ã€ŠThe Void&#x27;s Throneã€‹


 What Happens In The Sleeping Forest

    Night has dropped blankets of stifling darkness across the lands. It pairs ominously with the unnatural silence of the Sleeping Forest. Though Trivask is rarely frightened of anything, this forest, when illuminated by the moon¡¯s light, always causes the hair on her neck to stand to attention. It makes every cell in her body vibrate.

    The discomfort doesn¡¯t stop her travels though.

    For some reason, Lord Alijah insists that the Sleeping Forest is the only place where tonight¡¯s ritual can take place, and while Trivask makes it a habit to drag her feet when it comes to her Lord, she knows that tonight is not an appropriate time. The bundle in her arms begins to wriggle, so she picks up her pace.

    What tonight has in store for her, she does not know, but she¡¯s looking forward to unraveling some of the mysteries that have been floating around Lord Alijah for some time now. This is the first of his rituals that she has been allowed to attend. The rest she was made to prepare, but never question.

    Finally, she breaks through into the prepared clearing and sees that the Lord isn¡¯t the only man present tonight. With him stand two familiar faces, and two new ones. The men that she has not met follow her movements closely as she approaches.

    Trivask dips her chin in acknowledgment as she pulls down the hood of her cloak. ¡°Tiibawtaw,¡± she greets Lord Alijah.

    The man turns from where he was previously stoking the dull orange fire and faces her. The corner of his lips turn up just the slightest bit. Trivask cannot help but return his look with a small smile of her own.

    Eyes traveling up the length of the man, she also can¡¯t help but think that he looks marvelous tonight. Alijah looks like royalty every day, likely due to the Faerie blood running through his veins, but there is something different about him tonight.

    His hair, normally neat and tamed by oil has been left alone. His dark brown locks flow in response to the wind¡¯s whispers. His normal fox fur cloak has been misplaced along with his usual green and brown vest. Tonight, the Lord stands before her in nothing but a loose linen tunic and brown breeches.

    Standing before the fire, his figure is both intimidating and regal. Had she been another woman, Trivask might have fallen to her knees at the sight of him. Fortunately, she is not so weak-willed, though there were times when she wished she were. Lifting her head, she ignores the sound of the slight intake of breath that comes from the unknown men when they see her face.

    Most inhabitants of these lands have heard of her, as she is the Lord¡¯s most prized treasure, but even then, it seems the rumors do not prepare them enough for what they see when they look upon her.

    Trivask has a beauty that most would call otherworldly. There is something about the shape of her full red lips and the curve of her jaw that drives all manner of people mad with envy and longing. There¡¯s also something in the gleam of her eyes that warns them to stay away.

    Most, when they look upon her for the first time, don¡¯t even notice the hundreds of tiny flesh colored words written in a language unknown to them. The delicate chains hanging from her nose and wrapping around her ears typically distracts them from the script staining her skin.

    But when they do notice it, a look of relief seems to pass over them. They seem thankful that something has marred her beauty, as nothing in the world should be as flawless as she is.

    The Lord walks towards her and rubs his knuckles against her cheek. Had he been anyone else, that offense alone would have been enough to cause her to explode. Instead, it sends a rush of warmth down the length of her spine. ¡°Thank you for coming. You have met Yulon.¡± The tall sorcerer bows his head when the Lord points to him. ¡°Tonight, we welcome Hunter and Regon into our family.¡± His finger quickly moves over his son to point out the two newcomers. ¡°Hunter and Regon, may I present to you, the most precious of all my family, Trivask.¡±

    They too, bow their heads, but Trivask can see the hesitance in them. She stares at them as she lowers the bundle in her arms and releases the button holding her cloak closed. It falls to the ground in a heavy puddle as she holds out her hands, one for each of them. They stare at them, unsure of what to do.

    She drops them as the Lord walks until he is standing behind the pair. ¡°You do remember that I said your loyalty is to be tested, correct?¡± They nod and gulp. Waves of something, thick and somber, roll into Trivask. She plants her feet firmly into the ground, already knowing what the outcome of this test will be.

    She can taste the answers lingering in the air.

    She can smell someone¡¯s fear.

    ¡°Well, meet your proctor.¡± Before either has the chance to attempt to back out, Alijah is whispering something into each of their ears. Grunts leave their mouths as their veins begin to bulge underneath their skin. ¡°Finger.¡± Alijah whispers into the air.

    Their hands begin to leak droplets of blood. Trivask can see the fight in their eyes, but they are no match for Alijah¡¯s control over blood. Not many people are. He cups their fingers in his hand, letting small pools of blood form in his palms before stepping back up to Trivask.

