He was jolted awake by the carriage going over uneven terrain. He blinked to center himself, clearing the last remnants of sleep. He was lost in thought only a few moments ago about what awaited him. Even as he left the castle he could see the uneasiness in the face of his advisors and Lord Regent. They looked at him with uncertainty. He wondered if that was the same expression he had as well. To call it a meeting was to mock the nature of their encounter. What he chose to undertake was something far more reckless by even his own standards. But Antares felt compelled by what she had said. He knew nothing of her besides what he was informed. And from his extensive look into her conflicts. She fought as she carried herself, with controlled chaos. He saw traces of himself in her. He needed to see.

  “You are awake,” Guinevere met his eyes with a soft smile. “Did I wake you?”

  Antares shook his head, “No. I should not be sleeping.” He turned his attention to the window to his left.

  The last time Antares awoke in a carriage he was greeted with the sight of one of his oldest friends. In the backdrop it was rolling lands as far as the eye could see. Now he awoke with his dear sister across from him. And the environment around him was a dense forest with trees threatening to reach the clouds. The Stygians were not particularly fond of naming things. They believed in the power of names and the energy that it evoked. To name something was to grant it power, and to do such was to make it alive. And all living beings had Will. They reserved the naming of things to places that they would often frequent, which were very few to begin with. And yet of the few times they did name things. It managed to accurately capture what it was they were looking at. So as Antares looked out into the Old Forest. He understood why his ancestors gave it such a simple name. The air all around them felt ancient. Of a time that long ceased to exist anywhere else. His Akashic Eyes revealed to him the true nature of what he saw. And so he looked upon a piece of Aurum, from a time before the Nephilim, before the humans. And even perhaps before the Stygians themselves. A tree he passed caught his eye. Upon it nearly faded, the large claw marks of a once great beast felled by his people. That much he knew already. The first children of Aurum, long had they gone. But traces of them still remained.

  “Antares are you alright?” Guinevere put down her papers studying her brother. His pleasant mood had seemed to sour.

  The young king forced a smile, “I am dear sister. I just seem to be tired is all.” He did not wish to trouble her with his thoughts.

  Guinevere brushed her ruby hair out of the way. A large royal carriage that was meant to sit multiple nobles looked small with her within. Her noble tunic hung slightly loose against her flesh. It did barely enough to hide her large bosom that she often chose to cover. The dark blue tunic was styled in a way to function as both casual wear and use for more important matters—like the journey they were on. The neck of the tunic was weaved with golden threads around the collar to look like paths intertwining. She chose to wear leather boots that she tied all the way up her knightly pant legs. Even as simple as she looked there was an air of royalty to her.

  “Is it about your eyes?” Guinevere allowed her words to hang in the air. “What is it you see out there?”

  Antares took a moment and rubbed sleep from his eyes. He wished to ignore her question but felt compelled to speak. To free himself. “I see the true nature of our world, Guinevere. As I always have.”

  She remembered the first time she had ever heard of the Akashic and their fantastical eyes. A bedtime story her mother, Alena used to tell her. The Akashic, long distant relatives of the Stygians were the true keepers of history, of the world and the words of their ancestors. She spoke of them as neither human nor Stygian, but transcending such labels and titles. Their eyes given to them by the ancestors. It allowed them to see the true nature of the world. How mana lived and flowed through everything. They could see the very Will of all living things that walked the world and see within it their true soul. They were given such power to be able to know the world as it was. So were they forbidden to influence it anyway. Forced only to record the history of it and nothing more. Most of the story about them did not intrigue her at that age. For she did not understand what made them so special. It was not until her mother spoke of how although rare, some Stygians could be born with the eyes of the Akashic. Free to see the Will of all things and the world as it truly was. And unbound to affect it as they saw fit.

