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  The halls stretch long and cold before me; I’m unwelcomed. Light beams from the narrow windows, casting streaks against the pstered walls, yet the halls remain frigid. Nothing could warm this poisoned pce. I’ve walked this path too many times before. My service, my time, and my loyalty to this bastard, unrelenting.

  I need to free my people, but to do that, I need to free myself. One more report. One st war.

  This is it, I will be free.

  My fingers curl into fists at the thought of the maggot spawn sitting beyond the royal doors. We fought against innocent people who wanted freedom against the corrupt, rebels against the tyranny. We cruelly outnumbered them. Clerics, chanters, knights, farmers, all dead. More people will rise, and even more will fall. The line of Hadriel has been defiled. Strayed to ruin by its men. Their moral corruption darkening with each male descendant.

  Yet he makes us fight. Fight his own people who only desire freedom.

  I need to make haste in finding another to repce him. This vulture will be reaped.

  Arathus will be torn from his control. Its people will no longer be ensved by his ferra.

  Ferra, something Genevieve is without. An anomaly. I noticed her ck thereof in the war tent, but when Ester confirmed it, it was obvious. She is going to destroy us all.

  She will ignite the ‘prophecy of Pawell’…

  The words cw at the back of my mind.

  No. Not now.

  We need answers. Stories and folktales of a mythical civilisation of people will not cut it.

  I’ve sent Ester south to his old fortress, the pce once home to our brightest minds. Corrupted as it is, something must remain. A record. A warning for what is to come. Ester will find it. He must.

  The royal guards shift at my arrival, their gazes frown at my presence. One st time. They push open the doors to the great hall, and I trudge in. Decorated wood and marble stretch across the room, its wealth a mockery of the poverty hidden beyond these walls. Banners of prior kings, righteous and honourable, hang shadowed behind new tapestries and gold drapings. King Hadriel would be ashamed of his kin; temptation and the greed of man have ruined his lineage. The air is thick with incense and ale, the indulgence suffocating.

  At the far end of the hall, seated upon his throne, is the man who stole everything from me.

  King Nesseth of Arathus.

  His robes spill over the throne like spilt wine, the dark fabric is embroidered in gold thread and adorned with precious gems. Rings litter his fingers as he taps them against his throne, his expression unreadable beneath his tilted crown.

  One st bow.

  I lower myself, my knee pressing against the cold stone floor.

  “I have returned, my king.” I grind my teeth and bow my head, emotions of disgust and disdain brewing within me.

  “Rise.” Nesseth’s voice echoes with command, his words ced with ferra. Control chanting. The line of Hadriel is the only one that possesses the ability, but it has weakened with the deterioration of the bloodline. And one st time, I’ll pretend that still works on me.

  I stand, lifting my gaze to meet his. He studies me as his tongue searches for scraps within his snarl. The rhythmic tapping of his fingers begins to annoy me, his loathing thoughts seeping from his gre. He’s going to have to try harder to kill me. Sending me to fight isn’t cutting it, not after twelve years of it.

  “You return unharmed…and early.” Nesseth raises his brow, his fingers trace his beard. “Tell me, shall I be gddened or concerned?”

  I tilt my head unconsciously, my tongue wedged between my teeth to disguise my huff. He knew we would win by a ndslide; untrained ferra users are no match for an imperial army. I suck in a sharp breath, simmering my outrage at the unjustness I am forced to accept.

  “The rebellion has been eradicated.” May the cosmos forgive me for my actions. “Men have been stationed in the problematic vilges and are under your command to ‘pacify’ possible rebels.”

  Nesseth picks up a goblet beside him, swirling the contents within, unbothered by the countless deaths he has caused. Because Eiva is our ally? Because Eiva’s nobles keep creating ws that make them richer, and the poor, impoverished? Sending dozens of their citizens into difficult situations, and their st resort is to fight against the regime? More people will rise. A revolution is in the air.

  “And our losses?”

  “Finite, you command a great army.” I don’t hesitate in my words, he does not care for numbers or the strength of his men. He cares about appearance, and in a room full of nobility, he must act the part. He smiles, raising his goblet to the nobles in the room with a crooked smile.