    Already knowing what to do, Trivask tilts her head back and opens her mouth. When the first warm drops of blood hit her tongue, all of his secrets flood through her skin. The Lord comes to whisper in her ear. ¡°Tell me, what has he hidden from me, little one?¡±

    Trivask¡¯s mouth closes as she looks to the man whose blood is now sitting on her tongue. He tastes young. There¡¯s something bitter about him as well. His memories threaten to barge into places where they don¡¯t belong, but her years of experience make taming them child¡¯s play. She stares into his eyes as she speaks. ¡°He has not lied to you about much. Just his motivation behind coming here. His brother was killed when they were children by a¡­ night walker. That is why he wishes to join you. So that he might avenge him.¡±

    She rolls her tongue, savoring the taste. She hasn¡¯t had a true meal in days, so this is like sweet torture melting in her mouth. She turns to her Lord so that she might whisper the last part. ¡°Should you allow him his revenge, he will be yours forever, my Lord.¡± His smile grows as he nods.

    ¡°Wonderful,¡± is his response. He rubs his thumb around in his palm, spreading the blood as he says something again, in his chanting tongue. The man folds like the petals of a dying flower, in response to the Lord¡¯s power. ¡°Pull him aside, Aldon. He is loyal.¡± Trivask readies herself. She practically licks the blood off of her Lords hand, the anticipation forcing her to act before she thinks.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Her smile turns feral as soon as she tastes exactly what she was expecting. The man standing before her tenses as their eyes meet. ¡°What do you see, Trivask?¡± The infamous gleam sparks in her eyes, and that is all the answer that her Lord needs. He takes a step back, with a sigh and a shake of his head.

    ¡°I see¡­ a liar.¡±

    She takes a step towards the man. In his blood, she tasted sour hatred and loathing. In his mind, she sees the exact way in which he wants to dispose of Lord Alijah; the way he wishes to dispose of all the Lords and Ladys. ¡°I suspected, as he was all too eager to meet tonight, but I had hoped I was wrong.¡± The Lord mutters to himself. ¡°Do make this quick, I would like to finish tonight¡¯s activities before the servants rise.¡±

    Trivask nods, all but tuning him out.

    She hasn¡¯t eaten in days, hunger gnaws at her. She wants to enjoy her meal. She wants to take her time, but the burning around her throat forces her to comply to her tiibawtaw¡¯s wishes.

    Eyes locking with the man in front of her, she extends her arm towards him. Hunter, of course attempts to dodge her, not knowing that she can hear every thought he¡¯s thinking. She can see every move before he makes it, so it¡¯s no surprise that when he fakes left, she goes right.

    Her hands grasp onto his shoulders and the man screams when talons that he hadn¡¯t noticed rip into his muscles. He twists as he falls back, landing on his stomach. And before the man can make another sound, Trivask saddles him and rips her talons through the skin of his neck. He gurgles, but ultimately stops fighting her.

    The sigh that leaves her is a soft melody. She looks up to the group that¡¯s watching her. ¡°I love that sound,¡± she sings in her syrupy voice. ¡°It reminds me of home.¡± She turns away from them, as shudders force their way through their bodies. Most of Lord Alijah¡¯s family will never admit it, but they fear her more than death itself. And that is the way that she likes it.

    Wasting no more time, Trivask pulls out teeh?aa s mireeka, her favorite dagger. Then she shreds through the top of the man¡¯s head and removes his brain. It doesn¡¯t take her long to finish eating it, but when she does, she feels some of the tension in her head has left her. She smiles as she licks her fingers. ¡°Ready?¡± Her Lord asks.

    Trivask nods, standing.

    She hopes that she is allowed to take what is left of Hunter home. There is so much more that she could get out of him before his body begins to decay. ¡°Great, did you bring what I asked?¡± Trivask nods and picks up the bundle that she had previously discarded.

    She looks inside cautiously before her hand flies out and snatches up the occupant of the bundle. It hisses in response. The sorcerer takes a step back causing a smile to curl on the edges of the woman¡¯s lips. ¡°What exactly is the use of this?¡± Trivask asks as Lord Alijah walks to Regon¡¯s slumped figure.

    He whispers into his ear, and moments later, the man¡¯s eyes slowly peel themselves open. Trivask often finds herself wondering just how far her Lord¡¯s power extends. From what she has gathered from her many lessons about the history of the Khunese Empire, there are five major families. There is the Louvoe family, consisting of natural faeries. Their capabilities are directly connected to the realm itself usually manifesting in elemental waves.

    The Enarar family is home of the materialistic faeries. They are of special interest to Trivask because of their ability to pull from and travel to other realms. The Jaetrer family is a long line of brute and warrior faeries, renown for their startling strength and tracking abilities. The Maekravri family is by far one of the most mysterious ones.

    From what Trivask has gathered, they were usually employed as mercenaries and assassins of the crown. The final family is the royal one. They have ruled for centuries. The blood of a true Toanc is said to be able to control a person¡¯s mind. Trivask shivers at the thought of such power.

