“I have no such imperial rights,” Iris said. “Your courtesy is unwelcome.”

  The magician bent down further. Her silhouette shrank before Iris, whom she regarded with utmost respect. She also glanced at Lorient, whose glare pricked her skin.

  “I’m willing to receive my due once everything ends.”

  “Even if it means death?”

  “So long as it’s your wish.”

  “You may scheme against me.” Iris stepped forth. Her shadow extended beyond her silhouette and towered over the magician. “But you tried to hurt my Lorient.”

  “I was forcing her to use your item, Your Highness. I stayed my hands not to injure her.”

  “You changed your plan.”

  “Those two were too incompetent, and you were too powerful.” The magician raised her head. “Please rest assured. We’ll treat your knight with our best care.”

  “All of this, just to discreetly meet me?”

  “Our enemies know all of this world.”

  “What makes you believe I would help you?”

  “We do not desire your help, Your Highness.” The magician stepped back and curtseyed. “We exist to serve you, to crown you the sovereign of this great realm.”

  If not for Iris’s cold eyes, the magician would’ve already prostrated herself. Her polite smile could no longer contain the trembling within her heart; the flaming zeal within her overflowed as a sprinkle of tears. She glanced at Lorient, whose expression turned strange, and quietly chuckled.

  Lorient frowned. She hmphed and looked at her mistress, who returned her gaze.

  “I am not such an important person, Dear,” Iris said. “In this world, I am merely a wanderer.”

  “You’re not good at lying, Mistress.”

  “Maybe I cannot lie to you.” Iris sighed. “But I have no need to answer your question, haven’t I?”

  Lorient pouted then stared at the magician. Although she disliked this Grandmaster who stole her mistress’s attention, she would get the answer she sought, even if it meant forcing her mistress.

  “Once you step into this side, your death will be unsightly,” the magician said. “Her Highness might have been protecting you all this while.”

  “I am her knight, avowed to be by her side, in heaven and hell, in light and darkness.” Lorient stepped past her mistress. She resisted checking her mistress’s expression. “I just want to help her.”

  “It is too soon, Dear.” Iris hugged her knight. “Don’t forget your promise.”

  “No! I won’t—”

  Iris placed her hands over her knight’s eyes and carefully blocked them. She caressed Lorient’s eyelids, which became heavier and heavier. Lorient’s voice faded; her struggle lessened, her mind slipping. She raised her hands to touch her mistress’s arms, but she could not muster anything. She slipped into drowsiness, a comforting fluffiness. Her mistress’s ghostly flesh was soft and tempting. How could she resist this dream?

  Iris laid her maid to rest. A bed made of flowers and leaves manifested to take care of Lorient. She had a sweet smile and a sweet dream.

  Iris frowned when she returned to the magician, who had fallen to her knees, shivering.

  “What do you want?” Iris said. “I may not be able to kill you, but my main body will ruin everything you hold dear.”

  “Forgive me, Your Highness. I was too excited at the prospect of bonding with your knight.”

  “She’s mine.” Iris’s voice cracked. “I … am quite possessive.”

  “Please accept my apology.” The magician took out a crystal-clear bottle containing a wisp of spiritual energy. “This Heartful Spiritual Wisp can replenish your spirit.”

  “Use it on her.”

  “But—”

  “I exist to protect her. The spiritual energy will benefit her greatly.” Iris stroked Lorient’s face. “Within her contains a hint of my essence.”

  “As you wish, Your Highness.”

  “Now, what do you want?”

  “Your side is where I wish to be, Your Highness.”

  Iris stared into the magician’s eyes. They revealed only the purest of desire, the redness of her heart and the brightness of her spirit. The magician blushed under Iris’s intense gaze, but she maintained eye contact.

  “Who’s your true master?”

  “We’re the people abandoned by this world.” The magician’s smile grew fainter like an afterimage of crazed laughter. “We’re forever indebted to your predecessors.”