  And to learn her brother was one of these gifted, filled her with immense pride and admiration. She had always adored Antares and all that he was. She more than anyone else championed him. But as she grew older and her knowledge of the Akashic continued to grow. That adoration she once showed began to mold into grief, as she came to understand why he cursed his eyes so much. For wielding the eyes of the Akashic meant that you could see the world for what it truly was, see the truth of all things. And nothing more. To her and everyone else she knew, they could never see the world as Antares could. They could never feel things as he could. She could never truly reach him.

  She placed a hand on top of his, “I may not be able to see what it is you see. But know that I am here, big brother. I will never leave your side.” She squeezed his hand hard and he could see her Will giving him life.

  He offered her a smile.

  “Perhaps now that you are awake you can explain to me why she is choosing this place.” Guinevere raised one of her blinds to look outside. “I know there are many roads through the Old Forest. But this one is one I have never heard of. Just who is this Aella person?” she furrowed her brow.

  Antares ran a hand through his hair as he recounted the story of Aella Xerxes and her bathhouse. Of a time when the Nephilim were still bound to the Stygians in servitude. Before Vanaheimr was recognized. Before when they were simply referred to as the Pale Ones. There was once a young Stygian who had lived where they now went. All her life she had lived on the edge of worlds. Too far to hear the words of her ancestors. Where they go, is where her family came to serve those who guarded over the Pale Ones. They were soon put to work, running a small bathhouse that was built out of the way. Rarely was it traveled except for the Stygian warriors who patrolled the area. Few warriors cared to come this far southeast for there was no glory to be had here. The Old Forest was forsaken for its unpredictable nature. But still Aella and her family proudly served. For they believed their bathhouse could soothe the aching bodies of those who fought to protect them.

  But in time who came to visit the lonely bathhouse were Pale Ones. Servants forced to trek the long arduous journey through the wilderness. Often they would reach their doors battered and broken. Such a sight gave Aella much cause for concern. She was taught these things were abominations unfit to be seen as equal. And still in their state they showed her kindness and respect.

  Over the years Aella would come to learn much about the Pale Ones and their culture. They were so different and yet she recognized so much of her own ways within theirs. Her relationship with them had grown so much that she considered herself their allies. And on the rare occasions Stygians warriors would pass through she would hide the Pale Ones from their wrath.

  Antares took a moment, remembering the rest of the story. It had been sometime since he heard it. A passing tale told to him during his ritual to become a Lord of War. At the time he did not care for it—there was much back then he did not care for. But now he began to understand the value in the story. A thin smile escaped the corner of his lips.

  “Why did you stop? What is wrong?” Guinevere was engrossed in the story but signs of concern were littered across her face.

  Antares shook his head, “Nothing, forgive me. I remembered something unpleasant.” He cleared his throat, “Where was I?”

  The young princess raised an eyebrow but allowed the moment to pass, “You spoke of Aella’s betrayal. As she met with the Nephilim, or rather the Pale Ones.”

  Antares wagged his finger, “What Aella did was not betrayal. At least not yet.”

  “How can you say that? She sheltered their kind knowing what the penalty was. What they had done, the abomination they had become.”

  The king shrugged, “It is as you say. And yet despite all that, she continued. She and her family were not paid any more than the expected amount. They were not given gifts or anything of the sort. In fact as the height of violence continued to rise and the danger that came with it. Of all the bathhouses that operated between the edge of the Old Forest and the valley that separates Iliad and Vanaheimr. Only one remained open. Aella’s Bathhouse. She truly cared for them.” There was a twinkle of admiration in Antares' eyes.

  Guinevere crossed her arms in defeat, “Then if that is not her betrayal what is?”

  Antares sat up, “Do you remember where the Nephilim first rebelled from?” he asked his sister.

  “In The Valley of the Hunt, where Hightower is found. Everyone knows this.” The princess nodded her head remembering the tale.

  He shook his head, “I asked where they first rebelled from. Not where the first Stygian lord was felled.”

