The room's air hung still, each passing second weighed down by unspoken words and eyes narrowing with a palpable suspicion that hung heavy in the air like a thick fog, suffocating any hope of a straightforward answer.

  "You are starting to hurt me, mother" I said in a low voice, the pain evident in my voice.

  "Stop it!" she erupted, her voice on the brink of shattering. "You are not my son, and you know it. I can see it in your eyes."

  "Because they no longer held hate for you?" I asked, searching for some glimmer of understanding in her eyes.

  She stared at me for a moment, and I could see her on the verge of bursting into tears, so I began to walk closer to her. My approach seemed to be the breaking point, as she finally burst into tears, and I held her, her crying head resting on my chest.

  "Just say you are not my son," she pleaded, her cries muffled against my chest as I gently brushed her hair.

  She didn't relent in her crying, and we stood there for a very long time. The air around us slowly changed, and we were like lovers in a very intimate moment, and it felt right.

  "I'm sorry," she apologized.

  "It's fine," I told her, still holding her. "I understand."

  She took a deep, rexing breath.

  "It's funny how secure I feel in your arms," she said, her voice a mix of vulnerability and longing. "My own boy. I wonder what people would say"

  "Then we will create a world where they wouldn't dare say anything"

  Her head left my chest as she looked up at me, her eyes holding a small, genuine smile that seemed to melt away the icy veneer of her usual cold nature.

  "You sound just like your father," she said, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "In his early days before..."

  She lost her voice, her smile fading as she turned away.

  "It's fine," I reassured her.

  "I know," she replied, facing me again, the smile returning, but her eyes were watery, filled with motherly pride. "Your father would be proud."

  "Would he?" I chuckled lightly, my hand sliding down her ass and giving it a pyful squeeze.

  She chuckled in response. "You know what I mean."

  We kissed again, our lips locking in a deep, lingering connection before she gently withdrew.

  "You need to go see the alchemist while I get things ready for the lessons" she said, smiling happily but her eyes had something else in them.

  ┌─────── ??? ───────┐

  Nerissa, in a hooded cloak, came to the witch's abode but found it quiet and the doors closed. Usually the pce is flooded with loud pying children of the city she had adopted.

  Disappointed, Nerissa was about to leave when she saw the witch coming from the side of the ocean banks. She watched as the aged witch swayed gracefully towards her, her movement youthful. She was holding some herbs.

  "To what do I owe the visit from the King's mother?" the witch said. Without a pause, she continued her purposeful journey toward the door, a silent invitation to Nerissa, who quietly trailed behind.

  The room was pitch dark when they stepped in, but she heard the witch whisper a spell that activated the crystals, one chandelier at a time. The room was cozy, with an ornate firepce casting flickering shadows across the plush armchairs and aged wooden table. Four crystal-adorned chandeliers cast light on the intricate tapestries hanging on the walls, depicted knights, dragons, and many old, forgotten creatures.

  In one corner, children's toys y scattered on a colorful rug, including a wooden rocking horse and a dollhouse with softly glowing windows. Well-worn parchment books with whimsical illustrations rested on a low wooden shelf.

  However, Nerissa's calm inspection was abruptly interrupted when her gaze shifted left to the kitchen, revealing a disturbing scene. Three lifeless bodies y in a pool of blood on the floor. She averted her eyes, her reaction devoid of any surprise, revealing a disturbing familiarity with such scenes.

  "What of the children?" Nerissa inquired, her tone calm and unperturbed.

  "Somewhere safe," the witch replied, her reluctance to eborate evident in her curt response.

  She disappeared into the kitchen, casually passing the dead bodies, and came out almost immediately with a gss jar. The jar contained a mixture of amber liquid and small, dissolving crystalline fragments.

  Setting the gss jar gently on the table, she opened it and began plucking delicate flowers from the herbs she had carried earlier, dropping them one by one into the jar. Her movements were deliberate and methodical, as if each action held profound significance.

  "What can I do for you, child?" she asked.

  The Queen Mother hesitated for a bit, gncing around before finally saying, "I need the Moonshadow elixir"

  The witch stared at her for a moment, her expression void, her fingers still plucking then back to her jar. "Whose is it? The king's?"

  Nerissa's eyebrows subtly quirked at the witch's knowledge. One of the knights, perhaps? she wondered.

  "Does the king know?" the witch inquired, her tone measured.

  Nerissa's expression seemed to convey, Was that even a serious question?

  "Right," the old witch conceded, sealing the jar again. "I can't help you with that, child," she decred firmly.

  Nerissa was taken aback. "Why?" she questioned.

  The witch's gaze shifted to the Queen Mother. "Does the king look like someone who would forgive such?"

  "He won't find out" Nerissa insisted.

  "Maybe, maybe not" the witch said as she took the jar and headed back to the kitchen. Moments ter, she re-emerged. "But I'm not willing to risk that for anyone. Not even for you."

  Nerissa never knew the witch had this level of loyalty to the king but she nodded, not trying to force it. As she was about to put her hood back in order to leave she heard the witch ask, "is it for him, or for yourself?"

  That made her pause for a bit as if to give it a thought, then she absent-mindedly chuckled.

  "I guess it's for myself" she admitted. "I like things the way they are now and I'm afraid that this new development might change that."

  Their gazes locked, an unspoken understanding lingering between them. But Nerissa soon realized the gravity of her revetion and hastily cautioned, "Not a word of this to anybody," before turning to leave.

  "One moment," the witch called out, prompting Nerissa to halt and turn back to her. The witch disappeared into the kitchen once more.

  Nerissa strained to hear the muffled sounds of a half-filled jar being vigorously shaken, followed by the subtle trickle of liquid being poured into another container. The witch returned, holding a small jar.

  "For the child," she said, extending it toward Nerissa. "Every night after meals before sleep."

  Relief washed over Nerissa as she accepted the jar with a nod of gratitude.

  It is the right thing to do, she told herself as she left the witch's pce.