  “The Five Catastrophes have already fallen.”

  “They are merely waiting, Your Highness. The annihilation of their bodies and spirits is but an inconvenience to their grand plan.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Yet they failed all the same.”

  The magician could not retort; her smile did not change, although her eyes flickered. She looked away from Iris. “Eternity is on our side.”

  Iris did not press further. She walked past the magician, toward the entrance of the warehouse. A translucent film covered the area, rippling whenever dust and winds hit its surface. Blurry silhouettes of the outside world phased in and out, coming near the warehouse, examining its battered appearance, but never entering it.

  “How enviable,” Iris said. “This barrier won’t last much longer.”

  “Would you like to take another Heartful Spiritual Wisp?”

  Iris shook her head. “There’s no point.”

  “She’ll feel sad once she wakes up and finds you gone.”

  “I’ve already given her my farewell.”

  “Is it … possible to arrange a meeting with your main body?”

  “Isn’t your enemy Fate herself?”

  The magician shuddered. “We … are not worthy of her attention; our enemies are lackeys of the Divine Pantheon, not the Supreme Ones themselves.”

  “What if she’s been keeping her eyes on me?”

  The barrier trembled. The shadow beneath the magician shivered, shrunk, and swayed like weak candlelight. The magician distanced herself from Iris but stopped herself. She hesitantly forced her body to move closer to her princess.

  Iris chuckled. “I can’t be the only one, can I?”

  “We’ve found a few and lost more, but none is as brilliant as you, Your Highness.”

  “How did you find them before Fate?”

  “The mechanics of our master eludes the eyes of the world.”

  “Innumeral?”

  The magician instinctively lowered herself to the ground. Her cloak fluttered from her shaking. Her delicate form was on the brink of collapse, tensing, stressing, quivering as if caressed by myriad hands. Her reddened eyes teared up, although she did not resist.

  Iris looked down at the magician. “What’s your standing in the organisation?”

  “My ranking is that of the Full Moon, below only the Blood Moon, the Abyss.”

  “Who is your leader?”

  “The representative of The Supreme One himself.”

  Iris tilted her head. “Where is he, right now?”

  The magician carefully raised her head and shook it weakly. “Only those of the Abyss may know his whereabouts.”

  Iris was about to speak when her body dimmed. Her fingertips gradually dissipated into glowing traces. Her bright, pearly eyes misted.

  The magician wished to give her princess a wisp to sustain her spirit, but that kind smile, that satisfied disposition, they etched themselves into her. She let go of the wisp and waited restlessly.

  “Keep my knight comfy,” Iris said. “And do not approach me.”

  “Then … when are we going to meet again?”

  “I have a feeling that we’ll meet again very soon.”

  Iris turned her head upward. The warehouse roof exploded, shattering the translucent barrier. A pillar of rainbow shot skyward and bloomed into a bouquet unseen by mortals. The sky of Jenkin’s turned pink as if the evening had descended.

  The magician went to receive the sleeping Lorient and found out that Iris had disappeared. Only a spectre of her imperial smirk endured through her disappearance. The magician bowed at the air before she tossed a pile of cards over herself. They multiplied into a rain of black-and-white cards, on whose faces were burning lanterns.

  The cards showered her, concealed her presence, and absorbed her away.

  The winds thickened. An intense smell of icy ocean flooded the ruined warehouse. A blue shooting star flashed across the sky and landed where Iris was. The impact fractured the ground, spreading tides of snow and ice shards throughout the wicked land. The containers and chests filled with dangerous goods froze and broke down as distilled water.

  A lady emerged from the centre. Her icy robe descended from her body to form the branching roots of a wintry tree. Tens of crystal orbs revolved around her, reflecting the past frozen in time. Her abyssal black eyes pried open the darkness of the river of time, and what she found was a labyrinth of cards.