    She wonders what she might give for just a small taste of it.

    Alijah hails from the Maekravri blood line. He¡¯s a first generation magi, something Faerie Lords and Ladys won¡¯t let him forget when they convene during the spring equinox.

    If he had been from any other family, Trivask might very well be able to track his familial line and potentially learn the extent of his capabilities. But given that the Maekravri line is so secretive and that his Faerie blood has been mixed with mortal blood, it would be of no use going down that route.

    Still, curiosity eats at her.

    ¡°You will see. Rise, Regon.¡± The man slowly comes to his senses, and when he does, he fights to scramble up. His legs shake as he looks at those that are still standing. Trivask notices the exact moment that he sees the body of the second recruit.

    His eyes widen just a fraction and dart to her, where he seems to notice the smidgen of blood dotting the corner of her mouth. Before the Lord can speak, he asks, ¡°Are you going to kill me?¡± The woman¡¯s dark brows furrow and the delicate links of the chain extending from her nose clink together.

    ¡°Why would I do that?¡± She questions, her head tilting to the left. It is true that she isn¡¯t completely satisfied with her meal, but she has plenty of leftovers laying on the ground a few feet away. Besides¡­ She sniffs the air. His blood doesn¡¯t smell nearly as sweet at the other man¡¯s.

    There is something about blood tainted by anguish and hatred that makes her toes curl within her slippers.

    Lord Alijah puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. ¡°She won¡¯t harm you,¡± He starts. ¡°You are a part of my family now. And Trivask protects those in my family.¡± This isn¡¯t a lie. Trivask does protect those in Alijah¡¯s family.

    Until he decides that they are no longer worth her protection.

    ¡°Sit in front of the fire, Regon, tonight, you must be cleansed and reborn.¡± Not knowing what else to do, Regon drops to the ground before the fire, his eyes losing focus. He can''t truly complain about the situation, as this is what he wished for. The Lord nods to his son, causing Aldon to step behind the man. The young boy kneels then places his hands on each of Regon¡¯s shoulders firmly.

    Alijah signals for Yulon to step forward, and he does. He positions himself behind Aldon, his hands wrapping loosely around the boy¡¯s neck. Trivask watches, wondering what will happen next. ¡°Come, little one.¡± She does.

    With the poisonous snake still writhing in her hand, she steps before Lord Alijah. Not wasting another second, the man pulls a dagger from the sheath on his waist and slices into the skin of his non-dominate arm. Lifting his bleeding arm over the fire, he chants.

    It responds to him, its flames twisting and dancing and shrieking.

    Quicker than Trivask has ever seen him move before, he twists towards her and slices the hissing snake right down the center of its body, then he drops to his knees and drinks from the dying animal.

    Trivask watches, entranced as the blood that misses his mouth slides down the slope of his neck.

    He takes the snake from her hands and tosses it into the fire, his chanting continuing. The flames roar as they fly two feet higher, their light casting shadows on everything around it. He stands then, and cuts Regon¡¯s shirt open to reveal smooth and untouched skin. The man¡¯s ribs expand as a shaky breath enters him.

    Still speaking in a tongue that Trivask does not understand, the Lord shoves the blade of his dagger into the fire, not removing it until the surface of the metal is red with heat. Then he slices into his dominate arm, and forces the recruit to drink the blood that bubbles from his hissing wound.

    In his eyes, Trivask sees his soul.

    He wants power, he wants strength, and he will do anything to get it. She stares into his dampening eyes even as they crinkle in pain. Alijah drags his heated blade across the skin of his stomach, right above his belly button. Flesh sears as Alijah brands him. Though the symbol is not one that the woman recognizes, she knows that there is dark power hidden within the sharp lines. Trivask¡¯s eyes then go back to the Lord, just as he utter his last words.

    Words that the sorcerer and the Lord¡¯s son repeat back. Screams rip from each of the men¡¯s mouths just as the flames of the fire are extinguished.

    Then they drop the the ground, as silent as the Sleeping Forest that surrounds them.

 The Prince Has Returned

    Trivask sighs as  she hears the soft whispers of the  living veins  rustling above her. She hates them with a passion, but only because they wake her up at the same time every single day of the week. She frowns, wondering how Lord Alijah can possibly sleep through the sound of their leaves rubbing against the posts of the bed.

    Stifling her groan, she rises from the bed, angry that she has to leave the heavenly mattress and silk sheets behind. She yawns as she stretches her arms and slips her feet into her house slippers. She doesn¡¯t want the bottom of her feet anywhere near the terribly icy floor.

    She has half a mind to whine and bounce back onto the bed, but the rustling of the thirsty vines forces her into action. She reaches into the cabinet of her bedside table, pulling out a small watering tin. Walking to the end of the bed, Trivask finds the tail of the plant then sticks it into the tin.