  Guinevere paused for a moment, taking in his words. She replayed the story in her head over and over. It was a tale that was known to all who lived in Aurum. Certainly none more than the Stygians had committed it to memory. Of how the Nephilim struck first against them in Hightower. Slaughtering all Stygians who lived in the ancient city in a single night. Women and children included. A dissent like that which was so recklessly started should have been snuffed out within a mere a day. But it continued, and it raged on until it was a total war between both sides. Until it was a complete rebellion. In her younger years Guinevere had always wondered why the conflict had become so challenging, and dragged on for as long as it did. The Stygians along with their human allies overwhelmed the Nephilim and despite that, victory was nearly lost so many times. But she did not understand how Aella was a part of it all.

  “Allow me to assist you dear sister. Let me ponder this question to you.” Her king spoke to her, “Imagine that there was a girl who lived in a mystical old forest, far away from everything. So far away that her own people perhaps had forgotten she existed. Her only friends were the slaves her people warned her about. Now what if these slaves told her of the horrors that were inflicted upon them by her kin. What if they showed her the scars upon their flesh. The boils and pus riddled cuts across their body. What if they regaled her with stories of freedom and sovereignty. What if day by day, fewer and fewer of them returned. And she no longer had the strength to think they lived. What do you think this girl would do Guinevere?”

  Her eyes widened at the revelation she gleaned from her brother's questions. For a long time what troubled her and nearly all of her kin about the rebellion was how long the Nephilim held out for. So many Stygian and human lives were lost in the valley and within the Old Forest. She never understood how it was possible that the Nephilim maneuvered so well. How many times they managed to attack them from all sides without so much as alerting them to their presence. But now as the carriage trotted along calmly. The truth of it all laid out bare in front of her. And with this knowledge, that is not where Guineveres mind went. She gripped the papers she held in her hand tightly, ripping some of them. There was a budding rage that began to grow from within her. A kind of violence that she rarely displayed. Only once before had Guinevere been embarrassed. She swore to herself that she would never let it happen again. That she would never be toyed with, by her of all people. But the truth she learned about Aella opened her eyes to an even more darker, sinister conclusion. About an adversary she had grown familiar with.

  “She knew. She always fucking knew how to win?” Guinevere spoke through gritted teeth. She felt her blood begin to boil.

  Antares placed a hand on top of hers, his cool touch calming her slightly. “It is as she said in her letter. She is not beholden to history. She had no cause to repeat it. She never truly wished to defeat you.”

  “But I have lost so many men in conflict with her!” a rare flash of rage in the eyes of the king's general. “So many good men. From good homes. Five years we fought to claim Hightower and the Queen of the Nephilim could have ended it at any time?”

  Antares held her gaze, “I am glad she did not. I am glad she did not take you from me.”

  As much as Guinevere detested Enrieta. She had always found a piece of her in awe of her battle intellect. Over the last five years their battles had grown harsher, as the conflict continued to drag out. But through it all Guinevere acknowledged the strength she possessed. One that she thought could rival her brothers. But as she sat in the carriage filled with rage. She quickly realized Enrieta’s intellect was one that already rivaled her brothers. To have toyed with her for so long. To know the story of Aella and how the road to the bathhouse gave little resistance into Stygian territory. A forgotten road, a weakness. One that was exposed for so long. A great sense of shame washed over the young knight. Such an oversight was unlike her, she could not bring herself to meet her king's gaze.

  “I have fai-” she began.

  “I will not allow you to utter those words.” Antares commanded. “There was no way for you to know. The story of Aella’s Bathhouse is one only known by Lords of War and I would assume any Nephilim who descended from those who knew Aella.”

  Guinevere calmed herself, choosing to listen to her brother's words. He was right, there was no way for her to know such a crucial piece of information. But she knew it did not matter, the elders would not accept such statements. They would continue to look down upon her and her abilities. Once again she had proven to them her shortcomings. She wondered if she could ever truly stand next to Antares. Such a dream now faded even further into obscurity. She held back tears.