  “As expected of my men.” His smile dampens and he leans forward on his throne. “And my spoils of war?” There it is. His true interest.

  Wealth.

  There is no need for me to mention the wailing children left orphaned, homes burned to the ground or the fields washed with blood. The details don’t concern him; the ‘success’ of war is greater than any ruin left behind. No, wealth has bckened his heart, and greed runs riot in his morality.

  “They have been distributed among the men and the capital, the rest is yours, my king.” His smile resurfaces, knowing full well that ‘the rest’ amounts to nearly eighty percent of the collected spoils. My gaze hardens, and I chew on the inside of my cheek, struggling to keep my resentment from showing.

  Nesseth huffs and sits back in his chair, a smirk spreading across his face. He knows I hate him. Hate this. Hate myself for what I’ve been commanded to do. He knows what I want.

  “You seem displeased, Astarteu.” He’s toying with me. He wants my appearance to falter.

  “Not at all, Your Majesty. My duty has been fulfilled.”

  Silence drones in the room, tension stretching in the air between us like a wound trap.

  Give me what I want.

  Nesseth exhales, swirling his goblet before chugging the rest in full. That cock-spawn is drawing this out.

  He knows why I’m here. He knows what I want.

  I stand straight, my stare firm and unrelenting. I’ve been forced to work for this piss-guzzler since seven. For twenty-one years I have been in service to the king; eighteen of them spent marching, fighting and bleeding for his army. The war is over. I have done my part.

  Now I want what was promised.

  “That it has…Yet you seem quite eager to leave my presence, Astarteu.” He muses, the rhythmic tapping of his fingers becoming louder. “Has our conversation wearied you so?”

  His words are tainted with arrogance and mockery. He’s pying with the idea that I’ll act out and shout my demands, allowing the nobles to despise me without the use of his control chanting. He’s getting weaker in the limited use of what he’s got. I will not shame myself with my rights, it will only cause further jeering.

  “My men are weary, I ask that we leave tonight instead of three moons' time,” I say strongly, leaving little room to interrupt. He sits and ponders for a moment, and leaving him without room to reject, I continue.

  “I assume this would be my st fight, I am due to retire for my service.” Twenty-one years…Twenty. One. Years, and I have only made a dent in restoring my nds. I have worked a year longer than the required time to serve.

  I need my freedom, and I need the trade routes to be opened; we cannot survive the winter without it. Paraman has been kind, but they’re small in regard to Arathus’ supplies.

  Nesseth hums, tilting his head, as if considering it. As if it is not something that was already promised to me.

  “You assumed…”He raises his brows, his smirk remaining secure on his face. “Tell me, duke, do you think I rule this country on assumptions?”

  A low chuckle ripples from the nobles lining the room.

  I remain stoic.

  “It was to my understanding that I run a year over the service requirement.” I keep my voice controlled and measured. I will not give them a scene. They want it. They need it. They need a reason for the people to hate me, to hate me when Nesseth’s control chanting inevitably loses power.

  “Ah,” he exhales, amusement ced within his breath. “A misunderstanding then.”

  The room is silent.

  His eyes preach the satisfaction of keeping control over me. He leans forward in his chair, elbows resting on the arms, his rotting teeth dispyed widely under his grin.

  “You are useful, Caspian,” Lies. “Why would I waste something so valuable?” He sits back in his chair with a low ugh. LIES!

  He wants my death! I will never be free until I am. Will time not prevail?!

  Breathe…I need to come at this from another angle.

  My demise gives him the power to finally put a puppet in control of Arken. A puppet who cannot defy him, fight him.

  I cannot get close to him, after all these years, he still doesn’t trust me.

  I clench my fists at my sides, my brows sinking in anger.

  I let it slip too early.

  Too eager. A foolish move.

  I am a fool. Think Caspian. Think. Though their power has diminished, they’re cunning, and their cruelty has been enhanced. How has war dulled my knowledge of court politics.

  I should have known that being away has sunk deeper and deeper into depravity and greed. I need to become more understanding of his state of py. A chess match. Where I’ve already lost my pawns. I need to work smarter.

  “I permiss you to Arken, but your duty remains here.” He snaps his fingers, and a servant comes to his side with a ptter of delicacies. “You’re due back in a fortnight, we must discuss Paraman.” He takes the food from the ptter and ushers me out of the room with his hand.