    She waits patiently for the vine to drink its fill of water, and eventually the rustling stops. Sweet relief fills her. There¡¯s something about that sound that just drives her mad.

    After replacing the tin, she enters the washroom and begins her morning routine. Twisting the knob above the counter basin, she waits for the water to fill, then she grabs a match from the bottom cabinet and lights the fire beneath the basin. It shouldn¡¯t take more than five minutes for the water to warm to a desirable temperature.

    To pass time, she picks up her brush and begins to smooth her short mahogany waves. Trivask parts her hair down the middle and smooths the part. Reaching for the ornate glass bottle that sits to her right, she pulls off the stopper and slides the smooth glass stick along the part, relishing the cool and fresh feeling of her hair perfume.

    Next, she reaches into the tray on her left and retrieves a few black pins. After pinning her hair away from her face, she dips a pinkie into the water to test the temperature. It¡¯s perfect. She extinguishes the fire before dipping a face cloth into the water and ringing it.

    Trivask walks back to the bed and pulls the silk sheets down to reveal her Lord¡¯s face. She rolls him so that he rests on his back, then gently lays the steaming cloth across his eyes.

    The mornings after his rituals, terrible aches vibrate through his head, right behind his eyes. Trivask was told that the steam from a warmed rag helps to alleviate the pain. A small groan leaves Lord Alijah¡¯s lips as the cloth settles. ¡°Morning, my Lord,¡± Trivask greets, her voice low and a bit thicker than usual.

    One of the first things Alijah had ever told her was that her voice sounds like a slow summer morning on a farm. He said it sounds like the leisurely rush of a river when she wakes up in the morning.

    His hand finds hers. He pulls the back of it to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to it. ¡°Good morning,¡± He responds. A soft smile finds a home on her face as she rises to continue with her morning routine.

    Entering the wash room, Trivask washes her face and applies her normal serum before returning to the chamber. She then ruffles through their gargantuan wardrobe, pulling out the clothes that the pair would wear for the first half of the day.

    She sticks to Alijah¡¯s usual black tunic and green velvet vest, pairing it with a pair of soft trousers that clip in at the ankle and his favorite brown boots. After pulling her own clothes out of the wardrobe, she turns to the vanity to grab her facial chains and Alijah¡¯s black loop earrings.

    Something that she was fascinated to learn was that higher males in the Khunese Empire wear earrings to signify their royal status and their relationship status. He hails from the family that is third in line for the throne, so he wears three hoops on his left ear. And because he is widowed, yet no longer mourning, he wears one hoop in his first hole and another in his fourth on his right ear.

    Trivask dresses herself in her usual black breeches and a soft purple velvet tunic before fastening her black facial chains into place. After sliding on her favorite silk slippers, she walks back to the bed. ¡°It¡¯s time to wake up, my Lord. Get dressed. I¡¯ll be back in ten minutes with your breakfast.¡± She takes the cloth from his eyes to drop off in the laundresses¡¯ office on the way to the kitchens.

    The Lord lets out a groan as she leaves, sliding the door closed silently behind her.

    One thing that Trivask can admit wholeheartedly, is that she loves the Maelegori Manor. She loves the stone beneath her feet that gets icy when the sun sets. She adores the shape of the walls, made from stone and shimmering crystals that light up when the night¡¯s lamps are lit. Her heart approves of the elegant curves of the sconces that hold torches and the cages that house the oil lamps.

    The arches and elegantly carved wooden doors delight her eyes, and if anyone ever asked her about the gardens, her heart very well might burst. This is among one of the most beautiful worlds that she has ever been to, and one that she wishes to stay in for quite a while.

    Trivask turns at the end of the hall and travels down the grand curving stairs, her hand sliding along the recently polished banister. A delightful smell greats her nose just as she reaches the first floor.

    She smiles, causing one of her elongated canines to flash. There¡¯s something about the smell of bustling servants that makes her stomach growl. The blood of a hardworking and short lived servant is often bitter, like alcohol. Combine that with their fear, and it¡¯s enough to make Trivask see in pairs.

    Continuing to the Lord¡¯s personal kitchens, she drops the face cloth off along the way. Trivask is happy to see that his tea has already been brewed, and a platter of breakfast prepared and covered. She lifts the top and is greeted with buttery bread, half of a grapefruit, and fluffy eggs. She scrunches her nose at the smell of the eggs.

    She isn¡¯t a fan of them.

    Covering the food once again, she grabs the tray and takes it back to Alijah.

    He¡¯s finished dressing when she slides the door open. ¡°I have a meeting with Jona today. I¡¯d like for you to attend. There¡¯s something that I need from you.¡± She perks up. Whatever it is, she hopes it¡¯s going to be fun.

    Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Alijah¡¯s lip quirk up, and knows that it certainly will be.

