and hungry smiles that leered in around Viktor’s barrier.

“Long has it been since you abandoned us,” one of the remnants hissed accusingly.

“An eternity we have suffered, awaiting your return—praying for your ascension.”

Black saliva drips from their mouths, hissing against the dense egg of ice that slowly eroded beneath the toxic venom.

“You promised us much, Isbrand Witch. Long we have waited. An eternity we have hungered—yet you return to us now—empty-handed.”

The remnants’ voices rose into a frenzied hiss as their limbs formed sharp black nails that they scraped and dug into the egg’s barrier.

‘Kirsi. What’s going on? Who are these people?’

“When a witch betrays their Witch King or Queen, this is the fate that awaits them,” the Scarlet Witch replied bitterly. “An eternity of torment until they are released from their broken oaths by the one they betrayed.”

‘They—betrayed you?!’

“I remember this place well because I buried many a friend and ally here,” Kirsi replied solemnly. “When the elders of the Icebound Coven chose to enter eternal sleep to preserve what little life remained to them, they asked their Queen to provide an honorary escort. Injured though I was, it was a request I could not refuse. I was naive then, barely thirteen years, full of faith and hope in the integrity of men and witches alike. It was—my first life and the first of many betrayals by which I learned the depths mortals will fall when forced to choose between loyalty and—self-preservation.”

Carina shivered as a ghostly vision fell over the dimly lit cavern. The Isbrand Queen, barely more than a child, stood in the midst of a dozen senior pureblood lords, all of them dressed in their finest armor. The crown of snowflakes upon her midnight-black hair glittered beneath the torches of her royal guard. Kirsi smiled confidently as she spoke to the eldest of the purebloods present. Her ice-blue eyes were shadowed by illness and the burden of war and responsibilities far beyond her years, yet she moved with grace and certainty.

The Duchess flinched as the vision suddenly altered. Kirsi’s small body buckled beneath the first blade that took her by surprise from behind. The royal guard reacted with painful slowness as the powerful coven of purebloods cut them apart.

Men and women, shriveled with age and the loss of their immortality, pushed their small, struggling queen upon an altar of bones, grappling her tiny limbs, ripping free what little armor she wore over her ceremonial robes. Kirsi bared her sharp teeth with a look of hatred that turned quickly to panic and fear as the witches cut and tore open her chest like beasts to unveil Viktor’s immortal heart.

A piercing blast of cold magic ended the vision, but not before the pain of Kirsi’s first death ripped its way through Carina’s chest. The Duchess clutched the pounding heart beneath her hunting jacket with trembling fingers as the Scarlet Witch’s rage washed through her.

“Mortals are reluctant to reveal the ugly truth they hide within their souls. So when they show you what they’re capable of, believe it. We never forgive or forget.”

‘Can we save the life lessons for when we’ve gotten out of this mess?’ The Duchess retorted. Her ice-blue eyes narrowed on the bubbling pool of acid that had nearly eaten through the ice eggshell above her head.

“Why doesn’t she speak?” A hunched-over remnant snarled suspiciously. “Are we sure this is Kirsi? It could be another pretender.”

The single-horned remnant flicked the ice witch’s frozen prison with a sharp fingernail. “See for yourself. Viktor’s magic is unmistakable.”

“So, does she not know how to use it?”

“She knew enough to defeat Renka.”

The unforgiven hissed in surprise and anger.

“Well then, let’s give her our demands and have done with it!”

“No!” the single-horned remnant snarled. “Rather than fade into obscurity—we should claim what rightly belongs to us.”

‘I don’t like the sound of this.’

“Ha!” the Scarlet Witch smirked. “It seems these traitors still seek in death what they could not attain in life.”

“Senka is right. What need we fear now that we are already cursed.”

“But Kirsi is the only one who can liberate us!”

“Not necessarily,” Senka, the single-horned remnant, retorted with a cunning grin. “With the power of an immortal at our fingertips, we shall at last claim freedom and satisfy our hunger on the world of men above.”

The Duchess flinched as the first drop of acid broke through the ice eggshell and burned its way through her skirt and chemise.

“You’re running out of time, little ice witch,” Kirsi observed smugly. “You should hand over the reins if you know what’s good for you. Besides, I have a score to settle with these blackhearts.”

‘I’m not giving up without a fight, Kirsi, not even to you,’ Carina retorted as she positioned her body awkwardly to avoid the dripping acid above. She could feel the Scarlet Witch’s impatience and irritation prickle against her spine but clenched her jaw resolutely.

“Very well. No need to hold back way down here,” Kirsi responded with surprising pragmatism. “There’s no better place to test the limits of Viktor’s power and your training.”

The Duchess pondered for a moment whether the Scarlet Witch was being sincere or, perhaps, laying a trap. Given the precariousness of their current situation, Carina opted to set her doubt aside and focus on the battle ahead. She closed her eyes and exhaled.

After nights of training inside the frozen cortex, the moment her eyes closed shut, it was easy enough to picture the serene winter lake and sky. But, rather than enter the sanctuary of Viktor’s frozen heart, Carina extended a thread of her soul to the immortal’s glowing cortex. A silver tendril of power reached out in response, connecting them as the remnants’ acid venom dripped closer to the Duchess’s thigh.

“What is she doing?”

“Accepting her fate,” Senka retorted with an impatient snarl. “Kritanta was right. No matter the depths of Viktor’s power, a mortal vessel stands no chance of controlling the energy of a—” The single-horned remnant broke off with a snarl as the crystal surface of Viktor’s barrier coated over in a sheen of frost that obscured the ice witch from view.

The remnants salivating over the trapped Duchess stiffened as their lips, tongues, and oily faces froze against the surface of the ice egg’s barrier. Their startled frantic protests were cut short as a whirlpool of frigid, blinding light ripped through their bound forms, freezing and shattering the first layer of remnants into chunks of black ice that scattered around the burial chamber.

The remaining unforgiven quickly scattered. Some slithered back into the open crevices of their eroded corpses while others cowered behind Senka. The single-horned remnant resumed the form of the colossus-viper with an angry hiss as the fragmented barrier crumbled and fell away to reveal the Duchess, now garbed in armor of ice and snow, who rose to her full height behind a dragon-winged kite shield.

❆❆❆❆❆

The winter chill of Viktor’s magic illuminated the caverns, casting the shadows of the unforgiven against the cursed remains of their mortal life. Frost quickly reclaimed the sacred burial ground, sealing each hole and crevice, leaving only the broken bridge and bottomless gorge as a means of escape.

“So you have finally left your shell!” Senka hissed as it gathered slabs of stone and the broken armor of the dead to cover its viper form. “Your pride and arrogance have certainly not diminished in the slightest, Kirsi Isbrand.”

“As your Queen,” Carina responded from behind the ice veil of her dragon-winged helmet. “It is my responsibility to end your torment once and for all.”

“As your General, how could I bear the weight of your generosity? Instead, allow me to return the centuries of agony you have bestowed upon us.”

“If you want a taste of immortality, snake, come and get it.”

The single-horned viper needed little encouragement. Its colossus body uncoiled and slammed against the Duchess’s shield. Long curved fangs arched around the protective wings, inches from the ice witch’s helmet. Carina turned her shield sharply, twisting the viper’s triangular head and exposing its neck that she pierced with the ice lance in her right hand.

Senka recoiled, nearly ripping the shield off the Duchess’s arm, the ice lance still lodged in his throat. The viper’s tail whipped towards her. Carina slammed the sharpened shield edge into the ground and braced herself behind it as the column of the remnant’s body collided against her, cracking the paved floor around the winged kite shield.

The Duchess swiftly dislodged her shield and spun away. Her attention flittered from the massive viper’s body that coiled around her to the emboldened unforgiven that slithered closer behind Senka’s form through the icy mist that filled the burial chamber. She greeted the remnants climbing over the viper’s body with a blast of ice arrows that froze and knocked back whatever unforgiven they encountered.

“Don’t drag this out more than necessary. Find the corrupted souls and destroy them!” Kirsi criticized impatiently. “Starting with Senka’s.”

Carina gritted her teeth and nodded. With the memory of the first colossus viper’s hiding spot as a guide, she summoned a new ice lance and turned to greet the single-horned remnant’s next attack head-on. Senka’s inflated cheeks burst on impact. Acidic venom sprayed down across the burial chambers, melting frost, bone, and stone as the colossus viper recoiled, hissing in anger behind the lance melting into its left eye.

Crouched beneath her winged kite shield, the Duchess took a tentative breath and exhaled, relieved that her helmet offered a moderate barrier against the toxic fumes that filled the ancient tomb. Taking advantage of Senka’s distracted state, she backpedaled deeper into the crypt to find safe footing. Over her shield, the Duchess searched the viper’s half-melted face but saw nothing resembling a black organ.

‘Of course, it’s not in the same location.’

The sound of bone crunching beneath her boot turned Carina’s attention to a small altar of skulls that waited at the back of the sacred chamber. A child’s skeleton lay reposed upon the morbid dais draped beneath in a tattered banner that concealed all but the remnants of her pale white hair, sharpened fanged teeth, and a tarnished silver crown.

‘So it’s true then, Kirsi really did die here.’

A strange tinge of sympathy and guilt surfaced within Carina as she gazed down at the lonely bones abandoned and forgotten in the ancient crypt.

The rumble of pebbles and small bones at the foot of the altar quickly turned the Duchess’s attention back to the charging single-horned viper as Senka’s twisted jaws stretched wide to swallow her whole.

‘I’ll trust you—just this once, Kirsi.’

Carina’s jaw and spine stiffened as the Scarlet Witch’s soul blanketed her own. She braced herself for the discomforting feeling of isolation that came after being suppressed but found no resistance in Kirsi’s embrace. Instead, the two halves of the same soul overlaid the other to face the immediate threat before them. And this time, when the power of a god poured freely into the intact vessel of Viktor’s heir, the soul of the Isbrand Queen filled with the true power of an immortal.

The Isbrand Witch smiled as she dismissed her shield and raised her hand, palm up towards her lips. The piercing winds of winter howled through the cave, decimating the single-horned viper and shredding Senka’s corrupted black heart hidden midway down his tail. Long dual-fanged spears took shape and splintered the burial chamber walls, piercing the corrupt souls that lay hidden beneath rock and stone. The wails of the dying remnants barely surfaced above the storm of ice as bones, armor, and weapons scattered and fell over the broken bridge into the silent abyss below.

With her enemies defeated, the Isbrand Witch’s helmet dissolved into a flurry of snow before she turned to regard the child’s remains that lay on the altar behind her. She gathered up the tattered banner and placed the fallen queen’s bones within it, then turned to enter the blinding light of the Frozen Heart’s cortex.

❆❆❆❆❆

Viktor waited for them both. His massive dragon bones, little more than silhouettes of light, intertwined with the magic cortex. His blazing eyes gazed down sorrowfully at the remains of Kirsi’s first life and smiled as the Isbrand Witch laid the fallen queen at his feet. “So, you have learned to work together.”

“Tentatively,” Carina replied, still unnerved by the strange experience of sharing a body equally with the Scarlet Witch.

“I had forgotten,” Kirsi whispered, her gaze through the Isbrand Witch’s silver eyes locked on the crowned skull of her past self. “The reason I failed to recover your heart from Kirsi was that you never lost it to begin with. You—gave it to me—willingly.”

“It was the only way to save you,” Viktor replied. The dragon lowered its head to the fallen queen’s bones, which dissolved into tendrils of power beneath his breath. “No child should ever have to pay the price for their parent’s sin.”

“But—why? Why risk losing everything—your immortality?”

“Because the day you were born, I finally understood what it was to love someone so deeply that the very thought of losing them was worse than death.”

Carina felt her emotions collide with Kirsi’s as the Scarlet Witch shrank within her, as if reluctant to accept the immortal’s words.

“If I could turn back time, I would stop Arachne from using Kritanta to come after you. To avenge her fallen offspring and wounded pride—they took my only child. Kritanta ate your heart to steal my power, while Arachne tried to destroy your soul. With Minerva’s blessing, I was able to recover all but Carina’s missing shard, which Arachne hid from me. Kirsi, I gave my heart and the blood of the First Saint to bring you back from the dead.”

“The First Saint?” Carina echoed in disbelief while Scarlet Witch’s emotions shook with fury. The distant sound of the thunder pulled the Isbrand Witch from her daze as the last remnants of Isbrand Queen’s first life dissolved into the cortex’s core.

“Carina, Kirsi, you are my heart and soul. You must continue to work together as you did just now. Only when your souls have merged seamlessly with one another will you be strong enough to face the gods who stand against you. Now—you must return,” Viktor urged as he lay his head down upon the icy lake with a heavy, almost weary sigh.

The wintry landscape faded around the Isbrand Witch, who blinked in surprise to find herself standing beneath the lush canopy of Gilwren Forest.

“Do you understand now, little ice witch,” Kirsi murmured as she slowly relinquished her grip on the Duchess’s body. “Viktor is no victim. He gave up his power willingly.”

‘But he is not our enemy, Kirsi.’

“Perhaps not, but he remains an obstacle as long as you refuse to accept the reality of our situation.” The Scarlet Witch sighed as she slipped willingly beneath the surface. “He named us his heir, Carina. But for us to succeed his power and position—Viktor must die.”

The Duchess clenched her fists and shook her head as the exhaustion and strain of using the immortal’s power caught up to her. Her armor quickly evaporated as Carina stumbled towards the nearest tree and leaned against it as she steadied herself.

The quiet ripple of wind through the trees carried with it the chatter of birds and other woodland creatures who appeared to dismiss the presence of the ice witch below. Wiping sweat from her forehead, the Duchess turned and searched her surroundings, hoping to gauge her bearings.

A warning prickle crawled up Carina’s spine as a swarm of crows descended, spiraling against the forest floor, until an old, hunched man stood before her, shrouded in a black robe. Nostalgia and deja-vu swarmed the back of the Duchess’s throat with bile as she recoiled from the immortal, whose name rose readily to her lips.

“Veles!”

“Kirsi,” the immortal retorted, his pale lips twisting into a resentful smile beneath a pair of crimson-red eyes. “So good to see you again.”

 

 

♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝

Chapter 32: Of Flesh and Bone

 

Carina allowed the navigational pull of Lumi’s connection guide her toward the cluster of oaks where their quarry waited in the shadows. She could see a faint outline of the snorting, snuffling wild pigs foraging for acorns, roots, and various mushrooms like a transparent film across her vision. However, maintaining the dual image of the scriva’s visuals along with the forest trail she and her white mare were riding on was far too disorienting for the Duchess to maintain for more than a few minutes.

Lumi sent a warning alert once their group had come within earshot. Before Carina could halt the hunting party that followed her, Harry sidestepped around the pretty white mare and charged ahead, heedless of the Duchess’s protests.

With a flash of irritation, Carina dismissed Lumi and urged the mare into a gallop as she followed the aggravating huntsman. She caught a glimpse of the boars as they crashed into the underbrush before the hooves of Harry’s startled gray mare, leaving behind their peculiar and rather unpleasant scent in the small clearing.