  “T-Then why do you have that concerned look on your face?” she forced herself to move the conversation along.

  Antares rubbed his chin, “Well you see. Although it is true had she used the road from the bathhouse she could have easily decimated your forces. But she did not. In fact she did not so much as send a raiding party to disrupt your camp. She could have done so countless times before you would have ever known where the attacks originated from.”

  Guinevere focused on his words, “Any surprise attack like that I would have relayed word back to the king's council.”

  “I have no doubt you would,” began Antares. “Which is why such news would reach Mashu Hursag. And they would have sent a Lord of War or four to Aella’s Batthouse.”

  The thought of seeing a Lord of War ran shivers down her spine and cooled whatever anger she still held onto. She had only ever seen one in its true form once. A memory seared into her brain. The ivory featureless mask that seemed to carried a thousand faces and none at all. The sunset eyes cold and distant devoid of any familiarity. And the long flowing void-dark hair that contained so little stars within.

  “Perhaps Enrieta knew of this and held off on the matter?” Guinevere suggested.

  Antares softly shook his head, “Perhaps. But how would the Queen of the Nephilim be aware of the movements of the Lords of War?”

  “She would not,” Guinevere answered.

  “She could not,” Antares confirmed, “Unless…”

  Guinevere dared not finish the thought her brother proposed. To utter such a thing would mean death. Even for a royal no less. It was a thought that stood on the furthest reaches of the collective unconscious of the Stygian people. None would think it possible, none would even attempt to entertain the idea. For it would be inconceivable, to believe a Lord of War would work with a Nephilim.

  “Then is that why she chose this place?” Guinevere asked through baited breath, “Does she mean to tell us that there is an Aella within our midst's? That there is one among us that is traitor?”

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  “We are here my king and princess!” the carriage man bellowed from above.

  His voice startled Guinevere who was all tense because of their conversation. Antares gave her a smile and opened the door. A cool breeze filled the inside of the carriage.

  “I believe so.” Antares offered a cold smile. “But Guinevere I find your thinking slightly narrow.”

  “What do you mean?” She opened her side door.

  There was a twinkle in his eye, "Why, what indication has she given that her Aella is one person or two? It could very well be an entire realm. Who knows how many secrets the Queen of the Pale Ones knows?”

  Antares took in the afternoon air. It had taken them two days to reach the bathhouse. Ordinarily it would have been three, but they rode on horseback half way and a carriage sent by Typhon from the shore city of Larsa carried them the rest of the way. The air was still and peaceful. A single long dirt road cut in between a forest of magnificent trees. Sunlight only managed to make its way through the dense branches in some spots. It was a beautiful place Antares thought. The tranquility and serenity of it all reminded him of the trees found in the Storm Islands. He breathed in the earth and felt the heartbeat of his Iliad, of Aurum. His mood lightened. He did not even allow the sight of Serghei Koshkavev Zxyphor growling at him from the other side of the road to dampen his feelings.

  “That man does not seem happy to see me.” Antares pointed at Serghei, making sure he was aware.

  “That is Serghei Koshkavev, King Consort of the Queen.” Guinevere furrowed her brow. “He is a ruthless monster. More akin to a beast than a man.”

  “I take it you have crossed blades?” Antares asked.

  “Unfortunately.” Guinevere recalled the claw marks once received on her back from the man across from her. “Besides that. Do you believe what you say? That we are betrayed by an entire realm?”

  “I mean to find out.”

  Antares pulled at the collar to his royal attire. He chose to wear something of a refined darker silver. Such a striking color was not common so he cut an otherworldly appearance. His black pants were accented with black shoes not designed for use outside the castle. Something he quickly regretted wearing upon leaving his home. Nevertheless the air of superiority the king carried was envious and so he and his general crossed the road towards Serghei and Aella’s Bathhouse behind him.

  “The letter said to bring only one other.” Serghei growled at Antares.