    ¡°Great. Now, before  you leave, I¡¯m going to need you to add Regon Trivals to the register and get him set up with a room, a temporary horse, and a schedule. He should begin training tomorrow morning. I also need you to have him sent him to me at some point today. Perhaps during lunch.¡± Jona dips his head, his shaggy curls dropping with the motion.

    Trivask likes Jona. He¡¯s quiet, obedient, yet he is also deadly. Those are three of her favorite qualities in a man. And if Alijah wasn¡¯t such a possessive Lord, she might have attempted to lure the training adviser into their shared bed. She believes there is much fun to be had with him.

    The woman winks when their eyes meet, reveling in the shifting of his stance and the flickering of his eyes. ¡°That is all. Trivask will introduce you to Regon tomorrow.¡± Jona turns and leaves without speaking a word. She fights to contain her shudder.

    Oh, the things she would give up just to have one night alone with the silent Faerie.

    She¡¯s positive she could draw some sound from him.

    ¡°Do you remember Lord Helon?¡± Trivask¡¯s brows furrow as she thinks back. Names rarely stick when she sees and meets so many people. She shakes her head. ¡°You met him when we attended his marriage rites ceremony last winter.¡± She starts to think again, and it finally clicks.

    ¡°He married the brothel whore, did he not?¡± An abrupt laugh falls from his mouth as he pauses looking through the papers covering his desk.

    ¡°I often forget that you don¡¯t abide by the same standard of manners that we all do. But yes, he mated with the¡­  brothel whore. I need you to ensure that he will be attending our formal next week. I am owed something, and I have an inkling that he will attempt to back out of our agreement.¡±

    Trivask leans on the desk. ¡°By ensure, you mean-¡±

    ¡°Do whatever needs to be done.¡± She smiles as she reaches over the sculpted wood to place a kiss on his cheek. The Lord grins in response and waves her off. ¡°Off you go.¡± She laughs, happy to have something new to do today.

    The now elated woman makes sure to stop by their room so that she might grab her cloak and strap on her thigh sheath. Then she¡¯s on her way to the stables. When she walks through the high wooden arches, chins dip and eyes divert. No one wants to be the one to catch her gaze.

    Trivask¡¯s lips pucker and her own eyes roll. While it is convenient to have people fear her, it can also be fairly irritating on her side, especially when she wants to share her excitement. She finds her favorite horse and opens the door to its stall, a faint huff falling from her lips.

    The horse stares back at her with its incredibly long eyelashes fanning its eyes. Horses are such strange creatures. Trivask pokes the space between its nostrils just as a voice greets her. ¡°Good morning,  Loinel. ¡± The woman turns slowly, a smile now creeping up her lips.

    Her chin dips in a greeting. ¡°Jona. Where are you off to?¡± She just wants to hear his voice again. While Lord Alijah¡¯s voice offers a certain air of authority, Jona¡¯s radiates pure power. It¡¯s deep and soft yet strong. It¡¯s all of the things that Trivask imagines him to be.

    He cannot hide the smile in his eyes. ¡°Lord Maelegori has tasked me with accompanying you.¡± What he leaves unsaid, is that Lord Alijah does not trust her to leave the good Lord Helon whole. She should have known that he would send someone to monitor her.

    Her eyes roll.

    She had gotten her hopes up for naught. Yet her smile finds her again, her canine catching on her lip. ¡°I suppose I should not be surprised, my Lord has always had little faith in my self-restraint. Lets go, I have something I want to do before the moon rises again.¡± The adviser nods and helps lead her horse out of its stable.

    Then he does something that confuses her.

    Jona settles himself on her horse then offers her his hand. ¡°Pardon?¡± Her brows raise as she looks from his hand back to him and her horse several times. ¡°I believe you¡¯ve saddled up on the wrong animal, Jona.¡±

    ¡°You think I haven¡¯t seen what you do when the sun sets? You aren¡¯t going to want to have to take care of the horse along the way. So hop up, and I will leave you wherever it is that you wish to stay on the way back.¡±

    He¡¯s been watching her.

    Jona has always piqued her interests. He¡¯s the embodiment of tall, dark, and handsome. His silver hair and gray eyes contrast with his brown skin in an eye pleasing way, and the way he always attempts to hide his pointed ears beneath the mass of loose curls has always made her curious about his story.

    But she has continuously held herself back from stealing from him. Her restraint is slowly waning. Trivask sucks on her teeth before accepting his hand. She settles on her horse, her arms loosely wrapped around the man sitting stiffly in front of her.

    If he doesn¡¯t loosen up, this ride is going to be a pain for him.

    The Helon estate  would be considered a shack if compared to the Maelegori Manor. The grounds are smaller, and less meticulously kept. The house itself is made from  wood . Which is absolutely ridiculous. A storm would shake the foundations; could cave in the roof.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Who would decide that such a downgrade was appropriate?