The ghost of an arrow chased after the slowest hog but missed its mark, judging by the speed with which their quarry vanished. Gladestone lowered his bow with an angry breath, then shifted his grip on the reins as he turned towards the huntsman. “What the bloody hell were you thinking?”

“What?” Harry retorted distractedly, busy handling his still-spooked mare. “I was just hoping to get a look at these trained wolves in action.”

Carina exhaled in disbelief as Isaac and the remaining eight Bastiallano knights caught up to them. “You are meant to serve as a guide and witness—not interfere with our hunt simply to satisfy your curiosity!”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, your ladyship.” The huntsman snorted dismissively as he dismounted. He yanked the mare’s reins impatiently, then moved off to examine the disturbed forest floor. “Strange—no sign of any wolves here. Perhaps their shy?”

The Duchess ignored his smug stare and drew in a slow breath as she turned to the Colonel beside her.

“Shall I hogtie the pig to his saddle and send him back to base?” Isaac asked calmly, prompting one of the knights behind him to loosen a coil of rope.

The ice witch pressed her twitching lips together to suppress a laugh but shook her head.

“Well, we know them pigs will be back eventually,” Harry commented, gesturing to the still visible patches of mushrooms and plenty of half-buried acorns. “Might as well clear out and look elsewhere. Perhaps we ought to try the northern woods?”

‘That’s the second time he’s suggested going there. I wonder why he’s so persistent?’ Carina pondered cynically. She sent a subtle nudge to Lumi to search over the northern section of their quadrant again, then turned her focus to Viscount Gladstone. “Perhaps we should return to base. My knights may have located Jasper by now.”

‘I need him for more than one reason at this point.’

“I think that would be best,” Gladstone growled with an understanding nod, still glaring at their intentionally oblivious guide. “Before this huntsman suffers from an unfortunate accident.”

“Lord Rykard won’t let that foreigner back into Gilwren Forest,” Harry barked with an angry scowl, eying the Viscount warily. “We have time for a small detour before—”

A loud, ear-splitting crack rumbled through the forest like a heavy thunderbolt. The horses twitched and danced uneasily as the sound echoed through the trees around them. Colonel Isaac drew his musket free from his saddle while the Bastiallano knights moved into a protective circle around the Duchess and Viscount.

“What—was that?” Carina whispered. Her hands tightened around the reigns as a similar booming noise repeated.

“Just a fallen tree,” Harry remarked dismissively, though his words lacked confidence. “Nothing to be afraid of—” He trailed off as three more cracks and bangs filled the hollow silence. Small thrushes, wrens, and sparrows fluttered through the branches above them in a panic as they zipped away from the deafening clamor.

“Sounds like it came from the stream we just left,” Gladestone observed tensely as he nocked another arrow to his bow.

“I think it’s time we returned to base,” Isaac growled as he turned his stallion towards the Duchess mare, turning them both north.

“I second that. Huntsman, find us a path back that avoids the stream.”

“The only trail leading back is the one that crosses the stream!” Harry protested as he climbed into his saddle. “I can’t find what isn’t there.”

“Then make a new one for us and snap to it!”

“Whatever it is, it is getting closer,” Isaac muttered tensely as the knights drew their swords.

Carina tilted her head towards the already fading echoes. The rumble beneath them was quiet at first but quickly built as the trees around the small clearing began to tremble noticeably. “Enough of this. I’ll lead the way back myself. Follow me!” She summoned Lumi at a safe distance from the clearing and followed the invisible scriva with Viscount Gladstone and Colonel Isaac close behind, followed by the Bastiallano knights.

“You’re only going to get yourself lost!” Harry protested, kicking the gray mare’s flanks as he trailed behind.

The dense forest growth made moving forward in a straight line difficult. Lumi focused on the swiftest route away from the stream that horses could travel across. Carina did her best to ignore the intense rumble of earth building behind them as she focused on avoiding low-hanging branches along their path. A sharp flash of warning from Viktor’s bracelet turned her gaze back to the large shadow closing in behind the lagging huntsman.

Harry’s horse breathed heavily as she stumbled across the uneven ground that splintered and crumbled beneath her hooves. The huntsman swore as he jerked the reins to avoid a low-hanging branch. The tiring gray mare squealed as she nearly lost her footing, banging Harry’s left leg into the side of a narrowly avoided birch tree. The nearly dismounted huntsman bellowed as he clung to the saddle, fumbling for the reins slapping against the mare’s neck as a dark hissing shadow loomed behind them.

For a moment, Carina thought she was looking at a dragon until she realized the colossal serpent chasing after them had no legs or wings of any kind. The viper’s body was composed of scales that resembled rocks and small boulders compressed together with mud and roots. A thin, shimmering veneer of murky brown and gray fluid ran over the hardened exterior like a running stream that held the monster’s body together. From the serpent’s two-horned triangular head, two blazing green eyes narrowed in on the struggling huntsman. A black tongue that resembled tangled tree roots hissed ominously before the viper’s cheeks inflated and black fumes poured out of the two slits of its nostrils.

Harry heard the reverberating hiss and turned. He took one look at the terrifying visage leering down at him and promptly lost his shit. The screaming huntsman managed to grab hold of the reins, but before he could alter the mare’s course, they were buried in a stream of toxic black liquids that melted man and beast down to the bone.

The colossus viper’s enormous body crushed the brittle remains of the fallen huntsman into the ground as it continued to chase after the fleeing Duchess and her knights.

‘What the fuck is that thing? I can’t lead that back to Gilwren Manor—it would be a massacre.’

A loud, mournful tune pulled the ice witch’s frantic gaze towards Viscount Gladstone, who blew against the small gray horn tied to his belt.

“Calling for backup?” Isaac shouted over.

“Yes. In the meantime, I suggest we head north with all speed!” The Viscount gestured to where the faint outline of a forest trail appeared through the trees ahead.

Carina complied, turning her white mare onto the path sharply as Lumi sprinted ahead. “Someone needs to break away and return to base to warn the Crown Prince.”

“Go,” Isaac urged the Viscount riding close behind him. “You’re more familiar with these woods than any of us.”

“I’m afraid I cannot,” Gladestone retorted as he adjusted his reins around the saddle horn, then notched an arrow to his bow. “Make haste, your Grace.”

Before the Duchess could respond, the Viscount turned his horse east with little more than his knees. Gladestone drew back his longbow, took aim between the trees, and released. The arrow moved at a blinding speed, the wind forming whirlpools in its wake before the projectile sank into one of the remnant’s glowing green eyes.

The colossus viper let out an ear-splitting shriek of rage as its body thrashed against the ground. Carina turned the white mare west as she unhooked her crossbow. Summoning a bolt of pure ice magic, she loaded the weapon and took aim at the ground below the thrashing monster.

The ice bolt sank into the serpent’s rough exterior and then bloomed into coils of ice magic that wrapped around the serpent’s body before anchoring the beast to the forest ground and trees nearby.

The viper’s head spun towards the Duchess with a venomous hiss before its cheeks inflated once more.

“Take cover!” Isaac bellowed as he raised his shield toward the downpour of acidic rain.

Carina hastily erected a shield of ice around herself and the knights. The acid hissed and burned against the barrier, slowly working its way through. At the same time, the colossus viper thrashed and coiled its massive body around its face, uprooting the trees the Duchess’s ice magic had anchored it to with little difficulty as it formed a defensive position.

‘Damn it. Where did this monster come from, and how do I stop it—let alone kill it?’

“We should make a break for it while we can,” Isaac urged as they retreated from the already melting ice barrier. “I’ve sent one of the knights back for reinforcements.”

“Can muskets stop that thing?” Carina muttered tensely.

In answer, the Colonel leveled his musket with the monster’s barely visible remaining eye and fired. The bullet cracked open a melon-sized rock on the viper’s scales as the serpent closed the gaps between its coiled body but otherwise appeared to do no harm.

‘Bullets won’t work. Getting close to that thing is suicide. That leaves only magic. But is this something I can handle?’

The Duchess summoned another frozen bolt, injecting more of her ice magic into it before she loaded the elemental missile into her crossbow and fired at the same spot Isaac’s bullet had struck. The bolt shattered the already weakened stone, entering the colossus viper’s body where Carina’s magic took hold, spreading along the monster’s quickly stiffening scales in a sheet of ice magic.

‘But not fast enough,’ Carina realized as the serpent burrowed suddenly underground.

“Scatter!” Isaac commanded, smacking the back of the Duchess’s mare as the forest floor beneath them shifted unevenly.

Carina jolted backward against the saddle, her left foot slipping out of the stirrup as she struggled to hold the reins in one hand while clinging to her crossbow. She could feel her cold magic fading within the serpent’s body as the creature’s toxic organs eroded the melting ice. Before the Duchess could contemplate another alternative means of attack, the ground burst open beneath the ice witch as both rider and her white mare were flung into the air.

A single blazing green eye filled Carina’s vision as two long curved fangs sank into the beautiful white coat of the suspended mare. She watched in silent horror as the colossus viper’s acid burned through the screaming mare’s saddle, flesh, and ribs. With all the callousness of a cat finishing off its prey, the serpent tossed the unfortunate beast into the air and then preceded to swallow the mare whole.

The Duchess’s blurred spinning view halted abruptly as she crashed into the ground. Her skull rang beneath the impact that knocked the air from her lungs as she rolled to a stop. An ominous hissing shadow fell over the stunned ice witch that blocked out any glimmer of light as the viper’s cheeks inflated with a promising kiss of death.

Carina blinked as the glittering form of Lumi blurred overhead. The enlarged scriva’s jaws snapped around the viper’s mouth, sealing in the deadly fluids as both wolf and serpent crashed back into the trees.

The Duchess dug her hands, knees, and feet into the tilting forest floor as she frantically crawled away. She forced herself upright, stumbling towards the nearest tree for shelter as a cracked boulder smashed into the ground to her left.

Lumi’s savage snarls and growls grated against her ears as Carina beat her chest, begging her lungs to take a breath and nearly crying when they finally complied. She shook her head, attempting to clear the ringing noise and cobwebs, then turned to scan the forest ground for her fallen crossbow.

The dull thunder of hooves turned her gaze to where Isaac’s armored figure appeared. The Colonel leaned down with his hand extended. Carina quickly rushed forward to grab his offered hand.

The forest blurred and tilted in her prereferral vision as the Duchess turned to watch the battle between wolf and serpent. The scriva had grown to nearly the full height of the giant oak trees. Translucent armor-like spikes covered the elemental’s fur but did little to deter the colossus viper’s fangs as the creature bit and coiled its massive body around the elemental wolf.

Even from a distance, it didn’t seem like Lumi would hold out for much longer. Chunks of the scriva’s fur and armor were missing or eroded beneath the fumes of the viper’s venom. Still, Lumi had managed to inflict heavy damage as well and continued to rip away the flimsy scales of mud and stone. The acidic black fluids that flowed out of the colossus snake’s injuries filled the forest around the wolf and serpent with toxic black smoke that quickly rose toward the forest crown.

Viscount Gladstone appeared beside them, looking pale but unharmed as he scanned the Duchess worriedly. “Your Grace—please don’t do that again.”

“Where’s that backup you called for?” Isaac retorted, his tone oddly flustered and shaken.

“Close. Just don’t be surprised when they get here.”

Carina braced herself against the Colonel, then leaned back to gaze at the maze of branches that outlined the tranquil blue sky above. The trees curled and bowed beneath a sudden rush of wind that shook pine needles and leaves into a frenzied dance around the riders below. The blurred outline of over twenty witches appeared through the widening gap of foliage with the Earl of Hawthorne at their head. They glided down toward the knights, their capes billowing into strange bird-like wings that allowed them to control both direction and speed of descent.

Whatever reservations the Duchess had about the appearance of Percy and his purebloods vanished as her connection to Lumi suddenly weakened. Isaac pulled in the reins as the Earl landed amongst the swirling leaves before them.

Percy stepped forward quickly to take the reins of the half-witch’s agitated stallion, soothing the beast with a few charmed, soothing words. “Lady Kirsi, are you all right?”

“A remnant, my King,” Viscount Gladstone rushed out as he dismounted to join the Earl. “We barely got away.”

“What kind?”

“A giant snake that spits acid. It appears to be some combination of corrupted earth and water magic. Big enough to swallow a horse whole.”

“Casualties?”

“Our huntsman. Otherwise, I’d say we’ve been incredibly fortunate.”

“I sent a knight back to the manor for reinforcements,” Isaac interjected as Carina slowly dropped down from the saddle with Percy’s help. “If you’re going to use magic to stop that thing, you’d better do it quickly.”

Percy glared at the Colonel with open annoyance, then quickly turned to one of the pureblood noblewomen behind him. “Find the knight and stop him. Do not harm him—” he added quickly at the Duchess’s warning scowl, “—replace his memory with a task that is less volatile. The less attention we draw to this incident, the better.”

“How do you intend to stop it?” Carina asked worriedly as the purebloods scattered to form a protective half-circle around them, facing the not-so-distant sounds of the forest being torn apart, mingled with growls and venomous hisses.

“We’ll rip it into pieces,” Percy replied confidently with a glint of red visible in his winter-grey eyes. “Your ice magic will prove useful. Water and Earth are difficult elements for us to control. It will make things easier if you can freeze the remnant’s organs.”

“I see—so it’s that simple.”

The Earl arched a brow at her conflicted, cynical tone. “The tricky part will be keeping something of that size pinned down. If it goes underground, our wind magic will have no effect.”

“I could freeze the ground below it.” The Duchess glanced towards the acid smoke still billowing around the battling wolf and serpent. “I tried to anchor it before, but there’s nothing heavy enough to pin it down. And my scriva can’t hold on for much longer.”

“Don’t waste your magic. We’ll contain it as best we can. Just keep your eyes open for any organ you might see. Destroy that, and the remnant will fall apart.” Carina flinched as the Earl pulled her into a one-armed hug before wrapping her right arm around his waist. “Hold on, your Grace. I need to be able to get us in and out as quickly as possible.”

The forest blurred around them as the two entangled giants came suddenly into view. Percy touched down lightly on a tree branch with a clear line of sight while keeping them at a relatively safe distance. The Duchess bit down on her lip as she took in Lumi’s battered figure.

By now, the remnant had wrapped the scriva up in its massive body, though the elemental wolf had similarly managed to sink its fangs into the serpent’s neck. Lumi was missing an ear and several chunks of ice along her back and front limbs. The remnant was no less battered. Nearly half its scales had been scraped free, which allowed a deadly pool of acid to leak out onto the forest floor below.

The same noxious pool now eroded Lumi’s back legs. Even if the scriva didn’t feel any pain, the amount of magic needed to retain its melting limbs was more than it could sustain on its own, even with Viktor’s magic.

“We’re in position. You can release your scriva,” Percy murmured, eerily calm.

Carina didn’t waste any time questioning his plan. She dismissed Lumi, sighing in relief as the elemental wolf returned to the safety of Viktor’s bracelet to heal.

“Get ready,” the Earl growled warily.

The colossus viper continued to thrash against the nearby trees as it recovered from the sudden loss of its prey. Its heavily damaged, acid-oozing body coiled around the serpent’s nearly detached head as it scanned the nearby forest. Carina felt the odds shifting in their favor until the remnant began to reforge its external scales with more mud, stone, and even shattered remnants of Lumi’s ice.