  She frowned. Although she could destroy the film, she decided not to. There was a disagreeable presence lingering around her. The secret she sought, it would be unwise to reveal it so soon. After all, its owner would reveal it in due time.

  “Is this the attitude of The Kingdom?” she said.

  “Please forgive my insolence, Your Grace. The Ten Night Festival is approaching; I cannot afford any oversight.”

  A ray of lightning struck the ground. A handsome man in a grey tuxedo appeared at the spot of frenzy electricity. An exquisite lance floated behind him, radiating yellow streaks of lightning. He maintained a polite, fearless smile.

  “Must I, the Grand Duchess of Frozen Billow, report to you, a mere Guardian of Jenkin?”

  “Thanks to you, I’ve learned that a few pesky little insects tried the same thing again.”

  “They almost succeeded; are you confident?”

  “They cannot play the same trick on us.” The Guardian smiled. “I shan’t take your time any longer, Your Grace. Please forgive my hastiness.”

  The man looked at where the magician disappeared before disappearing as sparkles. His eyes revealed none of his thoughts, only his confidence.

  The Grand Duchess flicked her hand. Rose petals escaped from cracks on the ground. They unfurled before her, revealing kindling ashes. The orange ashes glimmered upon touching The Duchess’s hand. Faint lines of incomprehensible symbols flashed on its tiny exterior.

  It was a familiar sensation, a sensation she had never experienced but which was imprinted on her essence. Faint, yet unmistakable. The mark of the lost dynasty, of the legacy untouched by the Divine Pantheon.

  But this mark was impure—tainted by the foreign world—an imitation.

  “A Monster Girl with the imperial bloodline?” The Duchess smiled. “No. A Monster Girl connected to the successor?”

  No matter what, she was sure she would meet this Monster Girl very soon. Ten Night Festival wouldn’t be so boring, after all.

  …

  Antina carefully massaged Iris’s shoulders, putting light pressure to keep her mistress still and contented. Her fingers tickled her mistress, but she pretended to be unaware of her mischief. She donned a focused smile while humming a song her mistress enjoyed.

  Resting on the office chair, Iris stared at the documents on the table. Her gaze locked onto the portraits of the Monster Girls, the noble ladies, the commoners, all sorts of potential candidates for her attendants and subordinates. She kept searching the pile until a chill came over her.

  She sank into the soundlessness, her mind ceasing those lustful thoughts to concentrate on the alarm ringing in her soul.

  Antina frowned. She held her mistress's arms, keeping her mistress steady, preventing her from rushing out of the chair.

  Iris did not resist. She glanced at her maid and, taking a cold breath, returned her spirit to emptiness. Her boiling emotions, her unstable human appearance, calmed like a still ocean.

  “My Lorient, she’d used my bracelet,” Iris said.

  “Please punish me, Mistress,” Antina said. “However, I cannot allow you to rush over. Their target might be you.”

  “She carried my mark, my scent. All who can harm her would’ve known she’s mine.”

  Iris touched Antina’s hands. Antina pulled back her hands, shivering. Her mistress’s fingers were cold, so cold their fingertips pierced into her heart and tightened her chest. Although that suppressed pressure wasn’t directed at her, Antina still found herself restless.

  “Should I contact—”

  “There’s no need to trouble Vindette. My phantom did not contact me; my Lorient is safe.”

  “Then … when are you going to save her?”

  “Let her rest for a while.” Iris closed her eyes and sank back to her chair. “She must’ve received my blessing. It’d take her some times before she could adjust herself.”

  “She won’t disappear you, Mistress.”

  “She can never disappoint me.”

  “Please praise me as much as you praise her.”

  “Help me draft a letter, Dear. I want to meet up with Kasbin.”

  “For what matter, Mistress?”

  “For our secret date?”

  Before Antina could ask further, Iris touched her lips, licked her fingers, and pressed them against Antina’s lips. Their fingertips slipped inside and pinched Antina’s tongue.

  How could she resist her mistress when she played so dirty?

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