  “Watch your tone, foul beast.” Guinevere interjected, stepping in between Antares and Serghei. “You would do well to remember you address the King of Iliad.”

  “Great knight I did not think you would be so honorless.” A hint of disgust oozed out of his words.

  “Serghei enough!” a loud voice yelled out from within the structure.

  Antares' eyes followed to the bathhouse. It was less commanding than he had thought. It looked ancient and rotting. Its sign was no longer legible and the wooden exterior had depressed as though the weight of time was too heavy to carry. The door was crooked and there were no windows on the outside. From where he stood it looked like the entrance to an old ale house. One that had not been used in well over a century. Anyone who would have passed here would not bother to stop for thinking the place abandoned. But Antares knew that was not the case, he could see within that there were three people. And his interest was most intently on the one that approached. As the sliding door opened, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The breeze that was once soothingly present stopped immediately. There was a growing silence that emerged from the person who stood within.

  Enrieta Zxyphor exited the bathhouse with such grace. Upon laying eyes on her for what he believed to be the first time. Antares noted just how much taller she was than him. In fact the Queen of the Nephilim nearly towered as tall as Guinevere herself. Even in her royal garments he could tell she had a slender frame. But that could not hide such a shapely figure. She wore a blouse as bleached as her skin. It left little to the imagination as to what was underneath, for the right breeze would reveal her breasts. Dark maroon pants were her weapon of choice. Laced all the way down to slender legs. Such casual wear Antares thought, as though she was merely going on an eventful outing. The young king looked up to her face. And atop her head was a large hat that had a red flower sprouted on top. The hat was so big it looked to cover her entire face in darkness, except for ruby dots where her eyes would be. A sweet lilac scent filled the air.

  Enrieta raised her head and her whole face was visible. Antares had met Nephilim before, some on the battlefield and others in the pleasure houses of Kish. He had always found them uninteresting. They seemed more focused to make it a point how different they were to Stygians, whether it was in how they dressed or how they carried themselves. Often displaying their emotions at the quickest opportunity of provocation. Just as Sergehi Koshkavev did so moments earlier. But not Enrieta Zxyphor. In fact to his own slight embarrassment he was not expecting her to be so beautiful. Such an exquisite and sharp jawline with an even sharper nose. Her skin was porcelain white, such a rare and ethereal color. Her thick white lashes naturally curled like waves. No light shone through her dead eyes. Rubies devoid of all spark. Even though she was looking at him, It was as though she looked past him. At something just slightly beyond him. All this tied together with such a lovely smile, for even a fang was visible. And still, despite her welcoming appearance, he could see such staggering malice was bubbling just beneath the surface. King Antares was smitten.

  “Please forgive him, King Antares. He is particular about rules.” Enrieta bowed, much to the shock of Serghei Koshkavev and Guinevere.

  “No please. His anger is justified. Your letter was very specific, Queen Enrieta.” Antares bowed returning the courtesy—kissing her hand. The coolness of his lips surprised her more than his action.

  Enrieta looked upon the King of the Stygians once more. As she waited she thought a great deal of how he would look. She recalled the songs the bards sang as they recounted his tales. And even of the Saga Tellers that spoke of his deeds. In her mind the king that she would meet today was a herculean of a man, who towered over the battlefield. He wielded a great spear that skewered all who dared come close. A warrior unlike any other. One who was blessed by mana itself to be wielded with such expertise. The title of master given to one so young. That is what she expected. But as King Antares raised his head again, what she saw was something far greater than any bard could do justice in several lifetimes. His beauty was bewitching. His facial features were both masculine and feminine. The finesse in which he carried himself seemed otherworldly. His mahogany skin glowed even in the middle of day. Within his hair he held the very cosmos. Sparkles of starlight barely managed to escape the sea of darkness they drowned in. But of all of him that she found most exquisite. It was his violet-titian eyes covered in dark grey thunderstorms that held her attention. Such eyes, such eyes she could never forget. Queen Enrieta felt sad.