A wave of suffocating anger filled the Duchess’s chest as the Earl gave his signal. Carina blinked in surprise as Percy placed his hands over her ears. Her confusion faded the instant the sirens below unleashed their fury.

Everything in the pureblood’s path vaporized beneath the crisscrossed gales of wind that tore through earth and tree like a torpedo. The colossus viper twisted and shattered under their assault. Eerie voices screamed with rage beneath the siren’s wails as the serpent’s body shook violently and disintegrated, piece by piece. The blackened water beneath the broken scales parted and stretched into web-like strings until a pulsating black organ appeared inside the viper’s head.

“Now, Kirsi,” Percy whispered through the cracks of his fingers.

Carina nodded as she focused on the magical cortex inside her frozen heart. She envisioned Kirsi’s spear, summoning the weapon beneath her fingers as she allowed the Scarlet Witch’s memories to overtake her body. She could feel Kirsi stirring as if suddenly woken from a deep sleep, sensing both freedom and danger.

‘Odd. Now that I think of it, Kirsi was slower to respond this time.’

Carina tightened her grip on the flow of immortal power as the Scarlet Witch’s will and Viktor’s magic merged into a perfect storm that burned into the slender spear at her fingertips. She barely felt Percy pull away, his hand carefully placed against the small of her back, offering support as the Duchess drew back her spear, then hurtled it towards the suspended black heart of the ancient remnant.

A dozen vengeful voices screamed in defiance and agony as the frozen spear pierced the oozing black organ, freezing the corrupted heart in an instant before it toppled to the ground. The acidic fluids vaporized as they collided with the falling, crumbling scales of earth and stone.

“You did well to stay alive, Carina.”

The Duchess blinked beneath the Scarlet Witch’s unexpected praise even as Kirsi asserted her dominance.

“I’ll take it from here.”

‘I don’t think so!’ With sudden strength she didn’t recognize, Carina grabbed her other half by the throat and forced the Scarlet Witch back into her prison. Icy claws dug into the back of the Duchess’s eyes as Kirsi lashed out in outrage, but the unexpected pain only helped Carina break free. She stumbled against the tree as her footing slipped over the edge of the branch.

Percy quickly grabbed the ice witch’s waist as he jumped down with her, slowing their descent as the purebloods closed in around the dismantled remnant. Carina grimaced as she took in the blackened lump of ice that gave off a malignant aura of resentment.

“For something this ancient to awaken,” Marquess Winifred murmured as he knelt beside the corrupted block of ice. “It must have sensed something far too tempting to ignore.”

“I suspect we killed the Silver Stag near its lair,” Gladstone explained as he joined the purebloods and their Witch King.

“A Silver Stag hardly contains enough magic to tempt a remnant, let alone one of this size,” Percy interjected with a thoughtful frown. “Although a blood sacrifice is one way to raise the undying.”

‘The undying?’ Carina echoed curiously to Kirsi. She wasn’t surprised when the Scarlet Witch remained silent and decided to raise the question again later. Her attention shifted to the deteriorated skeleton of a horse not far from the remnant’s frozen organ. Pulling away from the Earl’s lingering grip, the Duchess wandered toward the remains of her fallen white mare. The familiar sting of loss burned at the corner of her eyes as she knelt to touch the horse’s skull—and felt the ground lurch beneath her once again.

The second gaping mouth of the colossus viper appeared beneath the ice witch’s boots as the earth opened up to swallow her.

The world moved faster than Carina’s mind could process. She was barely aware of the sharp burst of light from Viktor’s bracelet as the immortal’s frigid magic enveloped her in a protective fortress of ice. The remnant’s fangs and mouth closed around the frozen egg-like shell, cracking but not breaking Viktor’s hardening barrier.

The howling winds of the purebloods lashing against the serpent vibrated all around the trapped ice witch before the colossus viper retreated, dragging the Duchess underground.

What little light remained from the surface quickly disappeared as the pounding in Carina’s ears mingled with the crumbling, breaking earth around her. She braced her arms and feet against the sides of her icy prison in a futile attempt to lessen the jostling motion of the remnant’s escape as she pressed down the panic rising in her gut.

“How are you supposed to fight the gods if you can’t even handle a remnant without the aid of a Coven,” Kirsi demanded scornfully from the corner of Carina’s mind. “You should let me out now. You are not enough.”

 

♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝

Chapter 31: The King’s Stag

 

The gathered nobles greeted Viscount Gilwren’s arrival with mingled impatience and anticipation. Carina took her seat at the same table as before, where she was joined by her cousin, Walter Bromwell and Viscount Gladstone. A surly-looking middle-aged huntsman with a rather wispy beard soon joined them.  He offered the Duchess a stiff bow, then took a seat at the end of the table without comment.

“I got a quick look at the other groups’ turn-ins,” Walter whispered as a steward placed a tray of fresh drinks on their table. “Would you believe it? Marquess Borghese’s cart was practically empty.”

“No wonder he looks like someone took a piss in his cup,” Gladstone chuckled with a playful grin before jolting in realization. “Ah, forgive me, your Grace.”

The Duchess shook her head dismissively as she glanced over her shoulder to where Earl Hawthorn’s hunting group appeared to be in high spirits as they reveled in the depressive cloud that hung over the members of the Royal Party.

Percy caught her glance and raised his drink in the ice witch’s direction with a suggestive nod of either recognition or appreciation.

‘He knows about my wolves now, so it’s likely he’s figured out that I might have had a part to play in Borghese’s misfortune.’

Carina returned the nod, then shifted her gaze to the host’s table, where Viscount Gilwren rang a small bell to silence the waiting nobles.

“Lords and Ladies, I’ll give you a brief update so that you may all get back to preparing for the afternoon hunt,” Rykard announced as he tapped the four pages laid out in front of him. “The numbers turned in this morning were surprising, to say the least. To give you a better picture, on average, a typical hunting group brings in roughly 12 deer per quarter. Some of you were clearly fortunate while others—” his gaze drifted to where Borghese gripped a pulverized pear in his fist, “—ahem. Then just as a refresher, the point system is as follows. Deer are worth 5 points each. Boars are worth 7 points. Small animals such as rabbits, squirrels, and quail are worth 2 points. Foxes are worth 3 points, and wolves—” The Viscount’s eyes flicked towards the Duchess’s table “—are worth 8 points.”

“Odd,” Gladstone muttered uneasily. “Wolves normally aren’t included.”

“What about bears? What are they worth?” Acheron called out hesitantly.

Viscount Gilwren furrowed his brow as he glanced from the Prime Minister to his son. “It is very rare for a bear to be sighted within Gilwren’s territory. They tend to remain close to the border of Fog Tooth Mountain. But in the past, when bears were captured and released for the hunt, they were valued at fifteen points. Unfortunately, that tradition has died out since hostilities broke out between Lafeara and Tharyn.”

“Not to mention, it’s damn risky for inexperienced hunters,” Walter muttered with a nod of agreement.

“Now,” Rykard continued as he spread the pages out, “As for the groups ranking, as of this morning, first place goes to—Earl Percy Hawthorne!”

A quick round of applause filled the room as the Noble Faction lifted their drinks and cheered.

“Lord Percy brought back an impressive amount of thirty-two deer, six foxes, eight rabbits, and five quail for a total of 204 points.”

“Damn,” Gladstone muttered as he turned to offer the group behind them a brief applause. “Makes you wonder if Lord Percy has more than a few hunting falcons up his sleeve.”

Carina clenched her jaw and lifted her drink without comment. With a royal favor as the prize, she had expected each group to bend the rules where they could, if not break outright them, which was why she had brought Lumi along to give them an advantage.

‘Perhaps I should have herded all the deer from Marquess Borghese’s quadrat into ours after all.’

“In second place was her Grace, Lady Kirsi Valda, with a total of 141 points.”

The Duchess blinked in surprise as the Noble Faction applauded her small group with surprising enthusiasm. She turned awkwardly to offer them a nod of gratitude as Lord Rykard continued.

“In third place, Lord Acheron Hargreve with sixty-three points. And finally, in last place, Marquess Gladstone with—fourteen points.”

A brief and awkwardly tense silence followed as Viscount Gilwren turned to write the final numbers on the chalkboard placed at the back of the royal platform. The first to break the tension as Marquess Borghese glared murderously around the room was none other than the Earl of Hawthorn himself, whose quiet but mocking snort of laughter set off the building resentment of the Royal Part like a match set to a pile of dry tinder.

❆❆❆❆❆

“Goodness, what a fascinating morning it’s been,” Nicholas chuckled as the group returned to the southwestern woods. “I don’t think I’ve seen Borghese this worked up since my engagement to Eleanora.”

“What happened to our huntsman?” Gladstone inquired with a nod towards the beefy new huntsman that trailed slowly behind them.

“Ah.” The Crown Prince glanced at the sullen Duchess who rode silently ahead of them. “It seems that Viscount Gilwren took the news regarding Lady Kirsi’s wolves poorly. Our previous huntsman was fired on the spot.”

“That seems harsh,” Gladstone muttered. “Fellow seemed capable enough.”

“The Viscount might have been more forgiving had Jasper been with us longer,” Walter commented, looking disheartened nonetheless. “But keeping secrets from the man who pays you after only a month of service was probably less than wise.”

“Weren’t we the ones who asked him to keep it a secret, though,” Attwood pointed out. “Surely a commoner would be hard-pressed to refuse a request from the Crown Prince, regardless of what his Master might say.”

“Never mind that now,” Nicholas interjected dismissively. “The Duchess’s knights are looking for him as we speak, so I’m certain things will turn out all right.”

“Ahh, you beat me to it then, Lady Kirsi,” Gladestone called out to the silent Duchess, whose gaze remained distractedly focused on the branches above them.

“Perhaps the new huntsman ought to introduce himself?” Attwood suggested with a glance over his shoulder. “If he can manage to catch up to us.”

“Harry,” Walter barked out as he reigned in his mount to wait. “Could you pick up the pace? We want to take first place, not fall further behind.”

Harry glowered in their direction, then spat out his tobacco before nudging his mare into a faster gait. “I didn’t think you’d need my help navigating the trails, my Lord.”

“Perhaps not, but I can’t exactly leave you behind when we need you to confirm our kills.”

“Aye, fair enough. Might I suggest we head further south, my lords?”

“That’s where we were this morning,” Gladstone replied. “I doubt the deer will have hung around after taking such heavy losses.”

“Then, the northern trails?”

“No,” Lady Kirsi interrupted as she turned around to face them. “We should head to the stream in the western area.”

Harry’s expression soured as he turned to face the Duchess. “Forgive me—your Grace. But I know these woods like the back of my hand.”

“The day has grown progressively hotter, and we’ve spooked whatever herds were to the south. The stream and main water source for this quadrant lies to the west, does it not?”

“Lady Kirsi,” Nicholas interrupted hesitantly as their huntsman’s face grew redder with apparent irritation. “Perhaps we should try—”

“Do you trust me, your Majesty?”

The Crown Prince blinked beneath the Duchess’s sudden forcefulness. “Of course, my Lady, but when it comes to knowledge and experience in these matters.”

Kirsi’s left brow twitched with annoyance as her ice-blue eyes narrowed with impatience. “And would you attribute our success this morning to either my lack of knowledge or experience?”

“Every beginner thinks luck is on their side,” Harry snorted dismissively, already nudging his horse along the trail around them. “There’s a nice grazing spot of dogwood trees and maples up north the deer like to snack on and nap under, especially in the hotter hours of the day. That is what my experience and knowledge tell me—my Lords.”

Nicholas glanced from the departing huntsman’s back to Kirsi’s confident, almost insistent glare, then turned his gaze to the Prime Minister. “What do you think?”

“I think we should continue to trust the Duchess—and her wolves,” Attwood responded without hesitation.

‘A competent monarch must demonstrate trust in those who have shown their capabilities.’ The Crown Prince smiled at the Prime Minister’s teachings and nodded his understanding. “Lord Bromwell, would you mind guiding us in the direction of the western stream?”

“But—your Majesty!” Harry protested with an expression of utter shock.

“Certainly, your Majesty,” Walter cut in with a warning glare in the huntsman’s direction. “I can’t wait to see what surprise the Duchess’s wolves have for us.”

❆❆❆❆❆

At Lady Kirsi’s insistence, the group separated and approached the stream from opposite sides while leaving the knights at a discrete distance. Nicholas crept behind the crouching Duchess, who demonstrated remarkable subtility and agility as she stalked through the dense forest with carefully muffled steps. Colonel Isaac moved stiffly at her side, burdened beneath his armor and the heavy dark cape his Mistress had insisted on him wearing.

“Looks like deer,” Gladstone whispered as he brushed loose leaves from a fresh set of tracks. “About three from the looks of it.”

“We should be able to manage that,” Nicholas replied confidently. “How far are we from the stream, Lord Bromwell?”

“It should be just ahead, your Majesty,” Walter answered with a hushed breath.

The Duchess turned and shushed them silently before motioning for the Crown Prince to join her.

‘How the devil does she know where she’s going?’ Nicholas wandered as he moved with painstaking care behind her.

They tracked forward for another ten minutes in sweltering silence before the sound of running water reached his ears. The sweating Crown Prince was relieved that the wind was in their favor. When Kirsi motioned for him to ready his arrow, he complied silently. After a few more careful steps, the Duchess pressed herself against a yellow birch tree before nodding to the stream up ahead.

Anticipation filled Nicholas as he took cover behind the nearest white pine and peered toward the glittering surface of running water. For a few moments, he saw nothing as the harsh glare of sunlight on the open embankment burned against his vision, but then—the creature came into view.

The white stag was magnificent and massive in size. At first glance, the creature’s silver antlers, which glinted above the shallow edge of the stream, appeared to number close to twenty.  Two young bucks followed behind the majestic stag, grazing lazily on the dense clusters of grass and fallen acorns beneath the twisted oaks that offered shade nearby.

Nicholas blinked slowly, his grip on the bowstring trembling as he took in the living, breathing forest monarch that stood before him. Gratitude and panic welled up in his chest as the prince turned his frantic hazel-blue eyes to the Duchess, who signaled to the others behind them to stay back. When her gaze returned to the prince, Kirsi smiled and nodded as if granting permission to claim his prize.

‘If I miss this shot—’ Nicholas swallowed and turned back to face the Silver Stag, who raised its head inquisitively as it sniffed the breeze. ‘No. Now is not the time for doubt. I can’t miss. I am Lafeara’s next King. This—is my birthright.’

With steady patience, he pulled back his arrow and raised the bow before swinging around the tree to take aim. The stag’s head whipped in his direction, its dark red eyes piercing through the forest shadows, alarm shifting through the beast’s features as its nostrils flared and the broad muscles of its body tensed to bolt.

‘Now!’ Nicholas’s mind screamed as he exhaled and released the arrow.

The forest monarch lurched into a run, but its footing faltered on the wet stones of the shallows. The brief but deadly hesitation gave the Crown Prince’s arrow a chance to find its mark. The stag’s bellow of pain echoed through the trees around them. Nicholas grabbed another arrow and rushed forward, anxious to ensure that his quarry would not escape. The white stag clambered onto the shore, blood streaming down its snow-white coat from the arrow lodged between its rib cage and front leg before collapsing beneath the mossy embankment.