    Trivask dismounts before her horse even stops, falling into a roll once she makes contact with the ground. Not a single servant waits for them outside, they must not be expecting visitors.

    Or they are¡­

    She walks up the steps and strides through the front door, without waiting for her travel companion. ¡°Lord Helon!¡± She calls. ¡°It¡¯s not polite to leave your guests waiting and wandering around your home!¡± Her voice echoes throughout the empty hall, receiving no response.

    Her head tilts up and her eyes close as she sniffs the air. A feral smile lights up her face, the canines on both sides of her mouth exposing themselves. Her gums bleed as they lengthen. ¡°Are you hiding from me, Lord Helon?¡± She calls into the air, her body tingling at the thought of a hunt.

    Just as she¡¯s preparing to give chase, a strong and sweet smell overtakes her. Moments later, the door opens behind her, and the Lady of the house prances through, a dashing young man on her arm.

    She stops in her tracks, causing the man to face Trivask. She takes another sniff, and her nose tingles. ¡°Oh!¡± The Lady¡¯s eyes travel along the length of Trivask¡¯s body, her eyes widening when she realizes who stands before her. ¡°I think I¡¯ve heard of you before. My, you¡¯re Lord Maelegori¡¯s Loinel, aren¡¯t you. What brings you here?¡± The Lady¡¯s hand tightens on her companion¡¯s arm as Trivask¡¯s eyes meet hers.

    Trivask opens her mouth to speak, but Jona is quick to join them, effectively cutting her off. ¡°Apologies for the interruptions, Lady Helon. We are here on behalf of Lord Maelegori. Where can we find the Lord of the house?¡±

    The Lady¡¯s eyes jump between the intruding pair, but Trivask has already forgotten her, in favor of the man standing next to her. He is beautiful.

    His auburn hair is shaggy and sits playfully on his head. His long lashes fan his delicate blue eyes, casting shadows along his high cheekbones. His ears bear no rings and no point at the tips.

    There is something unnatural about his beauty, something  wrong.

    But that is not what has captured her attention. His scent is familiar. It reminds her of something long since forgotten, and it¡¯s tickling at the back of her head and nudging around in her stomach.

    She snaps out of her daze when she feels Jona touch her elbow. ¡°Come. Lord Helon is waiting in his office.¡± Finally taking her eyes off of the man that had not been introduced, she allows Jona to lead her. When they are far enough from the other pair, he asks her, ¡°What did you sense?¡±

    She doesn¡¯t bother questioning how he knows that she felt something off. ¡°That man¡­ He does not belong here.¡± They continue down the hall, the sound of Jona¡¯s footsteps bouncing off of the walls. Her mind begins to wander. If he does not belong in this world, then just where does he hail from?

    They approach a tall pair of double doors, and Trivask immediately starts to bang on it. ¡°Open up Lord Helon, I can smell you hiding in there.¡± She hears the sound of a jolted sigh.

    Moments later, the door¡¯s lock clicks, and the large slabs of wood begin to move inward. Trivask takes the lead, as the pair enter the room.

    Lord Helon stands at the door, seemingly not able to move from his spot. No matter, Trivask makes herself busy examining his desk. He doesn¡¯t have any trinkets or souvenirs, which is strange.

    Most with the status of a Lord visit all kinds of lands. Why wouldn¡¯t one want to document that by bringing home proof of the explorations? She looks up momentarily, and sees that Jona and the good Lord are watching her. She keeps what she wishes to say to herself, for now.

    ¡°Please sit, Lord Helon. This won¡¯t take long, but I don¡¯t wish for you to be uncomfortable.¡± She smiles, motioning to the chair that she is currently standing behind. The Lord swallows, his adam¡¯s apple jostling the tie keeping the collar of his top closed. He clears his throat, and goes to close the doors. Trivask holds her hand out. ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary.¡±

    The Lord¡¯s eyes shift from the door to her uneasily, but he leaves it and makes his way to her. She moves from her place behind the chair, allowing him some reprieve, and settles onto the corner of his desk.

    ¡°We are here on behalf of our Lord. He only asks that we insure your intentions of attending his formal. It¡¯s a mere four days away, and you have yet to announce your attendance.¡± She places her hands delicately on her lap and crosses her legs at the ankle.

    ¡°You are planning to attend, are you not?¡± The man nods.

    ¡°Of course. Everyone knows that when you receive an invitation from Lord Maelegori, you don¡¯t say no.¡± Her brow raises as she examines the man nearly trembling in front of her. He smells of fear and¡­  lies.

    She snarls, standing.

    But just as she¡¯s about to do something she knows she shouldn¡¯t, the sound of light footsteps begins to approach, and her snarl slips away. She sits in her chair, surprising the men. ¡°Yes, everyone knows that you don¡¯t deny Lord Alijah.¡±

    Realization lights up their faces when a girlish, ¡°Daddy!¡± is sung in the halls. The Lord attempts to stand, but the look on Trivask¡¯s face forces him back into his seat.