  The four of them continued to exchange awkward pleasantries before they made their way inside. Unlike the exterior, the interior of Aella’s Bathhouse was in much better condition. Wooden walls and stone baths were kept clean and pristine. Tapestries of Stygian legends covered the walls. Each one depicted a great battle that was lost to time. As they passed them, Enrieta asked Antares if he knew the stories to any of them. Upon inspecting them, he recognized a few. And at request from the Queen, Antares regaled them with a short summary of what he knew.

  The relaxed atmosphere unnerved Guinevere. What she knew of Serghei Koshkavev was a wild beast who roamed the battlefield corrupted by bloodlust. As intelligent as he was ruthless. He had claimed more than a hundred of her best men over the years, and he had lost ten times that, trying to kill her in single combat. But there he stood next to her tame. Listening intently as her brother spoke. And in front of her walked the Queen of the Nephilim and her greatest adversary. For five years they were locked in battle, as each subsequent clash grew bloodier and bloodier. The hatred between them grew until it was scarcely contained. There was no enemy Guinevere regarded as more dangerous than Enrieta Zxyphor. And yet here she laughed along with her brother. Under this new light she looked foreign to her. She looked human.

  “Your talents are wasted as king, you would make a great scholar.” Enrieta led them through the last hall into the main area of the batthouse.

  Antares dismissed the thought with a grin, “I read for pleasure. Anything more and I would lose interest.” They exchanged another laugh.

  “Welcome King Antares.” A woman called out behind them.

  They all turned to see an older woman along with a younger one next to her. They introduced themselves as Meredith and Magdalene Redwood. Meredith the older woman, stepped forth bowing low. She proceeded to explain as to how she and her daughter came into possession of the bathhouse. But Antares stopped her on account that he was already aware of how that came to be. And he saw no issues with the matter. The old woman bowed again deeply, thanking him for his kindness and understanding. Before taking their leave, she pointed out that all rooms were empty and they were free to use whichever one they liked.

  “Now then,” Enrieta began. “Will you follow me?”

  Antares nodded. As he followed, Guinevere stopped him reflexively.

  “Have no fear Guinevere,” Enrieta smiled. “Your king is no danger.”

  The sound of her saying her name made Guinevere’s skin crawl. Antares patted her hand, “It is alright sister. I will be fine.”

  She acknowledged his words and let go.

  “Serghei, keep little Guinevere entertained.” Enrieta waved off and went down a path with Antares following behind.

  Serghei and Guinevere exchanged awkward looks at each other. And both warriors moved to stand on opposite sides, resigned to the silence and their thoughts.

  Enrieta opened the door to one of the chambers and Antares followed in after her. It had been some time since Antares found himself in a bathhouse. Prior to his return to Castle Xerxes. His living arrangements in Kish during his exile did not offer him such luxuries. A bucket in the corner of a small room was the most he was afforded. But even he was impressed by the large scale of the chamber. Benches lined either side of the room with streams that ran parallel to them. Wooden dividers separated the benches into sections of five on all three sides of the room. But what caught his eye was the large pool that was placed at the center. Its crystal clear waters lay still as the steam rose above it. Along the edges of the pool, a plate of fruits and a wine bottle with two chalices were placed carefully. Antares turned to Enrieta ready to comment on the room.

  “It is quite a love-” He was interrupted at the sight of the Queen of the Nephilim stripping before him. The young king turned his back in respect.

  Enrieta slowly lowered her pants, “Sorry you stopped talking, did something happen?” she looked back slightly, amused at his reaction.

  Antares focused on the decorations on the wall, “I was just admiring the design of the room.”

  “Splendid is not?” she removed the last of her garments and walked over to the bench to clean herself. “Even after all these millennia, as it passed through the care of so many.” She sat down nude and began to clean herself with the stream.

  “I wonder how many like us have walked these halls.”

  She stopped to look at him, “Like us?”