The two young bucks stared at their fallen monarch for a moment in stunned silence, then bolted away, clearing the steep embankment easily before they vanished from view.

Nicholas paid them no mind. He eased the tension on his string as he waded through the shallow stream toward his prize. The fallen forest monarch heaved a few more struggled breaths as its ruby eyes blinked sluggishly against the pain of its failing heart. For a moment, the majestic stag seemed to look right at him before all signs of life faded from its features.

It was a strange form of recognition that brought tears to Nicholas’s eyes as he knelt and placed his gloved right hand on the stag’s neck before whispering, “Thank you.”

❆❆❆❆❆

“Congratulations, your Majesty,” Carina called out as Isaac carried the Duchess across the stream.

“The Silver Stag!” Gladstone whispered reverently as he circled the beast, holding onto the roots protruding through the embankment as he moved around the Crown Prince’s prize. “Eighteen points. He’s been around a while, then.”

“Your Majesty is incredibly fortunate,” Walter agreed with an acknowledging nod in the Duchess’s direction as the Colonel set her down on the shore.

“And to think we might have missed it if we followed the huntsman’s experience.”

Nicholas laughed dryly, then rose to his feet and turned. “Lady Kirsi—I’ll never doubt you again.”

Carina scoffed quietly but bowed her head in thanks all the same. “I am honored to have witnessed your successful hunt, your Majesty.”

The Crown Prince’s tense features broke into a boyish grin as he walked towards her and wrapped the startled Duchess in a sudden, tight hug. “I will never forget this day. Royal Favor be damned, you may ask anything of me now, Lady Kirsi, and I would happily grant it!”

“Your Majesty!” Attwood’s voice came from the embankment above them as the remaining half of their group appeared. “Good god is that—”

“I could hang up my bow now without regret if I wished!” Nicholas replied, patting the Duchess’s shoulder before he moved to assist the Prime Minister down the loose soil and roots.

“My Prince—your Majesty!” Attwood embraced him, clapping the jubilant hunter’s back in apparent joy. “I can hardly believe it—but of course—you finally have your own trophy to hang in Peony Palace. The first of many, I’m sure.”

“It’s going right above my bed! No, let’s put it in the throne room!”

“We should get the Crown Prince’s prize back to Gilwren first,” Walter replied with a glance to the Duchess. “I think it’s safe to summon the knights now.”

Carina nodded and gave Isaac the go-ahead. The Colonel blew on his short brass horn, scattering a few birds from the trees nearby as the note rang out in the forest around them.

The knights of Bastiallano moved the fallen forest monarch with utmost care across the stream and up the embankment while the Crown Prince fussed and admonished them for even the slightest jarring movement. An extra tarp was draped over the beast at his insistence to prevent any further damage to the deer’s hide or antlers.

“I shall be returning, Lady Kirsi,” Nicolas announced as the royal knights brought in his horse along with Captain Beaumont’s dappled gray gelding. “It’s customary for the ruling monarch to skin the Silver Stag personally. And the sooner, the better.”

“Of course, your Majesty,” Carina replied with a demur curtsey. “I shall endeavor to increase our lead in the meanwhile.”

“I think it best that I return with the Crown Prince,” Attwood added with an apologetic smile as he waded across the stream to join the Crown Prince. “To ensure the Viscount’s staff are prepared to handle everything related to processing the King’s Stag. We shall have a pair of leather boots made for your coronation, your Majesty!”

The Duchess nodded her understanding as she moved to the edge of the stream, dismissing Lumi’s shards who watched nearby and sending them off to find more deer.

“They’ll need a huntsman to guide them back,” Walter stated promptly as he turned to Harry, who glowered at the Duchess from the top of the embankment. “I think it would be best if you went with his Majesty.”

“My Lord,” Harry protested as he slid down the embankment. “You know that I must witness and confirm each kill. Unless you mean to halt the hunt until I return.”

“Are you saying the Viscount holds so little faith in me that he would not trust my judgment on the matter?”

The huntsman huffed out an impatient sigh, shaking the strands of his whispy beard. “You are a contestant, my Lord. We both know that when it comes to these matters, Lord Rykard prefers to avoid even a whiff of suspicion regarding the fairness of this competition.”

“Let him stay,” Gladstone interrupted with a placating smile. “We’ll stick to the nearby area until you return, Lord Bromwell.”

Walter drew in a breath to protest, then sighed as he turned to the Duchess. “If he does or says anything inappropriate—”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Carina replied with faint amusement.

“Of course.” Walter glanced towards Colonel Isaac, then offered the Duchess his arm. “Shall I carry you across the stream, your Grace? Since I’m headed that way?”

“Go,” Carina retorted with a laugh. “Before his Majesty leaves without you.”

“I’ll be back as quick as I can.” The carefree noble waved as he turned and trudged through the stream to where the Crown Prince and Prime Minister had already mounted their horses.

“Send half our remaining knights back with Nicholas,” Carina murmured to the Colonel beside her. “Have them inform Captain Silas of the change in plans. He may use whatever means necessary to ensure the Crown Prince’s safety until we return.”

“Even with help, the Crown Prince will probably take an hour or two to skin that beast,” Isaac replied with quiet cynicism as he signaled to one of the Bastiallano knights beside them.

The Duchess raised her hand to shield her eye as she gazed after the already departing group of royal knights mixed with half of her own that trailed behind the Crown Prince and his party. Captain Beaumont turned in his saddle and met her gaze briefly, with a curious expression, before Nicholas kicked his stallion into a gallop, eager to return to Gilwren Manor. The glittering armor of the knights soon vanished behind the dull gray and brown of the forest trees.

‘Is it me, or did the Captain look worried for some reason?’

“Well then,” Harry muttered as he scratched his chin. “Shall we see what those wolves of yours can do, your Grace?”

The Duchess glanced at the surly man warily, then shifted her focus to Lumi’s scattered shards, one of which reported a small group of wild boars not too far from the stream. When her vision sharpened back into focus on the bloodstained shoreline, she found the huntsman’s suspicious gaze fixated on her.

‘I’m beginning to think there’s a reason why Bromwell didn’t want to leave him behind.’

“Shall we explore a bit more to the west?” Carina suggested before taking Isaac’s offered hand. The Colonel lifted her quickly, then carried his small Mistress across the stream to where their horses waited.

“For someone who has never set foot in Gilwren before, my Lady seems very familiar with the landscape of the forest?” Harry remarked as he trudged through the water behind them.

“Not at all. Our previous huntsman did an admiral job showing us the lay of the land.”

“Ha! I grew up on these lands. I know every nest, den, breeding hole, and grazing ground in these woods.”

The Duchess murmured her thanks to the Colonel as Isaac set her down on the opposite side of the stream, then turned to face the chatty huntsman. “Does that knowledge extend to the borders of Gilwren?”

“Certainly, your Grace.”

Carina smiled as she adjusted her gloves before retaking her saddle. “Then—if you had to guess the best means by which a small unit of mercenaries or assassins might approach this quadrant or Gilwren Manor—what would it be?”

The huntsman went deathly pale as he gazed up at her, mouth agape. “Your Grace—how could I—I’ve no knowledge of such things.”

“But you know the lay of the land,” Carina countered as she stroked the tired mare’s neck. “Surely you would know the best paths such a force could use that would provide the best possible cover under darkness.”

“I—I’m afraid there are many paths that lead through the forests, but without a guide—”

The Duchess’s gaze narrowed in on the huntsman as his stumbled reply offered sudden clarity. Even with five hundred knights surrounding Gilwren Forest, they couldn’t cover every inch.

‘Still getting past the border patrols and then finding their way through the forest to the Crown Prince undetected. Unless they had a knowledgeable guide, their chances of success are slim.’

“Vesper River,” Harry muttered, clasping his hands anxiously. “It runs through the northwestern quadrant, but every stream in Gilwren leads back to it. Even in the dark, it’s not hard to find your way if you follow the river.”

‘And the northwestern quadrant belongs to Marquess Borghese’s hunting party. It would be an easy task for him to turn a blind eye or steer his people away from the river when necessary.’

Carina turned quickly to Colonel Isaac. “Send a message to Lieutenant Quinn to increase security on both ends of Vesper River. We need eyes on them night and day.”

❆❆❆❆❆

Beneath the bubbling flowing water of the stream, the chunks of ice magic that had slowed the Silver Stag’s escape broke free from the algae-covered rocks and flowed away with the fading traces of the forest monarch’s blood. A sudden hush fell as a curtain of swaying branches and limbs rose above the receding sound of the departing hunters.

A low rattle emerged as the stones and pebbles along the shoreline trembled. The clear waters turned murky with mud that billowed up from the bed of the stream. All along the embankments, trees groaned as roots strained and snapped beneath the giant white bones, similar in size to a mammoth’s tusks, that pierced through the loosened soil.

First, a hundred, then a thousand similarly curved bones emerged through the forest soil. The trees too close to the stream toppled and crashed against the ground as the monstrous skeletal figure shook itself free. The pale white rib bones vibrated as they absorbed the forest monarch’s blood and the remaining traces of Carina’s ice magic.

The churning water surged against the embankments. The current twisted then reversed direction, traveling along the skeletal figure that spread 200 feet down the narrowing rivulet to a dried-up river bed where it swirled into a whirlpool of blackened water. Two glowing green eyes glimmered from the murky depths beneath the leaves, cones, and pines that rocked and danced along the chaotic current.

The pale white bones of a colossus horned, triangular skull burst through the surface as the muddy water surged away, then turned back to its original course.

A host of voices hissed around a tongue of blackened roots that slithered through a pair of sharply curved fangs. “At last, Daughter of the Deceiver—you have returned.”

The ancient remnant rolled onto its belly, gathering stone, broken boulders, mud, and water to create a hardened exterior armor. It drained the narrow ravine as it slithered up the embankment to begin its hunt.

♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝

Chapter 30: Of Pride and Caution

 

The Duchess’s hunting party dispersed to refresh, recover, and resupply before meeting up at the main tent by Gilwren Manor to verify their kill count and gauge how the other hunting parties were doing. Carina handed her mare off to one of the knights as she trudged back toward her tent, doing her best to ignore the dull ache in her shoulders, lower back, and inner thighs as she walked stiffly through the tent flap.

The pulled-back tapestry curtain revealed Lady Hana and Ivy draped across the Duchess’s bed in various states of repose. The Viscountess lay reclined with an open book across her chest while Ivy lay on her stomach, her face curled into a pillow wrapped in her arms. Both women had stripped down to their corsets and petticoats in an attempt to alleviate the unavoidable heat that crept inside the tent. A plate of cheese, crackers, and grapes rested between them beside a pile of sketchbooks ranging in topics from local birds to wildlife and berries to flowers.

Carina blew the loose strands of ash-brown hair away from her cheek, then reached down awkwardly to loosen her boot strings. After pulling both off, she tiptoed across the burlap carpet towards a small dining table, where she set down her crossbow as gently as possible.

A faint whimper drew her gaze back to Ivy, who shivered as her brows tightened in discomfort. The Duchess quietly moved to one of her garment chests and pulled out a light shawl. She tiptoed carefully around the bed, pausing as she took in the loosened ties of the maid’s corset and the faintly stained bandages beneath. Carina carefully draped the shawl over Ivy’s shoulders and then returned to the table to rest.

Tiny rays of sunlight crept through the quiet tent, reflecting off the smooth wooden surfaces of the table and bed posts and glinting across the beautiful crossbow that rested before the silent Duchess.

“Your back, Kirsi?”

Carina turned to where Hana now stretched, her book in one hand, before leaving the bed.

“How was the hunt?”

“We were fairly successful,” Carina whispered, absently rotating her stiff right shoulder. “I don’t know how we measure up against the other groups yet, but I feel rather confident about our score.” She plucked at the buttons of her jacket and pulled the dense garment off with a grunt of relief.

“What time is it?” The Viscount asked as she carried over the half-eaten tray of snacks.

“Lunch. We’re only back for a brief rest. The heat caught up with us rather quickly.”

“No wonder the Crown Prince seemed so annoyed by the duel this morning,” Hana observed as she took the Duchess’s jacket and placed it on an empty hanger. “Perhaps you should wait until the heat dies down a bit before heading back out.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Carina replied with a relaxed grin. “I’m rather good at keeping cool even in extreme weather.”

“Of course, but you’re not immune to dirt and grime,” Hana observed as she returned to the table with a freshly filled washbowl and cleaning cloth. The Duchess glanced down at her dusty dress and sighed as the Viscountess plucked a broken twig from her hair. “See.”

Carina laughed and tugged off her splotched and dusty gloves before accepting the linen cloth and dipping it into the water. “Thank you.”

Hana nodded and left the Duchess to wipe down her face and neck before rinsing her hands in the cool water.

“I can’t wait to take a bath already,” Carina commented with a sigh as she shook her hands dry and then leaned back against the table wearily.

“How much time do you have?”

“Not enough for that. I just came to change my boots and stockings—though a fresh pair of gloves and a new jacket would be lovely.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Carina smiled gratefully, then turned and folded her arms against the table before resting on them briefly. Before her eyes managed to flutter closed, they settled on Ivy, now curled up beneath the shawl. “How is she doing?”

Hana looked up from the stockings she held and followed the Duchess’s gaze. “Her symptoms have improved—but my treatments fall short of curing her.”

Carina rolled her forehead onto her arms, sighed, then straightened before turning to face the Viscountess. “Can you tell me more about the treatment? Perhaps there’s something I can do to help.”

Hana shook her head as she carried over the fresh pair of stockings, boots, and gloves. “Judging by Ivy’s reaction to physical contact with you—I don’t think your magic would benefit her. However—” she quickly amended at the Duchess’s crestfallen expression, “—the medicinal tonic you’ve provided has helped relieve the worst of her pain.”

The Duchess accepted the garments and set them aside. “Milk of the poppy is an effective pain reliever—but the longer Ivy requires it, the more dependent she will become.”

“I should be able to remove the worst symptoms of the curse within a week or so with consistent treatment,” Hana replied soothingly as she knelt and clasped the Duchess’s hands. “We can ween her off the poppy slowly then.”

“But what if she gets worse? What if—” Carina pulled her hands away and dragged both palms across her face as she pushed back the anger and fear fighting against rationality. “There has to be a way of finding out what sort of curse this is and how to break it.”

The Viscount tucked a lock of golden blonde hair behind her ear as her turquoise blue eyes drifted towards the sleeping maid. “I remember a story told by many in old Zarus—about the witch plagues of Strugna who served an ancient evil deity that lived in the deepest parts of the ocean.”

The Duchess lowered her hands slowly as she paired this story with Kirsi’s memories. “Such a plague nearly wiped out Strugna’s royal family, but—what connection does that story or the plague in Lafeara have to Ivy’s mark?”

“It might be nothing,” Hana deflected as she rose to her feet. “But the way Ivy described this witch—Arachne’s offspring were known to be monstrous creatures with tentacles and horrifying visages. That and the timing of Jade’s curse matches up too closely with the appearance of the plague in the slums. It just seems too coincidental to ignore.”