    A shadow makes its way between the frame of the opened door.

    As soon as the girl¡¯s little feet cross the threshold, Trivask is standing before her, smiling. The little girl stumbles back a step, and Trivask catches her arm before she can trip over the skirts of her too long dress. ¡°Hello,¡± She greets the child, her fangs flashing.

    The girl looks to where her father sweats, and he nods to her. She waves meekly. ¡°Hi.¡±

    ¡°Your father said that you like to dance, is that true?¡± He has said no such thing, but looking at the style of dress that the girl wears, and her red cheeks, Trivask can guess what she has been doing.

    The child¡¯s head nods enthusiastically, her pretty blonde curls bouncing in response. No one else speaks as Trivask asks, ¡°How would you like to take a trip to a beautiful manor. It is home to one of the largest ballrooms in the country and staffs all manner of dance instructors.¡± The child¡¯s eyes light up as she begins to bounce from one foot to the other.

    ¡°Daddy! Daddy, can I go! Please!¡± The girl looks to her father, her button nose crinkling and her hands fisting in delight.

    Lord Helon rises, the refusal clear as day on his face. Trivask places a hand on the girl¡¯s shoulder. Her nails morphing into talons as she fingers the lace at her collar. Her threat is clear. ¡°We could have a lovely little dress tailored just for you. You could wear it to the formal we¡¯re hosting. I could even show you new ways to pin your hair, so that it moves with you during your dances.¡±

    Trivask can tell from the expression that takes up residence on the little girl¡¯s face, that her mother doesn¡¯t often spend time with her. The prospect of learning something new from a woman causes the girl¡¯s foot to stomp and her arms to cross.

    ¡°I want to go Daddy! I never ask you for anything!¡±

    ¡°Come now, Lord Helon. You can pick her up after you visit the manor.¡± Trivask¡¯s head tilts, her smile turning into something feral. She twists a finger into one of the child¡¯s curls.

    She senses the moment that he gives in. Lord Helon walks up, his face hard as he crouches in front of the girl. ¡°Alright, sweet girl. I will come and get you in four days, okay?¡± Her pout leaves her as she rushes to wrap her small arms around her father. "Stay safe, my lily." It almost seems as if the Lord is holding back tears. How sweet.

    ¡°So it is settled. The young Helon will come with us.¡± Trivask pats the girl on her back, breaking the sweet family moment up. ¡°Go with Jona, I have a few words to exchange with your father.¡±

    The adviser, who had been silent for the entire exchange, stands, holding out a hand for the child. Her cheeks go even redder at the sight of him. ¡°You¡¯re a Faerie!¡± She states shyly.

    Jona¡¯s lips quirk up just the tiniest bit at the corner as he walks the child out of the room. She waits until the pair have traveled far enough away. ¡°You will attend the formal and you will be prompt. Bring whatever it is that Lord Alijah requires, or I will slit your child¡¯s throat without a second thought.¡±

    She leaves before he can say anything to her.

    ¡°Here,¡± Trivask demands.  Jona stops the horse, allowing her to slide off.

    ¡°Where are you going Miss?¡± The golden child peeks from around Jonas, her little head sliding through the opening between his arm and his body, to stare at her.

    ¡°I¡¯m going for a walk. Jona will take care of you whilst I¡¯m gone.¡± She pats the back of the horse, and they start to trot off, the child¡¯s head bouncing with the movement of the animal.

    Trivask turns to the beginnings of the Sleeping Forest, an excited shiver running through her. She begins to walk forward. Even though she had eaten the night before, her hunger had returned to her after her visit to the Helon estate.

    Her mind wanders back.

    It was the man that hung off of Lady Helon¡¯s arm. He smelled of  darkness, of  home. Trivask chucks her slippers off of her feet, never stopping.

    The man smelled of something smoky and tangy. She pulls her tunic over her head, tossing it behind her. He smelled of ash and blood. This time, she does pause to pull her breeches off.

    Only once she stands fully exposed does she allow herself to shift. It starts at her back. Fire travels up the course of her spine, forcing her to her knees. Her hands dig into the earth as her knuckles break and rearrange.

    Hair prickles under her skin, until tuffs of sleek black fur finally push their way through the top layer of her flesh. She holds in her grunt as her jaw snaps out of place and her canines push through her gums.

    This transformation happens in the span of three seconds under a flash of black smoke, but it feels like an eternity to her.

    When Trivask stands, she is no longer a woman.

    The creature shakes itself, then sniffs the air as the smoke clears. Something rustles near, causing the creature¡¯s ears to perk up. A low growl rumbles within the depths of its chest as it sets off in a prowl on its hunt.

    When Trivask crosses  through the grand arch entryway that leads into the manor¡¯s foyer, she knows that something it wrong. The halls, which should be cleared at this time, are crowded with servants and guests, all of whom emanate nervous energy.

