Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
Vera tilted her head, as though considering it seriously.
‘Yes,’ she replied, then cackled, delighted by the flush of fury colouring his cheeks.
‘And really, Floridia? It’s laughable, isn’t it?
I understand it was named centuries ago, but still.
King Florian of Floridia?’ She gave an exaggerated sigh, slapping the wooden armrest as laughter overtook her.
‘Fae have always been so dreadfully earnest with names. Though I suppose all the kingdoms are guilty of that. The Fire Prince, what was it? Ash Acheron. Please. The irony is exhausting.’ She smirked, raising her cup.
‘Well. He’s king now.’ Her attention drifted sideways to the wine she still refused to drink. ‘And where is your queen, by the way?’
‘Resting.’
Vera’s smile deepened into something slow and knowing. ‘And your daughters?’
The king said nothing. Instead, he asked, ‘Why do you wish to reach the Kingdom of Ice?’
She leaned back with a lazy grace, as though the world bent at her will.
‘It’s really quite simple, King Florian.
I intend to burn it all down. Scorch the old world to cinders and build something new, something greater from the ash.
Whether you become part of that new world.
..’ Her voice dropped into something smooth and final. ‘Is entirely up to you.’
The great doors behind Vera creaked open, but she didn’t spare them a glance.
Her violet glare remained fixed upon the king, her wicked smile undimmed.
A few new figures entered the chamber, dressed in the muted tones and plain fabrics of servants, silently arranging themselves against the walls to await orders.
But Vera was no ordinary witch. No, she was something far more dangerous.
She was a goddess.
The goddess of chaos and conflict.
And she knew, with the clarity of instinct, that these were no true servants.
They were Black Lotus.
‘I will grant you passage,’ the king said at last, his voice rough as he swallowed. ‘So long as you do no harm to the Fae.’
‘You’ll help us conquer the world, then?
’ she asked, tilting her head, her voice silken with feigned curiosity.
The king hesitated, his eyes falling to the table as though its polished surface might whisper some clever riddle in return.
Vera knew that look well. He was searching for the loophole, calculating the phrasing that might allow him to honour his word without breaking it.
The beloved dance of the Fae, forever bound to truth and yet fluent in evasion.
‘Let us drink,’ he said instead, lifting a cup crafted from braided leaves and delicate blossoms. ‘To an alliance of witches and Fae.’
Amused, Vera lifted a sculpted brow. She would indulge him. Why not? The game was still young.
She rose with an exaggerated grace, dragging the heavy wooden chair back with a loud groan that echoed through the sun-drenched hall. Raising her goblet, she mirrored the king. Their eyes locked.
He drank.
She stared at the wine a moment longer, then tipped it back and swallowed. When the final drop slid down her throat, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and placed the cup back on the table with a sharp clack. Her body sank back into the chair, limbs loose with theatrical ease.
The king was watching her closely, his expression tight with something unreadable. Slowly, cautiously, he resumed his seat.
‘Is something the matter?’ she asked, inspecting her nails with an air of boredom.
‘No.’
‘Did you think your poisoned cup would be the end of me?’ she asked, smirking. ‘Oh, King Florian, I didn’t take you for a fool. Surely you know witches cannot be killed by such simple means? Everyone knows that.’
And then, quite suddenly, the king smiled.
‘I do know,’ he said quietly. ‘But poison isn’t the only method.’
In two swift, fluid movements, the so-called servants sprang into action. Magic cracked like thunder in the air, the Fae’s magic colliding with Vera’s own as she raised her hand from where she lounged in the chair.
The witch and warlock at her back acted as one, flinging the doors shut with a powerful spell.
The Black Lotus fell at once.
All three collapsed to their knees, hands clawing at their throats, gasping for breath.
Vera didn’t rise. She merely reclined, her fingers still glowing faintly with power, while across the table, King Florian sat very still, his eyes wide, his composure unravelled.
‘Did you know, King Florian, that all witches possess the capacity to wield blood magic?’ Vera mused, her voice light with amusement. ‘It merely requires a teacher, and a willingness to sacrifice a sliver of one’s soul. But then, I’m hardly mortal, am I?’
She observed with cool detachment as blood began to seep from the eyes, ears, and mouths of the three Fae. It dripped in delicate rivulets, a grotesque imitation of tears.
With a single, elegant curl of her fingers into a fist, their bodies collapsed as one. Dead before they hit the floor.
Vera rose with unhurried grace and stalked across the chamber to where the king sat frozen. She leaned forward, placing her palms on the oak armrests, her face mere inches from his. Her smile curved wider, slow and cruel, as fear blossomed in his expression, raw and unmasked now.
‘I might have kept your people safe,’ she said, as if discussing a broken truce, ‘if only you’d chosen to cooperate.’
‘Liar,’ he hissed.
Vera laughed, a silken, delighted sound. ‘Ah, you caught me,’ she said, eyes gleaming. ‘Still, you did try your best, didn’t you?’
‘The Fae will never bow to the likes of you,’ he growled, knuckles white on the armrest. ‘Kill me if you must, witch, but the Fae are legion. They are ancient. They are—’
She didn’t bother to let him finish.
With a flick of her wrist, the slim blade hidden in her sleeve flashed once. The cut was clean, efficient. Blood spilt like a whisper.
King Florian slumped forward, his antlers catching against the edge of the table before he toppled to the floor with a dull thud. Vera nudged the body aside with a sigh, her expression shifting from triumph to boredom.
She turned to the silent witch and warlock standing behind her like shadows awaiting instruction.
‘Find the queen and the princesses,’ she said. ‘Slaughter them. Then set this fucking forest city alight. We march at dawn.’
And just as the words left her lips, the doors burst open with a violent clang, and the symphony of screams began to rise. Sharp and chaotic, echoing off the wooden walls like a twisted aria of death.
Vera smiled.
Right on schedule.