“I had been wondering the same thing,” Carina murmured reluctantly.

‘After all, if the gods brought both the witch plague and Jade to Lafeara—why wouldn’t there be a connection to Ivy’s curse.’

“It’s certainly as good a place to start as any. First, we need to find a water witch who can help us confirm or disprove the connection.” The memory of the huntsman’s curious scent sharpened into sudden realization as the Duchess hastily pulled on her stockings and boots. “I need to return to the hunting party.”

“Of course. Let me get your jacket.”

❆❆❆❆❆

Nicholas finished off the refreshing concoction of mint and strawberry as he lounged in his seat on the royal platform beneath the canopy. A quick glance at his pocket watch confirmed there were still another twenty or so minutes before the rest of his group was expected to reassemble. ‘No point in rushing off during this heat anyway.’ A faint cough drew his attention to the Knight Captain at his side. Beaumont nodded to where the Crown Princess had entered the tent, dressed in a man’s hunting jacket and trousers, looking a little worse for wear as she dabbed away the sweat and damp hair clinging to her face and neck.

“Your Majesty,” Eleanora greeted with a mock curtsey before slumping into the chair beside him. “Beautiful day for a hunt, isn’t it.”

“Yes, I suppose—”

“Captain, would you mind fetching me one of those delicious drinks they’re serving over there?”

The Crown Prince frowned as his wife turned expectantly toward his bodyguard. Only then did he realize that she had come without any servants or attendants. ‘That’s right. Eleanora’s down to only one lady-in-waiting. But where is Lady Evelynn now?’

“Where is your bodyguard, Major Garrett?” Nicholas asked with a sharp glance around the banquet tent.

“Cooling down our horses. He’ll be along shortly.”

“Then perhaps you should wait until then.”

“Really, Nicholas, is it too much to ask for a moment of privacy?” Eleanora countered sharply as her amber eyes pierced through him. “You’re perfectly safe in here, aren’t you?” She gestured towards the nobles in various states of excitement and exhaustion scattered around the tent at their respective tables.

“Captain,” Nicholas resigned with a sigh. “Would you mind fetching the Crown Princess a drink?”

“Not at all, your Majesty.”

The Crown Prince nodded his gratitude while his wife stared after the giant’s towering figure with pursed lips before stating bluntly, “I hear you’re trying to set Captain Beaumont up with Lady Kirsi.”

Nicholas half-coughed, half-choked in shock as he turned towards her, then his narrowed gaze snapped toward Acheron, seated beside Viscount Marco. “Ahh—well—I’m only attempting to help them when and where I can.”

Eleanora scoffed and crossed her legs as she continued to monitor the Knight Captain, who appeared to be requesting a freshly poured cup from the steward. “And how exactly do you expect anything to happen when the Captain is all but chained to your side?”

“Well—” Nicholas set down his empty cup, then rubbed his fingers together. “He is my bodyguard. Where else should he be?”

“Beaumont can’t stay your bodyguard forever, not if he’s to marry a Duchess.” She laughed as the Crown Prince looked momentarily taken aback. “How do you expect him to protect you and make it home to his wife every night in Bastiallano?”

“Hush!” Nicholas hissed frantically, inching over his chair towards her as he glanced sharply towards the table of nobles nearest to them. “Keep your voice down. This isn’t exactly set in stone! And at the pace they’re moving, I’ll have kids before they get married!”

This time it was his wife’s turn to look taken aback as she whipped her gaze away from him. Nicholas snorted in relief and then glanced to where Beaumont was sniffing the drink the steward offered him.

‘I wish he wouldn’t do that in public, but I suppose most people would just consider him overly protective.’

“So—how did your morning hunt go?” She said in an apparent attempt to change the topic.

The Crown Prince smiled as he stretched, folded his arms, and then settled into a relaxed pose. “You’ll find out when they update the board, but—pretty well, I’d wager.”

“You seem—confident,” Eleanora observed, her brows furrowing in confusion.

“It’s all about making the most effective use of the resources you have,” Nicholas replied distractedly, stiffening in his seat as Viscount Gilwren appeared. Lord Rykard glanced towards the Duchess’s all-but-empty table with an unmistakable look of irritation before composing himself and heading back outside.

‘Yeah—I should probably help smooth that over.’

“What is our host up to, and why haven’t they posted this morning’s score?” Eleanora mumbled impatiently as the Crown Prince’s bodyguard returned with her requested drink. “Thank you, Captain.”

“I should probably go see what the hold up is,” Nicholas responded as he stood and clasped Beaumont’s shoulder. “Enjoy your drink, Eleanora.”

“Good luck, dear husband. Oh—and I’ll let you know if we spot the Silver Stag.”

The Crown Prince’s footing faltered as he stepped down from the platform. He clenched his fist but turned to offer his smiling wife an amused grin. “Good luck to you as well, Elly.” The Crown Princess’s left eye twitched slightly at the nickname. “And do keep trying to patch things up with the Duchess. Having the Mistress of Bastiallano and her knights in your corner would go a long way towards establishing a position of power for yourself in Lafeara’s court.”

‘She truly has a talent for poking at my weak spots,’ Nicholas reflected as he made his way through the tables of nobles who rose and bowed after him. One of the many ways King Henri had displayed his favoritism to Tristan was by denying the Second Prince access to the Royal Hunt for years because it would be inappropriate for anyone aside from the King and his chosen heir to shoot the King’s Stag.

‘In the last two years since I became Crown Prince, no one has laid sight on the damn beast, yet Tristan slew one on his first hunt at the age of fifteen.’

Opting to avoid the main entryway where Marquess Borghese and his rather irritable group of hunters now appeared, Nicholas turned sharply toward one of the side openings, brushing past his momentarily flustered father-in-law with little more than a courteous nod.

As the Crown Prince thrust the tent flap out of his way, he collided with a familiar pair of moss-agate green eyes on the other side, trodding all over the hem of the unfortunate Marchioness’s dress.

“Oh,” Serilda gasped as they grabbed each other for stability. “Forgive me, your Majesty.”

“Not at all, Lady Serilda. That was entirely my blunder,” Nicholas responded hastily as he stepped back while still supporting her. “I do hope I haven’t damaged your dress.”

The Marchioness laughed, the sound as enticing as the easy smile she offered him. “Even if you did, there is no harm done. One can hardly partake in the Royal Hunt without expecting to get a little dirty.”

“Ha.” The Crown Prince shook his head as his gaze trailed up the immaculate dusty-rose dress with gold applique embroidery that complimented her feminine curves. “Well, that is hardly a term I would use to describe you, Marchioness. No matter where you are.”

“Oh, well.” Serilda’s lips curled into a curious smile as her agate-green eyes swept over his shoulder towards Beaumont, who obscured the view of the tent behind them. Nicholas blinked as she stepped closer. The delicate scent of roses teased his senses as she brushed her fingers through his damp light-auburn hair. “Your Majesty has never seen me in bed.”

A warning bell went off somewhere in Nicholas’s subconscious, but the smile the Marchioness offered him as she glided past sent an even more overwhelming thrill shooting through his body that kept the Crown Prince rooted to the spot. Beaumont stepped aside without comment as the noblewoman entered the tent, where Marquess Winifred and his sons swiftly rose to greet her.

The urge to follow Serilda and claim her attention all for himself warred against Nicholas’s pride and cautionary nature. He clenched his fists and drew in a swift breath, only for the lingering scent of roses to shatter his resolve.

‘And what would be wrong with a little flirtatious conversation with a family friend? It’s not as if Lady Serilda is engaged.’

The raised voices from the direction of the Duchess’s encampment pulled Nicholas’s gaze to where Viscount Gilwren faced Lady Kirsi and her escort of knights.

‘Right. That needs to be handled first.’

❆❆❆❆❆

“You should have come to me first. I would have never allowed those beasts to enter my forest—”

“They are completely under my control, Viscount,” Carina cut in sharply. “And the rules do not prevent the use of hunting animals.”

“That’s because hunting hounds are not in the habit of eating their masters! The same cannot be said for a pack of wild dogs!”

“It’s not the breed but lack of training that is to blame for most animal attacks.”

“Must you be so unreasonable!” Rykard’s voice fluctuated with evident frustration as he whirled away from the defiant Duchess and exhaled sharply. “I am responsible for the safety of every noble attending the Royal Hunt. I cannot turn a blind eye to this matter simply because you claim to have those beasts under control.”

“Those beasts are more reliable and trustworthy than half the nobles in attendance!” Carina fired back. “They will not cause harm to anyone unless I give the command!”

The Viscount looked equally horrified and flabbergasted by her statement. He squared his shoulders, then turned back to face her with a determined glower. “Your wolves are trespassing on my lands, Lady Kirsi. I’m sorry, but I must ask you to remove them. Immediately!”

“That hardly seems fair, Lord Rykard.”

The Duchess and Viscount turned in surprise to where Earl Hawthorne approached with a hooded black falcon perched on his left fist.

“You’ve never restricted the use of any hunting animals before,” Percy continued with a polite head bow to the Duchess. “Wouldn’t you agree, your Majesty?”

Carina turned as the Crown Prince jogged towards them and hastily presented the monarch with a curtsey. “Your Majesty.”

“Rykard, I understand your distaste for the animal, given your personal experience,” Nicholas murmured sympathetically. “But to have them removed would severely handicap Lady Kirsi’s ability to win. And as Lord Percy pointed out, other beasts and fowls are permitted.”

“Borghese’s hounds are kept chained when they are not in use,” Rykard pointed out tensely. “Even the Earl’s falcons are kept under careful watch. But where are the Duchess’s wolves? Still freely roaming my forests, getting into who knows what sort of trouble.”

“My knights are watching them,” Carina replied evasively. ‘Although truthfully, it’s more the other way around.’

“Which is another concern! It’s bad enough that many of the nobles believe Lady Kirsi is receiving differential treatment due to our relationship, but it wouldn’t surprise me if more of them complained about the Duchess using wolves and Bastiallano’s knights to her advantage. Borghese has already lodged a complaint about the strange absence of deer in his quadrant this morning.”

“Our huntsman can confirm our kills,” Nicholas interjected sharply, no doubt taking offense to the mere suggestion of cheating. “As for the other deer we turned in, it’s easy enough to judge whose handiwork they belong to. Wolves of that size are uncommon in Lafeara. And as to the Marquess’s unfortunate luck, maybe his forty hunters, twenty hounds, twelve squires, and stewards have something to do with his inability to come across any defenseless animals.”

The Viscount drew in a strained breath and then attempted to compose himself. “I understand your position, your Majesty. I am only trying to avoid further conflict.” He glanced toward Kirsi. “Your Grace, the moment I find any evidence that your wolves have caused harm to the nobles, their servants, or property—or that they have interfered with the hunt in any way—they will be driven off my lands and shot if they remain.”

“Well, that—seems like a reasonable compromise,” Nicholas said cautiously with a wary glance to the Duchess.

“Fine,” Carina muttered before stepping past the Viscount towards the main tent.

“In the meantime, your Grace,” Rykard called after her. “I’ve replaced your huntsman with someone I can rely on to keep me better informed.”

“What?” Nicholas protested as the Duchess whipped around.

“And where is Jasper?” Carina demanded sharply.

“He was sent packing the moment he returned from the forest,” Rykard responded with a glimmer of simmering anger. “There was no reason for me to keep him at Gilwren after his contract was terminated. Your new huntsman will be waiting for you in the main tent with this morning’s final count, which I shall be announcing shortly.”

‘Old man, for someone who claims to want to help his grandchildren, you seem only to create more obstacles for me.’

The Duchess turned to Colonel Isaac with a determined glare. “Find the huntsman and bring him to me at once.”

 

♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝

Chapter 29: A Trail to Victory

 

“Thank you, gentlemen!” Acheron flashed a confident smile as he shook the hands of his latest recruits. “If you could just bring your horses and gear to the counting booth outside the southeastern quadrant, the Crown Princess and I will be along to join you shortly!”

The three Lafearian lords nodded, their less-than-enthusiastic expressions confirming the rogue’s earlier assumption. ‘It’s not my fault you didn’t rank high enough to reserve a spot in the party of your choosing. But I’m in no position to turn away a willing bow.’

Acheron wiped his hand against his trousers and sighed as he leaned against his grazing black bay stallion. His demeanor quickly brightened at the sight of his newest acquaintance and drinking companion. “Lord Marco, good morning!”

The foreign nobleman offered a faint grunt and nodded in greeting as he fumbled with the buttons of his jacket, completely ignoring the untied blouse beneath that left most of his chest exposed.

‘I should probably offer him some advice regarding Lafearian social etiquette, given how far he may rise with his cousin’s backing.’

“You missed out on this morning’s excitement,” Acheron commented as he took the reigns from the distracted noble’s hands and double-checked that the blue roan mare’s saddle, reins, and stirrup were all secure.

“Ahh, yes. The execution,” Marco muttered in a matter-of-fact tone. His hazel-blue eyes flicked across the busy grounds as nobles gathered to join their respective hunting groups. “And where is Eleanora?”

“The Crown Princess? Should be along any moment—ah! There she is.” Acheron waved toward the approaching figure of the proud Ventrayna princess, his eyes widening as he took in the masculine outfit she had changed into. “Are trousers customary for Ventrayna nobles?”

The foreigner took his reins back and scoffed. “Women and men in Ventrayna dress how they please. Parents and spouses are free to object—as long as they can survive the ensuing flames.”

“Survive the what?” Acheron blinked hesitantly.

“We are a witch nation,” Marco replied, adjusting the quiver and bow strapped to his saddle. “Rules are determined by the strong. There is no room for the objections of the weak.”

“But you and Eleanora are—”

“Half-witches,” Marco interjected with a note of mockery. “Which is why our families pushed us to leave Ventrayna—to survive.”

Acheron swallowed nervously as the foreign noblemen stepped forward to greet the arriving Crown Princess.

“Cousin,” Eleanora murmured affectionately as she offered Marco her cheek, which he pecked in good humor. “I’m relieved you could join us.”

“Is that Caligo Wine I smell, Elly?” Marco replied with a hint of reproach. His brows narrowed suspiciously as the Crown Princess brushed him off, turning instead to the rogue, who bowed in greeting.

“Viscount Hendrix caught me on my way out,” Eleanora explained, gesturing to Acheron’s future father-in-law, who trailed behind her. “He asked if he might join our hunting group.”

‘Meaning that Percy likely rejected his request.’

“Of course,” Acheron replied diplomatically. “I’m happy to accept any hunter willing to test their skills on our behalf.” He quickly gestured toward the counting table marked with blue flags and ribbons. “If you’d bring your horse and gear just over there, my Lord, we’ll be joining the rest of the group momentarily.”

Lord Hendrix nodded as he scanned the distant gathering of nobles beneath a raised gloved hand. The Viscount turned back to face Acheron and appeared about to speak before the Crown Princess cut him off.

“How many have you managed to recruit?”

“With Viscount Hendrix, I believe we stand at sixteen,” Acheron replied after a quick mental head count. “Your father, Lord Alastair, brought seven other nobles with him.”

“Hmph,” Eleanora smirked as she pulled on her riding gloves. “I knew he wouldn’t let us down. What of the other hunting parties?”