  “Monarchs,” he began.

  “I doubt any have. But if there were, they would have undressed already. Unlike you.” Enrieta finished and slid into the warm waters. And rested against the edge of the pool in anticipation.

  Antares let out an apologetic laugh and began to undress still facing away from her.

  “You know you are far different from what I was expecting, King Antares.” Enrieta watched him strip.

  “And what were you expecting?” he asked, removing his pants.

  Enrieta pondered his question for a moment, “Truth be told I am not sure. The tales they tell of you, are of this great monstrous figure. The son of the Demon King, the fiercest of all Stygians. The last of the Storm Lords.” She used a tone similar to the ones the bards used for dramatic effect.

  Antares knelt down in front of the stream and chuckled, removing the rest of his royal attire. His back and his birthmark exposed to her. “We all know how the bards love to tell stories far greater than what occurred. Although of what you have said there is one truth to it, I will admit.”

  Enrieta’s interest was peaked and she gently swam over. She opened the wine and poured into both chalices, “And what truth would that be?” she bit into a grape.

  “I am the son of the Demon King.” He finished.

  Enrieta smiled. Of all the Stygian features known throughout Aurum, from their starry hair to their sunset eyes or ebony skin. What Enrieta was most intrigued about was their birthmark located on their back. Even as she studied Antares' angioma, she still had much trouble believing it was really a birthmark instead of an elaborate tattoo. The detail of it was mesmerizing. A large skull rested at the center of his back. From within the skull and without, a large snake slithered around wrapping itself. It coiled so smoothly that it seemed to blend together with the rest of itself. Upon the scales Stygian symbols were carved into it. The longer she looked the more she believed that the snake was alive. Her attention was further drawn to the head of the snake which slithered out of the skull and began to consume what looked like the sun that was located near the top of his back. It was almost as large as the skull and it blazed with such intensity despite only being a birthmark. As the snake approached with its mouth agape, where its head should have been was only the skull of the viper. Enrieta could not explain how she came to know this, but she knew the snake died in its attempt to eat the sun. Or perhaps the snake had always been dead and wished to devour the sun all the same. Such tenacity, she believed the bearer of this mark echoed the same fighting spirit.

  “That cannot be the only thing the bards speak true.” Enrieta ate another grape.

  Antares turned to her, “As I said they greatly exaggerate my exploits.”

  Antares rose clean and exposed and turned to face her. Although he was somewhat thin, he was quite lean. His physique was admirable. He did not have the body of the great warrior that many sang about, but Enrieta still could not shake the fleeting sense of danger that escaped from his direction. As smooth and clean as his skin was, her attention was focused on the large scar marks on his front. It looked like a giant X was carved into his chest. To her knowledge and that of many, Stygians were capable of healing any injury inflicted upon them with great ease. But wounds given to them by magic or blades made of Stygian Steel often proved a different matter. Those weapons left their mark, and it was of no doubt to her that was the cause of his scar. Even though the wound had healed considerably, it was still prominent. She wondered why he would keep such a reminder on his flesh. As much as the scar interested her, it was only the second thing of importance to catch her eye.

  “Rest assured,” she began with a smile. “They do not exaggerate everything.” Her eyes fixed on his manhood.

  Antares slid into the pool next to her and the warmth of the water coursed through his body like lightning. The journey was long between horse riding and being trapped in the carriage, he enjoyed the rejuvenating effects of the water. He allowed his body to relax for the first time in a long while. The stress of the last few weeks since he assumed the crown had slowly begun to bubble within. The state of his realm was far more concerning that he had realized, and he seldom had a moment to relax as he did now. He submerged himself lower into the pool until only his head and neck were exposed. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

  “Enrieta Zxyphor, what are we doing here?” Antares turned to look at the Queen of the Nephilim as she studied him.

  She passed him a chalice and he took it.

  “Why to converse of course.” With that they tapped their cups together and Antares and Enrieta conversed.