  “As you command, my king.” I salute him with a fist to my heart and walk out of the room.

  Paraman…Does he know about the coup?

  I need to inform Pavlore.

  The heavy doors groan as they’re shut behind me, sealing the vulture and his court of vermin in their sheltered cage. The corridor looms before me, more hollow and colder than before. A fortnight…

  Two weeks to govern my nds, to repair and ready them for winter. To secure Pavlore and allies in the coup. To hide Genevieve and to prepare Arken for rebellion.

  It’s not enough.

  Arken has suffered.

  After two weeks, my people will be alone and struggling once more. Nesseth keeps my county weak, it lessens the burden of stretching his ferra use over my county. They may not be influenced, but they’re dying. They have been since my grandfather was named a traitor, and the trade routes were broken, and the restrictions tightened. With controlled access in and out, our economy colpsed, and our resources dwindled.

  My father built alliances in Paraman before his untimely death, alliances that are now Arken’s only support. If this coup is to succeed, we need them. I only hope Pavlore has done his part. If anyone could convince his people, it’s him. He knows what it means to be cast out, to be alienated by his sense of radical justice. A fallen prince makes for a dangerous ally, but a valuable one.

  Hiding him within the knight’s round table was a risk, but a necessary one. So far, no one has questioned his papers. But it’s only a matter of time. If I am to succeed, I need more loyalists pced in the country, the ones I have are not enough.

  Yet, we need to act before Nesseth starts something irreversible.

  Even so, to only have two weeks to complete all of this? Remove the spies in my ranks, gain further allies all before he unavoidably sends me off somewhere else? It's unfeasible.

  And Genevieve…

  A child of the prophecy…

  If the tales are true, then she’s a harbinger for colpse. A woman born without ferra. Immune to it. Rejected by it. Her presence alone might unravel what holds this world together.

  If I kill her, would it spark the prophecy? If I protect her, will I usher it forward?

  I do not know. I cannot control an unknown variable. But there is one that I can.

  The king must fall. And time is running out…

  If he sends me to Paraman, it may py in my hand. I can gather their support. Bring the coup into full force—Crap. That’d mean also leaving Genevieve in Arken, exposed.

  And if the wrong person uncovers what she is…

  Then this world will end before I ever get the chance to save it.

  “Deep in thought, my friend?”

  Aaedan?

  I look up to see the pretentious prince, standing there in all his glory. Arms crossed, and a smug smirk pstered on his face. Why is he here? The assembly has already been dismissed?

  “Reporting is tedious, you would know that if you were there, my friend.” I shake his hand, trying to hide any telling in my expression of my worries. Focus Caspian. Who knows what darkness he has learnt in these past months. Thoughts of her cannot be leaked.

  “Aha! Yes, quite. It’s why I shook off my sve.” Servant. The smug look is a signature appearance of his, but he seems too smug. What is he hiding…?

  Aaedan is another victim of the curse of man. He follows suit in the greed and dishonour of his kin. His corruption dwelt deep into ancient ferra and the darkness it has. The ferra of maehava. Death. He is no man to trust, but I am no fool to reject him. I have feigned friendship for years, in hopes it would keep me alive longer. But he caused sickness to dwell in my heart. He and his kin are doomed to damnation, and they will bring my people with them.

  I will reap this reign and free the people. Then I will join my men in death, where I belong.

  “Well, I have no doubt my father wants to see me.” He pats my shoulder as he walks past me, journeying down the cold corridor. A casual shoulder pat? His tell…He’s hiding something.

  Is it to do with Paraman?

  I brew on my thoughts with heavy steps, the corridor narrowing as I make my way to the ravencotes. I’ll send word to Ni—

  I stop.

  There, standing before the great woven tapestry of names, is her.

  Genevieve.

  Where is Mandell?

  She stands alone and unguarded. Once again staring bewildered at something so normal, so known. As if her confusion and inexperience stem from never leaving the comfort of her home, as if she’s been sheltered in only knowing her immediate surroundings. She confuses me…But she’s still a threat I need to pacify. If I am to gain any insight into her and the prophecy before Ester’s return, I’ll have to get closer to her.