“Lord Percy has a nearly full party with thirty-three registered nobles, while Marquess Borghese’s party filled up last night with forty.”

The Crown Princess winced and then climbed into her saddle. “So, we are the underdogs—as expected.”

“Not quite,” Acheron responded as he and Marco followed suit. “It would seem that Duchess Kirsi has yet to muster more than ten nobles to join her party.”

“What?” Eleanora scoffed as she turned towards the western woods. “How surprising.”

“Indeed, it’s a shame we can’t simply combine our groups together.”

“Your Highness!”

Acheron turned to where two young nobles in hunting attire rode towards them with similar expressions of desperation.

“Please, your Highness. My Lords. Might we join your party?”

The rogue glanced over their well-used, if poorly maintained, short bows, stuffed quivers of mismatch arrows, and brand-new hunting attire, all of which suggested they might be able to hit a stationary target.

‘Well, even if they only get lucky once, that will still increase our chance of winning.’

“Of course, the more, the merrier,” Acheron responded as he held out a hand in greeting to the young noble with chestnut-brown hair and bright ocean-blue eyes. “Lord Acheron Hargreve at your service.”

The noble’s eyes widened slightly in recognition before he hastily seized the rogue’s offered hand. “A pleasure to meet you, my Lord. I am Asher Winslet and this—” he gestured to his comrade, “—is my cousin, Rufous Hearish. We’re both excellent bowmen!”

“Yes, yes. We can make introductions later,” Eleanora interrupted impatiently from where she and Marco waited just ahead. “Let’s take them and go. It looks like the other hunting parties are already heading out.”

“And there’s his Majesty now,” Marco observed, nodding to where Crown Prince Nicholas rode towards the western counting table, with its purple flags, escorted by Captain Beaumont, Prime Minister Attwood, and six royal knights.

A bell tolled from the tower above Gilwren Manor, signaling that half the morning hunt had already passed. Acheron turned his horse after the already departing Crown Princess as they hastened towards their waiting group and huntsman.

‘Eighteen bows against thirty-three and forty. And we got the last pick of the hunting quadrants. At this rate, it will take a miracle for me to win the royal favor.’ The rogue clenched his fists tightly around the reins as he shook away the nagging paranoia that had lingered since waking up in the bed of the Crown Prince’s mistress. ‘I’ve given up drinking and fornicating. I’ve even agreed to marry a woman that hates me. What else must I do to be rid of this guilt?’

While Acheron firmly believed Rosamund would never breathe a word of their indiscretion to anyone, he still found it impossible to feel at ease. The moment his sin was exposed, Nicholas would have him killed, friendship or not.

Wars had started for less.

❆❆❆❆❆

“Twenty-four is far too many,” Nicholas blurted out as he stared down the four ranks of Bastiallano knights waiting beside the southwestern counting table. “Unless you’re converting half of them into hunters to make up our numbers.”

“Half of them will be responsible for carrying back any quarry we manage to bag today,” Carina explained patiently as Colonel Isaac helped her adjust the fit of the sling for her new crossbow. “The rest will keep a discreet distance behind us at all times.”

“This should be all of us,” Walter commented to their huntsman, Jasper, as he counted the nobles in attendance. “Seven. I’ve never seen a hunting party so large and yet so outnumbered.”

“We stand at eleven, my Lord,” Jasper countered around the sunflower seeds in his mouth. “That is—if you count the Duchess’s four wolves.”

“If they’re as fierce as their Mistress, we might still stand a chance of winning this,” Viscount Gladstone commented with a cheeky grin.

“Fine, let’s get moving. It looks like we’re the last party to head out,” Nicholas grumbled as he circled his stallion around the Duchess’s pretty white mare. “We can’t afford to let Marquess Borghese win this, Lady Kirsi. Especially after going head-to-head with him this morning.”

“Not to worry, your Majesty,” Carina replied neutrally before nudging her mare forward. “The Marquess is about to discover that numbers amount for nothing when there is no prey to be found.”

“What do you mean, your Grace?” Attwood asked hesitantly as he and Beaumont followed behind the Duchess and Crown Prince, who took the lead along the forest trail.

“Let’s just say my wolves have been busy redistributing the wealth of Gilwren Forest into the appropriate quadrants.”

“That—” Walter glanced back at the knights trailing behind them, “—sounds a bit like cheating.”

“I doubt the Marquess will keep quiet about this,” Gladstone commented in agreement. “Especially when he learns about your wolves, your Grace.”

“I doubt any other group is using wolves to hunt,” Nicholas mused worriedly. “But they are a natural predator of Lafeara. Would the Marquess be able to link any unusual activity directly to you?”

The Duchess turned to offer him a confident smirk. “I assure you, your Majesty. No matter how loudly he protests, Borghese will not be able the lay the blame at my feet.”

‘Especially after his daughter was forced to publicly apologize for hurtling accusations at me without proof.’

“Ahha!” The Crown Prince slapped his thigh with a grin of approval, which quickly shifted into a frown as he spun sharply toward the nobles behind them. “Not a word of this to anyone else, my lords.”

Attwood arched a brow, sighed, and nodded in agreement along with Walter and Gladstone.

“How exactly did you redistribute them, Lady Kirsi?” Nicholas pressed curiously as he readied his bow.

“As evenly as I could,” Carina replied honestly. “Though it was easier to drive them east and south, some of them will have wandered into the Crown Princess’s quadrant.”

The Crown Prince scoffed but straightened in his saddle before lowering his bow and reigning in the stallion with a look of stunned surprise. Jasper and Beaumont rode quickly in front of the Crown Prince as the nobles gathered close behind them to take in the sight of six doe and two stags laid out across the trail, each with their head and neck almost completely severed.

“The Huntsman was right. We don’t have seven hunters. We have eleven,” Walter muttered, nervously scanning the forest around them.

“How the hell did you train wolves to do that?” Nicholas blurted out in disbelief as the huntsman dismounted to examine the nearest stag.

“It looks like they were all killed in the last hour or so,” Jasper commented. “They bled out quickly after being nearly decapitated—and then were dragged—or carried here?”

Four Bastiallano knights dismounted and then draped tarps over their horses before hefting the first kills of the Royal Hunt across the saddles.

“Well, after today, there’s no getting around telling Viscount Gilwren about the Duchess’s wolves,” Attwood remarked grimly as he turned away from the grizzly sight of the dangling half-severed heads. “This goes well beyond what a typical hunting hound is capable of.”

“But it doesn’t break the rules,” Carina pointed out as she unhooked her crossbow. A distant howl echoed through the forest at a close distance as a rush of wind swept along the trail. “I would ready your bows, my lords. They’re about to drive fresh quarry our way.”

“At least they saved some for us,” Nicholas growled as he nudged his horse ahead and pulled back on his short bow eagerly. The other lords spaced themselves evenly along the trail while the knights withdrew from the line of fire.

A distant rumbling sound came towards them, like a surging stream, before the first leaping figures of the herd burst through the brush straight ahead. Carina raised her crossbow as Nicholas let loose his arrow. A doe at the head of the throng of twenty-odd dear stumbled and fell. Even at a distance of maybe fifty yards, she could hear the animal’s dying cry before the herd merged around their fallen comrade, swallowing her from view.

Five more arrows flew in quick succession, and four more deer fell. The fifth, a stag, was struck in the front right limb and managed to keep running as the herd turned sharply away from the wall of hunters before them. Carina aimed her crossbow after the limping deer, now less than twenty yards away from her, and squeezed the trigger.

The four-point stag fell as the bolt buried itself just behind the deer’s front left shoulder.

“Well done, your Grace,” Gladstone called out after loosening his second shot.

The Duchess exhaled with relief before reaching into her bag for another bolt. She noticed as she turned that neither Beaumont nor Isaac had moved for their bows but dismissed them from her thoughts as she nocked and loaded her crossbow. Her earlier practice paid off, despite the adrenaline that made her hands shake noticeably. She exhaled in disappointment as the second bolt sailed harmlessly over the already disappearing herd, then took in the myriad of deer that lay dead or dying on the forest floor around them.

As prepared as Carina may have been for the mental image of dead forest creatures, she was not ready for the sound of them dying. One of the doe’s that had been shot poorly now thrashed against a nearby bush, drowning the serenity of the forest in panicked bleating wails.

The animal’s screams tore through Carina’s ears and chest. Guilt and the swirling dark shadows of Kirsi’s memories hammered against her soul as she clutched her crossbow. She sucked in a strained breath as her mind rebelled against the ghostly visage of crimson pleading faces that flashed before her, all of them human.

The white mare skidded sideways nervously as the reins and mane beneath the Duchess’s tightening grip hardened beneath a coat of ice. Carina exhaled forcefully as she adjusted her hold, fighting back the cold clawing through her chest as the looming shadows of the forest spun around her.

The sound of metal digging into flesh brought the deer’s agony to a swift end.

Carina blinked as she refocused on the huntsman, who lowered the doe’s head toward the forest floor. She caught a glimpse of the deep scarlet stain running down the doe’s neck. A surge of relief rushed through her as the pounding in her ears faded. Jasper wiped his hunting blade against the deer’s shoulder, then rose to finish off another two catches that had yet to expire. Silence returned to the forest once more as the other nobles moved in to examine their kills.

“How many is that?” Nicholas called out eagerly as he jumped down from his saddle.

“Looks like eleven, your Majesty,” Attwood replied from his saddle as he scanned the fallen deer. “Not bad for our first excursion.”

“Never seen anything like it,” Gladstone commented in agreement. “They were so focused on running away from the Duchess’s wolves that they nearly ran right through us.”

“Aye, but—where did the wolves go?”

“Perhaps Lady Kirsi has trained them to keep out of sight?”

The Duchess nodded stiffly in response. A glance at her reins confirmed the frost had thawed once her chaotic emotions stabilized.

“Are you all right, cousin?” Walter whispered worriedly as he rode up beside her. “You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” Carina replied with a weak attempt at a smile. “I was—caught off guard.”

“Hunting is not a sport for everyone,” Walter replied with a hint of sympathy. “But it is a necessary task. If the deer are left unchecked, they will grow beyond what the forest can sustain, resulting in plundered and ravaged fields and farms. The Royal Hunt is organized to cull their numbers while also providing meat and leather for Lafeara’s soldiers.”

“Yes, you—mentioned that before.”

“Oh! You’re right. I apologize. I give the same speech every year we host the hunt.” Walter scratched his jaw hesitantly as they watched another six Bastiallano Knights prepare their mounts to carry the latest kill back through the forest. “I suppose this must all seem silly and unnecessary to you, but it has been the tradition and honor of the Gilwren family for many generations.”

“I meant no offense and offer no judgment, Lord Bromwell.” The Duchess let out a weary sigh as she brushed her fingers across Viktor’s bracelet, welcoming the comforting chill that numbed the unease left in her chest. “Both venison and leather are highly prized commodities of our kingdom. I could no sooner criticize you than any other noble raising cattle and livestock to be butchered for food and raw materials.”

The nobleman chuckled as he pulled a pinch of tobacco from his belt pouch and then placed it between his lip and gum. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re far too rational for your age?”

A faint smirk tugged at Carina’s lips. “Thank you for the compliment.”

“That’s four for Gladstone and three for Walter,” Nicholas tallied out as the huntsman retrieved the marked arrows from the fallen deer. “Two for myself—two and a half if you count the stag Lady Kirsi help me finish off—and one for the Prime Minister and Duchess.”

“I think you mean nine for the Duchess, your Majesty,” Jasper commented as he returned the arrows to the bowmen. “Apologies, your Grace. I’m afraid your bolt was bent on impact.”

The Duchess nodded absently as she watched the huntsman clean his hunting knife on a strip of cloth before returning it to his belt. As hard as she tried not to think about the dying doe, the animal’s screams still echoed in her ears.

“Well, yes. If we count the eight killed by Lady Kirsi’s wolves—I suppose that puts the Duchess in the lead with nine kills,” Nicholas grumbled.

“I’ll have to up my game,” Gladstone commented with a nod to the Duchess. “If her Grace becomes any more proficient with that crossbow, I won’t stand a chance of catching up.”

“And what about you two?” The Crown Prince demanded, turning on Beaumont and Isaac. “Did either of you even try to take a shot?”

The Colonel glanced over at the silent Knight Captain, then offered the young monarch a shrug. “A subordinate should never outshine their superior, your Majesty.”

Beaumont’s stony expression twitched with amusement while Nicholas muttered something unintelligible before whipping around to reclaim his reins from Attwood.

❆❆❆❆❆

By the time the third bell tolled the mid-day hour, Jasper had turned the hunting group around to confirm their kill count and take a brief rest from the rising heat. For the second time that day, Carina was relieved that Hana and Ivy had chosen to remain at the Manor. She couldn’t imagine either of them enduring the more gruesome aspects of hunting, much less the heat and discomfort of tracking through a forest for half a day.

She was also beginning to envy Eleanora’s choice of wardrobe. Beneath the silver riding jacket, full-length dress, corset, petticoat, chemise, and stockings, Carina was obliged to cool herself down with ice magic repeatedly to keep from fainting.

Nearly every noble, aside from the Prime Minister, had shed their jacket to alleviate the discomfort of the climbing temperature. To avoid making the men uncomfortable or awkward, the Duchess had chosen to ride ahead of the group with their huntsman, who, like herself, remained surprisingly cool and refreshed despite the heat.

“Your Grace appeared to lose interest in the hunt,” Jasper observed conversationally as he lifted a branch that ran across the path for her to ride beneath.

“I’m still far too inexperienced to inflict unnecessary suffering on an innocent animal,” Carina replied honestly as she leaned over her saddle and rode past.

“You can practice more while we’re on break if you like.”

The Duchess made no comment as the Huntsman remained at his post until one of the knights came to relieve him. Before killing her first deer, she had viewed the contest as an opportunity to hone her skills with moving targets. While that remained her goal, Carina needed time to adjust to the reality of what it cost.

‘Honestly, I’m surprised Kirsi didn’t rip me apart for hesitating to finish the animal off myself.’

Jasper soon rejoined her, correcting the Duchess as she paused before two split paths.

“This way, your Grace. The north path leads towards the next hunting quadrant.”

‘I know.’ Carina nodded as she nudged her white mare behind him. ‘Lumi has kept close watch over me since we entered the forest.’

The Duchess’s ice-blue eyes narrowed as she caught a strangely nostalgic whiff of iodine from the huntsman. Tapping the mare with her heels, she leaned in closer, picking up notes of cedarwood, pine, and something that brought to mind the memory of Kirsi’s life in the castle by the sea.

‘If I didn’t know any better….’

Jasper turned towards her with an inquiring brow that Carina quickly answered with a polite smile as she leaned back, fanning her cheeks and neck.

“We’re nearly there, your Grace.”

The Duchess observed the huntsman’s unguarded back curiously but decided to keep her thoughts to herself. Right now, all she wanted was a good hour away from the scent of blood, sweating men, and the discomfort of her saddle.

 

♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝

Chapter 28 [Part Two]: The Executioner’s Blade

 

Beaumont walked between the Duchess and Crown Prince as he strode towards the center of the dueling ring, which the nobles rapidly vacated as they moved beyond the hastily erected rope barrier. The Knight Captain ignored their whispers and pointed looks as he turned to meet the ice witch’s blue eyes.

Kirsi looked away first, though her gaze returned to the knight frequently as he circled the ring. Beaumont declined the steel gauntlet offered to him by one of Nicholas’s stewards. Beneath his knight’s tabard, he wore his usual steel breastplate, full torso chain-mail armor, steel vambraces, leather padded shirt, and cotton tunic. A similar layer of armor protected his groin and legs with the steel greaves and sabaton boots on his feet.

With the heat rising as the sun climbed above them, Beaumont couldn’t help but envy the simple leather armor worn by all the other nobles present, who trusted their knights to keep them safe from any harm. He pulled his chain mail coif over his already damp ash-blonde hair and turned to where a clatter of armor and bemused laughter surfaced to his left.

Lord Aaron Stafford staggered into the ring, clearly burdened by the weight of the full-plate armor that covered him from head to toe. It did not appear to be made for the Viscount, as was evident by Stafford’s awkward movements and labored breathing beneath the raised visor of his helmet.

Beaumont felt a ting of disgust as he eyed the swaying noble with some reluctance. This was hardly a contest and certainly not a duel he would derive any pleasure from winning.

“Saint’s Mercy, Stafford. Is that you?” Viscount Tomberline called out mockingly from the sidelines. Behind the nobleman and his chuckling friends, Marquess Borghese reappeared, accompanied by Earl Coldwell. Both nobles eyed their enshrouded part member with grim expressions. It was clear that no one expected Viscount Stafford to win, much less survive, no matter how much protection he wore.

The Knight Captain sighed and returned his attention to the seated Duchess. Kirsi’s lips twitched with an almost sympathetic smile as if she could read the discomfort behind his neutral expression. The disquieting and demoralizing sound of sniffling from the trembling suit to his right turned Beaumont’s stomach as he clenched his jaw and waited patiently for Nicholas to give his signal.

The Crown Prince glanced from Duchess to Knight Captain with a playful twinkle in his hazel-glue eyes, completely ignoring Stafford’s wretched presence. “Lady Kirsi, did you—perhaps forget to prepare a token for your knight?”

“A token, your Majesty?” Kirsi replied, her brows furrowing in confusion.

Beaumont scowled as her gaze left him, then directed his mistrustful glare to the Crown Prince, who struggled to hide his mischievous smile.

“I assumed you knew already,” Nicholas replied with feigned innocence. “It is customary for a lady to present the knight fighting on her behalf with a token as a gesture of gratitude. Though they also serve as a symbol for good luck.”

Beaumont’s frown deepened as he reflected on the few duels he had witnessed, most of which had been undertaken on behalf of a knight’s family or the noble household who sponsored them. If a lady’s honor was at stake, she was rarely present to witness the bloodshed on her behalf. However, a servant, who served as proxy and witness, would often gift the lady’s representative with a scarf or feather to tie upon his person.

The Knight Captain scanned the Duchess’s garments and found, just as she did, that she lacked any removable item to give him aside from her jewelry and hair accessories. Kirsi pressed her lips together as she toyed uncertainly with the lilac ribbon woven into her braided ash-brown hair.

“Ah, if you haven’t had time to prepare a gift, then a kiss on the cheek will suffice,” Nicholas tacked on helpfully, ignoring Beaumont’s warning glare.

‘I suppose it’s not a completely ridiculous tradition, though I’m pretty sure the last part is a lie.’

Kirsi narrowed her eyes suspiciously as she fumbled with one of her mother-of-pearl hairpins, then sighed as she dropped her hand to the armrest and stood.

The Crown Prince looked positively giddy as the Duchess approached the Knight Captain, who swiftly bent to one knee before her. Beaumont blinked in surprise as Kirsi placed her small pale hand on his shoulder. He hardly dared to breathe as she leaned in towards him.

Once more, the nostalgic scent of jasmine filled his senses, mingled with notes of lilac, lavender, and rose. Her cold breath grazed against his cheek as he inhaled the vibrant and refreshing fragrance.

“Since I am without a gift, you can consider this a means of repayment—for before,” Kirsi whispered.

The Knight Captain blinked as she pulled away. “Before? You mean—”

The Duchess’s ice-blue eyes narrowed in on him dangerously, confirming his suspicion.

‘But the only reason you kissed me then was to save me from the Death Mark I took from you.’

Beaumont scoffed quietly as he caught her hand before she could pull it away from his shoulder. “Now you’re just insulting me.”

He was surprised by the conflicted expression his words drew upon her face. Kirsi sucked in a quick breath, then muttered, “Well, what then?”

“This is a mere favor,” Beaumont replied, casting a dismissive look in Stafford’s direction. “One hardly worth fretting over.”

“But a favor nonetheless.” The Duchess pressed her lips together and tugged at the hand he held.

Unable to stop his smile, the Knight Captain offered her a teasing, questioning brow as he maintained his gentle but firm grip.

“Well, then—Thank you, Captain,” Kirsi spoke up, annunciating her words for the audience around them. “I suppose I’ll owe you one.”

Beaumont bit back a laugh as he released her, redoubling his efforts as she patted his shoulder awkwardly before returning to her seat with slightly flushed cheeks.

“Well, that was—underwhelming,” Nicholas commented dryly as he glanced between them sullenly.

Before the Knight Captain could offer a response, Stafford lunged toward the Duchess. Beaumont sprung after the man, yanking him back by his left pauldron, just as Colonel Isaac leapt forward to deliver a kick to the Viscount’s chest. Lord Stafford spun between them like a tightly wound spinning top before landing in an unsightly heap on his backside, with his helmet half-covering his face.

However, dizzy the unfortunate Viscount was, he managed to roll onto his hands and knees, pleading in the Duchess’s direction. “Please, your Grace. Sp-spare me! I shall make whatever amends you ask—I was wrong! Please, show some mercy for the sake of my ill sickly wife and unmarried child.”

Beaumont curled his lip in disgust as the very thought of tainting his mother’s blade with this coward’s blood turned his stomach. Behind them, the sympathetic murmurs of the nobles could be heard as Lady Meredith Stafford appeared beside Earl Coldwell, sniffling pitifully against her handkerchief.

❆❆❆❆❆

The Duchess offered the wretched-looking Viscount a cold smile before stepping away from Colonel Isaac to take her seat. The Bastiallano officer moved cautiously after her, his attention still focused on the cowering nobleman.

“Your Majesty,” Carina murmured as she sat down and draped her arms leisurely across the armrests. “Would you mind clarifying the rules of the duel for me?”

The Crown Prince rubbed his jaw thoughtfully before turning to nod at his Prime Minister. Attwood stepped forward and presented the rules of conduct in his orator’s voice.

“The match presented before you on this field of honor shall be resolved in the following manner. The duel shall continue until either party becomes well-bloodied, disabled, or disarmed and unable to resume combat. At such a time, they shall be offered the opportunity to yield and apologize to the offended party. Whereafter, they will offer up a sum of compensation that shall be presented before the arbitrator of this duel now.”

“The fool will more than likely drop his sword before the captain gets in a single hit,” Lady Serilda commented cynically from beside Earl Percy. Nicholas chuckled along with several other nobles present as Viscount Stafford flushed with apparent embarrassment.

The Duchess smiled and gestured to Lady Hana, who stepped forward to present the Prime Minister with the prepared terms of compensation.

Attwood’s brows rose slightly before he cleared his throat and read the terms aloud, “Her Grace, Lady Kirsi Valda, demands the following as compensation for the insult to her honor and person. Lord Aaron Stafford shall surrender his title along with all lands and business that will be transferred to the Battalion Duchy.”

“That is absurd,” Borghese bellowed immediately, his words nearly drowned out by the gasps and murmurs of shock and surprise among the nobles on both sides of the dueling ring.

“Your Grace,” Earl Coldwell called out calmly before ducking beneath the rope barrier to address the Duchess and royal couple. “While I understand your justified anger, the title and lands the Viscount currently possesses by right belong to Lord Commander Stryker and the Hargreve Dukedom. They cannot be transferred without his Grace’s signature and consent.”

Carina pursed her lips with apparent dissatisfaction before turning her gaze to the Crown Prince. Nicholas and Eleanora were both looking at her with varying expressions of surprise, though the prince recovered quickly.

“I’m afraid the Earl is correct on this matter, Lady Kirsi. You are free to collect any properties, business, or profits not on Hargreve land. Everything else by law belongs to the Duke and cannot be seized outright, even to pay off a debt.”

“I understand that the Viscount has a few textile factories on the outskirts of the Capital, your Grace,” Earl Coldwell continued amiably as the Duchess let out a long sigh. “You would be permitted to seize those. Though the wool and thread they produce are derived from the sheep raised on the Duke’s land.”

“You can, of course, sue his Grace for compensation,” Nicholas added helpfully. “Any price the Viscount cannot meet becomes a debt to the Duchy after all—within reason, of course.”

“And who determines what amount is reasonable?” Carina replied coldly. “What amount would soothe your Majesty’s anger were someone to address a member of royalty as a ‘good-for-nothing whore’?”

The Crown Prince rubbed his fingers together silently, blinking slowly before he turned to face the three men in the ring. “Since I shall be the arbiter of this duel and its settlement, the amount of compensation shall be equal to the sum of all lands, business, and properties owned by the Stafford family, including those loaned to him by the Duke of Hargreve.”

“Your—Majesty!” Stafford gasped weakly, sinking back onto his hunches as the blood drained from his face.

“If the Viscount is unable to produce the required amount, then the debt shall fall to the Duchy of Hargreve to fulfill, at which point the Viscount and his family shall be stripped of their titles and reduced to commoners without the possibility of promotion for at least three generations.”

Carina arched her brow in surprise at the extended punishment. ‘It looks like Nicholas is using this opportunity to remind the nobles of the consequences of disrespecting any member of the royal family.’

A shrill cry escaped Lady Meredith before she slumped to the ground beside the Marquess, who stepped aside with a look of annoyance while his steward and other nobles carried the unconscious young woman away.

Eleanora stared after the fallen lady-in-waiting with a smug look of satisfaction before lifting her empty glass for Lady Evelynn to refill.

“Your Majesty, please—spare my family!” Stafford pleaded, looking rather close to fainting himself or on the verge of vomiting onto the ground he now cowered above.

“If you would spare them the disgrace and burden of your folly, then my lord is free to seek an honorable death here on the field of battle,” Nicholas retorted mercilessly, with an irritated glance at his wife’s freshly filled cup. “Only an honorable death or victory will expunge the debt.”

“Your Grace,” Coldwell implored as he directed his attention to the Duchess. “This is little better than a death sentence. Surely—you’ve made your point.”

“If my point were clearly made, then my lord would not waste his time asking for mercy,” Carina retorted with a cruel smile that belonged as much to her as the immortal ice witch relishing the nobles’ frustration within her.

The Earl sighed, then hung his head in defeat before offering the Duchess and royal couple a bow as he retreated from the ring.

Lord Stafford struggled to remain upright as he rose to his feet. Nicholas flicked a disinterested gaze over the pale nobleman as he pulled a pocket watch from his jacket and scowled at the time. “Let’s get on with this, shall we? The mornings half-wasted already.”

Carina laced her fingers together tightly as one of Borghese’s stewards brought over a longsword for the trembling Viscount. The servant appeared to utter something to Stafford, which the noble responded to with a sluggish nod of acknowledgment. Her gaze returned to the Knight Captain, who had removed his cloak, which he folded and draped over the rope barrier. She followed his gloved hand as Beaumont raised it to the dragon-steel blade he carried.

The Knight Captain had barely teased the longsword from its scabbard when a subtle ripple of power rolled through the earth beneath Carina’s feet.

‘Ahaha!’ Kirsi laughed victoriously. ‘Behold the power of Minerva’s heir. That sword is both lock and key to his awakening.’

The Duchess glanced at the nobles around them, who appeared undisturbed by the already receding presence of magic—except for the witch nobles gathered around Lord Percy, who eyed the Knight Captain as he drew his sword with sudden suspicion.

The two combatants turned to face each other. Stafford appeared to find his nerve as he gripped the longsword tightly and held it between them. The Prime Minister signaled to a royal steward, who sharply blew one of the hunting horns to start the match.

Beaumont remained in the same spot as Stafford circled around him with his wobbly blade. When the Viscount finally stepped in to attempt a strike, a single counter from the Knight Captain’s blade was all it took to knock the noble’s weapon to the edge of the ring.

Mocking laughter and murmurs of disapproval mingled through the audience as Stafford scrambled away, clinging to his right hand with gasps of pain as the captain followed steadily behind him.

Carina leaned forward uneasily in her seat as she watched the Viscount attempt to pick up his sword, only to drop it again with a sob. ‘His wrist is either sprained or broken. He must have gripped the sword too tightly when Beaumont disarmed him.’

“Your Majesty,” Marquess Borghese called out in a resigned voice. “It would appear that Lord Stafford is too injured to retrieve his blade, much less continue the match.”

“What? Already?” Nicholas protested, shooting his bodyguard a reproachful glare. “Very well. Viscount Stafford, it would seem you have a decision to make. You can either die an honorable death—or face a lifetime of disgrace and humility with your family.”

The Duchess clenched her jaw as she watched the Viscount attempt once more to pick up the longsword. He managed to leverage it between his left hand and right arm, only for Beaumont to knock the blade free once more with a flick of his dragon-steel blade. The Knight Captain stepped on the blade as Stafford fumbled to retrieve it once more. The Viscount scrambled away and watched with visible despair as Beaumont kicked the sword outside the ring.

Carina barely heard the wind blow across the matted dusty grass. She watched as the crestfallen nobleman slumped to his knees, then slowly—hesitantly, removed his helmet.

“Your Majesty,” Stafford called out hoarsely. “I am defeated.” The Viscount turned his gaze to where Borghese and Earl Coldwell watched him from beyond the rope barrier. “Marquess, please—look after my family.”

The acting head of the Royal Faction pursed his lips but offered the doomed nobleman a nod of acceptance.

A flicker of relief lit up Stafford’s face that vanished the moment his gaze returned to the Knight Captain that loomed above him. “Please—make it quick.”

Beaumont pushed back the heavy folds of his coif and then tapped his sword against the Viscount’s shoulder. The Knight Captain then turned his gaze to Nicholas, who sighed before waving his hand permissively. The giant’s violet eyes then sought out Carina’s as the Duchess’s fingers dug into the hard wood of the chair she clung to.

The scene playing out before her was not entirely unexpected. Nor were the similarities to Maura’s sad fate entirely unreasonable, given the similar setting and executioner. The Duchess’s fingers slid across the mahogany wood as her palms broke out in a cold sweat.

‘You actually feel sorry for him?’ Kirsi muttered tauntingly. ‘The Viscount made the only honorable decision he could. At least he had enough integrity to protect his family from his blunder.’

‘I know! I know it must be done.’ Carina retorted as she steeled her resolve and then offered the Knight Captain a single nod of approval. ‘There is no path forward that does not end in death.’

Much as Beaumont had done in Maura’s memories, the Knight Captain offered his victim a clean and swift demise. The noble ladies who had lingered to watch the sentence carried out swooned and gasped in horror at the gory, messy reality of death.

Carina felt nothing as she watched Beaumont step away from Stafford’s severed head. The knight moved to the edge of the ring to retrieve his cape and wipe the dragon-steel blade clean. The front of his purple and white tabard was splattered with fresh blood that tainted the air around the dueling ring.

The Duchess’s skin prickled beneath the many gazes upon her, both resentful and curious, from both political factions, along with the concerned looks of the royal couple seated to her left.

Carina pried her fingers free, then rose numbly to her feet to present the Crown Prince with a curtsey. “Please inform Captain Beaumont that I will find a suitable gift for him. Now, if you will excuse me, your Majesty, I shall finish preparing myself and my men for the hunt.”

She did not wait for a reply.

As the Duchess turned to gather Colonel Isaac and her ladies, she felt inexplicably detached from everything around her, as if the Captain’s blade had severed more than one soul from the world that day.

♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝♝

Chapter 28 [Part One]: The Penalty of Perjury

 

“Are there any more surprises you’d both like to fill me in on before we continue?” Nicholas muttered as he glanced between the suspiciously amiable Crown Princess and Duchess. Kirsi offered him a faint shrug while Eleanora sipped her wine and pretended that she hadn’t heard him. ‘Not at all surprising.’ The Crown Prince decided to forgo commenting on the Crown Princess’s rather unorthodox drinking habits—for now.

“Well,” Borghese interjected before awkwardly clearing his throat. “We appreciate the Duchess’s generosity. Then—since the matter has been resolved—”

“Oh? What led you to believe I was finished?”

The Duchess and Marquess both looked at him with apparent confusion.

“Was there something else you wished to discuss, your Majesty?” Borghese replied with a puzzled frown.

“You seem to forget about the accusations that Lady Priscilla hurled at the Duchess without cause or proof in front of the ladies of every household here,” Nicholas replied with a sardonic smirk. “Insulting and falsely accusing a member of the royal household is not something I can easily overlook, Marquess.”

“But she—” Borghese’s frustrated gaze returned to the seated half-blood, “—is not royalty, your Majesty!”

“Do you deny these charges, Lady Priscilla?” Nicholas continued, shifting his focus to the young woman standing beside her fuming father.

“I—” Priscilla swallowed, becoming almost timid beneath the Crown Prince’s stern gaze. “I vehemently deny the accusation, your Majesty. And I have witnesses that will defend my honor if needed.” She gestured quickly to a group of ladies who had gathered beside Earl Coldwell, her voice gaining confidence as she continued. “It was my attendant, stricken with fear after her injury, who rashly hurled such vicious slander. I can only assume her poor choice of words resulted from the many rumors circulating about the Duchess.”

‘Still trying to pin the blame on Kirsi?’

“I see,” Nicholas’s lips twisted into a bemused smile as he tapped his fingers lightly against the mahogany wood of his armrest. “Yet the Prime Minster tells me that the Duchess has just as many witnesses willing to testify that it was you and not the attendant who made such claims.”

Lady Kirsi glanced toward the Prime Minister, who flashed her a reassuring smile.

“I—I can only assume that they misheard, your Majesty,” Priscilla replied hastily. “Or that their bias towards the Duchess swayed their testimony in her favor.”

“Ha!” Rykard snapped angrily as he stomped his cane against the ground between his feet. “The same could be said of the ladies who came to your defense, Lady Borghese!”

“Viscount!” Nicholas cautioned sternly, gesturing toward their host while his hazel-blue eyes remained locked on the Marquess’s daughter. “Lady Priscilla, I will give you one last chance to rectify your official statement. I must also warn you that you are under oath. Any deviation from the truth shall be regarded as perjury. More importantly,” he leaned his head towards her with a cautioning smile, “Since I am the one asking the questions, you should know that lying to the crown can be considered an act of treason.”

“Your Majesty, I must protest!” Borghese bellowed as he stepped in front of the suddenly pale Priscilla. “Your words might be misconstrued as an attempt to intimidate my daughter.”

“I find your tone and suggestion distasteful, Marquess,” Nicholas retorted sharply as his expression soured. “I have offered you and your family leniency to make this matter right with a mere apology. Whether you choose to seize that opportunity or squander it—is up to you.”

‘I’ve humored your obvious greed and entitlement long enough, Borghese. It’s time you were reminded who holds the true power in this monarchy.’

“What say you, Lady Priscilla Borghese?” Attwood pressed in a patient tone as he faced the trembling young noblewoman. “Is there any part of your testimony that, upon reflection, you wish to alter or clarify?”

Nicholas glanced curiously at the Duchess, who leaned against her right hand, studying the Marquess and his daughter with strange intensity. Borghese stepped hesitantly toward Priscilla and briefly whispered something unintelligible into her ear that drew a scowl upon the young lady’s face. When the Marquess stepped back, Priscilla drew herself up and faced the Crown Prince with forced calm.

“Your Majesty, I stand beside my earlier statement. I regret the actions of my attendant but cannot help but pity the poor woman given the injuries she has suffered.”

A murmur of disgust surfaced among the nobles gathered beside the Earl of Hawthorne. Lord Percy scoffed quietly as he glanced scornfully from daughter to father before returning his attention to the Crown Prince and Duchess.

“Very well,” Nicholas commented dryly before nodding to the Prime Minister. “I suspected there might be some attempt to protest my decision or shift blame to prevent Lady Priscilla from taking accountability for her actions, so I asked my Royal Physicians to examine the attendant in question with Viscount Gilwren’s approval.”

Attwood turned and summoned three senior nobles dressed in the gray and purple robes of the Royal Medical Office. The physicians bowed politely towards the royal couple, then the Duchess, and finally, the heads of the two factions present.

“According to these reputable lords,” Nicholas continued with an acknowledging nod to the royal physicians. “It would have been impossible for the attendant to speak, given the extent of the damage done to her throat, before Lady Kirsi removed what blockage she could. Even Borghese’s physician has said that she will be unable to speak for weeks with medical treatment. So you see, Lady Priscilla, I find it difficult to believe that a woman, injured to the point of vomiting up blood, could have uttered the salacious accusations heard by all the witnesses brought forward today.”

“The accounts given in defense of the Duchess were also all consistent as to when Lady Borghese uttered the accusation,” Attwood explained critically. “Which happened after the maid had already fainted. Unfortunately, the ladies who came forward in defense of Lady Priscilla could not consistently remember when the words were said, whether before or after the maid vomited up blood or before or after she fainted. The only detail they could all agree on was Lady Priscilla’s innocence.”

A ripple of understanding passed through the nobles gathered around the dueling grounds as even Borghese grimaced.

“As I said—” Priscilla stammered. “Perhaps they remembered it differently. It was a very chaotic and—frightening incident.”

“Perhaps.” The Crown Prince nodded his head thoughtfully. “But it could not have been your attendant who uttered those words. So the question that remains is, who, in fact, did?” He traced his fingers lightly over his freshly shaved cheeks as he masked a victorious grin. “Perhaps it was one of the other noble ladies present at the baths?”

As Nicholas had predicted, it didn’t take Priscilla long to grasp the bait he so carefully dangled in front of her. The Marquess’s daughter turned her panicked gaze toward the same noble ladies who had gathered to testify on her behalf. The look of shock and fear that surfaced among her supporters, who realized one of them was about to be sacrificed on Priscilla’s behalf, was laughable.

‘Even the most loyal friend would hesitate to offer up their neck in place of another.’

“Your Majesty!” The first of Priscilla’s witnesses stumbled forward, then hastily dropped to her knees on the grass. “Your Majesty, I have committed perjury. My testimony was a lie forced upon me by Lady Priscilla Borghese, who did, in fact, accuse the Duchess of being a witch and harming her attendant.”

❆❆❆❆❆

Carina bit back a laugh as three more ladies rushed forward to confess to perjury, each accusing Priscilla of either blackmail, threats, or bribery before correcting their statement of the events. The astonished expressions of Borghese, Earl Coldwell, and many of the other supporting families of the Royal Faction suggested they had either taken Priscilla’s account at face value or had never considered the possibility of the lower noble families turning against the Marquess’s daughter.

“Well, then,” Nicholas remarked grimly as he glanced from the four kneeling ladies to the two who remained beside the Marquess’s daughter and refused to raise their gaze. “It would appear that Lady Priscilla has been less than truthful, even when offered the chance to correct her statement.”

“It would certainly not be the first time Lady Priscilla’s temper caused her to behave in an uncivilized manner,” Percy remarked, stepping forward to address the royals and nobles. “Both the coincidental happenstance of the attendant’s mysterious injury as well as Lady Borghese’s attempts to shift blame suggest that this incident might have been staged to frame the Duchess.”

“Since the Earl is neither a witness nor a related party, I’ll thank him for keeping his wild accusations to himself!” Borghese snarled as he gripped his frozen daughter’s shoulder tightly.

‘Nothing you say can save her now, Marquess,’ Carina thought grimly, silently impressed by the Crown Prince’s foresight and planning. ‘Not when her own allies have turned against her.’

“Enough,” Nicholas called out, clasping his hands together as he rose from his chair to face the cornered father and daughter. “Lady Priscilla, my offer of leniency still stands. Consider this my last act of consideration for all the care and support you and your father have given me.”

Priscilla blinked her chartreuse-green eyes in conflicted alarm before wincing beneath the Marquess’s grip. “I—I don’t understand, your Majesty.”

“You may either apologize to Lady Kirsi now before all those present, as agreed. Or I shall impose the appropriate penalty. Per the laws of Lafeara, such a crime mandates a term of five years in prison or, for a noblewoman such as yourself, ten years of solitude and reflection within the church.”

“Your Majesty, I must protest!” Borghese hastily caught Priscilla as the young woman swayed unsteadily on her feet. “Strictly speaking, the Duchess is not a member of the royal family, so the punishment is unjust—”

“The penalty for lying to the crown and committing treason is either life imprisonment or death,” Nicholas interjected with a daggerlike grin. “Perhaps the Marquess would prefer it if I impose that sentence instead.”

A stunned silence fell across the nobles gathered as even the Noble Faction gazed upon the young monarch with expressions of astonishment and perhaps even a glimmer of respect. Carina leaned forward, clutching the arms of her chair in anticipation as she awaited a response from the Borghese family.

“My daughter—will apologize—for her immaturity—and failure to uphold the standards of etiquette expected from a noble of her station,” Borghese forced out grudgingly. The pale Priscilla broke free from her temporary stupor and turned to gaze at her father with an expression of horror. “However,” the Marquess continued hesitantly, unable to meet his daughter’s gaze, “Your Majesty, might we invoke the right of representation in this matter?”

“Your request is denied,” Nicholas countered, shaking his head in disbelief. “Or does the Marquess believe he has a knight capable of besting either my Captain or Bastiallano’s Colonel?”

Borghese clenched his jaw as he turned from Captain Beaumont to Colonel Isaac, then shook his head wordlessly.

Colonel Isaac shifted behind the Duchess as he glanced curiously over at Captain Beaumont with an accessing gaze that was ignored by the, as usual, silent giant.

“Well then, Lady Priscilla, if you would. We still have a duel to get to before we can resume the Royal Hunt. Or should I make preparations for the Marquess and his daughter to return to their estate and prepare for the young lady’s confinement.”

Surprisingly enough, Priscilla looked ready to protest but was caught off guard as Borghese pulled her head into his shoulder and whispered roughly into her ear. The young noblewoman trembled as she shook her head stubbornly, only to flinch beneath some unintelligible threat.

Carina adjusted the hem of her dress as she recrossed her legs and leaned back leisurely to await the puerile woman’s response.

With heavy reluctance, Borghese dragged his obstinate daughter towards the Duchess’s chair. Isaac moved soundlessly between his Mistress and the Marquess, who hissed a final warning to his daughter before departing. “Get it over quickly.”

Priscilla winced beneath his twisting grip, then stumbled as her father set her free and retreated before the Colonel’s warning glare.

The Duchess tapped her chin and cheek thoughtfully as she and Priscilla engaged in a silent battle of wills while the nobles gathered around, whispering ominously.

Nicholas sighed as he pulled out a pocket watch to confirm the already rising sun on the horizon. “We haven’t got all day, Lady Borghese.”

Priscilla glared in his direction before returning her gaze to the dusty grass beneath the Duchess’s boots. Carina let out a weary sigh as she turned to the Colonel beside her. “Perhaps kneeling would be more suitable for this situation? It might even aid the lady in finding the appropriate words.”

Isaac smirked as he stepped forward promptly and forced the noblewoman to her knees with a single hand upon Priscilla’s shoulder. A few murmured gasps of outrage broke out among the Royal Faction. Borghese took a few steps towards them but was stopped by Earl Coldwell, who held him back with a cautioning look and grip.

The Duchess waited until Eleanora had finished her cup of wine, then leaned towards the trembling Priscilla. “It stands to reason that those who cannot apologize for their misdeeds will forever remain unable to recognize their mistakes. And unfortunately,” Carina’s ice-blue eyes rose from the young woman’s bowed head to the Marquess’s cold glare, “those who cannot or will not acknowledge their mistakes are doomed to repeat them.”

“Well said, Lady Kirsi,” Nicholas commented with an amused smirk.

The Duchess’s gaze drifted to where Lord Norley, the strange nobleman who had invited himself to her table the night before, appeared beside the Marquess and whispered in Borghese’s ear. She narrowed her eyes as the Marquess nodded his head submissively in response, then swiftly averted her gaze as the mysterious nobleman turned and offered her an acknowledging smile and bow.

“Well, Lady Priscilla?” Carina pressed cooly as she refocused on the kneeling noblewoman. “Do you still have nothing to say?”

“No!” Priscilla clenched her fists against her knees and grimaced. “That is—I—I was—wrong.”

The Duchess raised her brow and let the silence hang uncomfortably as her opponent struggled between anger and forced humility.

“The words I said to you—were unbecoming of a noble. I—humbly ask—for your—forgiveness. Your Grace.”

Carina smiled as Priscilla strangled out the last two words, acknowledging her title and position. The Duchess then turned to the Crown Prince, who tilted his head questioningly as if awaiting her verdict. With a faint smile of gratitude, the ice witch leaned back in her chair and tapped the armrest thoughtfully as she leveled her gaze with the nobles gathered around them.

‘After seeing Nicholas openly support and back me as Duchess, hopefully, the rest of them will think twice before challenging me again so openly.’

“Well then,” Carina declared with a dry chuckle. “Shall we get on with the duel?”

A surprising number of nobles on both sides cheered with a mixture of relief and eagerness. The Duchess watched as Borghese turned angrily away from the spectacle Priscilla had made of herself. Earl Coldwell and other members of the Royal Party followed him as the Marquess left the gathering.

‘So much for supporting his daughter until the end.’

Carina raised a brow in silent surprise as one of Nicholas’s Royal Knights, Lieutenant Olund, stepped forward to offer the trembling and abandoned noblewoman a hand.

“Please, Lady Borghese, allow me,” Sir Olund murmured as he took her arms gently and raised Priscilla to her feet. Lady Meredith Stafford stepped forward reluctantly to support the pale noblewoman before leading her away from the Duchess and Crown Prince.