    The woman latches onto the first person she sees. ¡°Where is Lord Alijah?¡± She questions, and the nervous kitchen maid points a shaky arm towards the doors at the end of the hall. Trivask¡¯s brows furrow.

    That room is Lord Alijah¡¯s council room. Those doors remained locked for over three-hundred days of the year, and as far as Trivask knows, today is not a day in which the council was to meet. She looks at the maid again, noticing her tear stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.

    Without a second thought, she lets the woman go and strides towards the enormous steel doors. She doesn¡¯t knock before forcing them open. The Lord stops whatever he was saying once he notices the shifting of the doors.

    She waits until they close behind her to start questioning the meaning of this meeting. ¡°What in the name of the Gods is going on? There are weeping women laid all around the foyer.¡± Her hands go to her hips as her eyes travel over the five men and singular woman employed by the land¡¯s Lord.

    Alijah pinches the bridge of his nose. ¡°We¡¯ve received a message from King and Queen Toanc.¡± This surprises her. The rulers of Khunese rarely find it necessary to communicate with the ruling Lords and Ladys.

    ¡°Well, what did they say?¡± The faces of the council all grow somber.

    ¡°Prince Tilion has returned home.¡± This is great news. The King and Queen had named Prince Tilion as the acting diplomat of Khunese until his coronation. From what Trivask has heard, he¡¯s a great speaker and decisive decision maker. Most say he will be a kind and just king.

    ¡°Why is this a problem?¡± She asks, still not understanding the long faces.

    The Lord braces himself on a desk, his eyes meeting hers. ¡°Because he returned in pieces, mailed in an ornate iron box, sealed with daemon blood.¡±

 Personal Goals

    There¡¯s something wrong  with the face Lord Alijah makes in that moment. Something off about it. Trivask doesn¡¯t know if it¡¯s the furrow between his brows or the curve of his lips, but something is truly off about this picture. The man rolls his hand down the front of his vest before finally sitting at his desk.

    He sighs heavily as he motions for the others to sit as well. Trivask can tell that this room will be filled for the next few days. ¡°How much do you remember of your lessons on the ruling family?¡± Alijah asks her as he digs into the lowest drawer of his desk.

    The Lord pulls out glass of golden liquid, taking the crystal stopper out and drinking straight from the bottle. ¡°Truthfully, I remember the bare minimum, which is their names and how long they¡¯ve been ruling.¡± He nods, placing the bottle on the table.

    ¡°Help yourselves to the bar, some might require the extra help to get through today.¡± He turns back to her. ¡°The current king and queen have been ruling for 567 years. They were only supposed to rule for 400, but as many here know, it is terribly hard for Faeries to produce offspring with one another. Then there are also the typical rules to follow, like the King having to be at least a hundred years old and having to have served in the royal army for at least thirty years.¡±

    ¡°They were due to answer the calling of  eternal sleep  right after the Prince¡¯s coronation this spring. But as law dictates, they cannot rest until their son¡¯s murder is avenged. And thus, I feel that we will be preparing for war by the time spring rolls around.¡± There are murmurs of agreement throughout the room.

    ¡°We will to go war with the Kingdom of Merablyn.¡± He takes another long sip from his bottle. ¡° And that is when I will strike.¡± Trivask looks around the room, surprised and concerned about the change of topic.

    Lord Alijah is speaking about attacking the kingdom. He¡¯s speaking of treason, and no one here is blinking an eye. Sure, he¡¯s had some radical ideas in the past, most of which are oppositional to those of the crown, but never has he brought up his feelings around other people. Especially not like this.

    He peeks at her from behind the glass of his bottle. ¡°Oh yes, I forgot to inform you that I am not alone in my opinions of the ruling family. Many others feel the same as I do, they are just¡­ less vocal. These are some of those people.¡± Of course he would surround himself with like-minded people. Alijah isn¡¯t someone that likes to be opposed after all.

    Trivask braces herself against the door, her arms folded and her face void of emotion. While she can say that she is surprised by this development, she can¡¯t say that she cares too much about the future of this kingdom, or any kingdom for that matter. She knows it is best to leave politics to the mortals. It is not a game that ends well when she becomes a player.

    Some of the people in the room shift uncomfortably, probably not aware of how close the pair truly are. If she were anyone else, she obviously would not be privy to this information. Growing annoyed with their looks, she dips her head. ¡°I wish you luck my Lord. I must retire for the night.¡± She had almost forgotten about the blood coating her hands and likely her mouth.

    She wishes that she had been stopped by her reflection before coming here.

    The Lord dips his head back, his eyes promising a conversation that Trivask would rather avoid. She nods to those present before pulling the heavy doors open and leaving. Those in the foyer crane their necks in an attempt to get a look at what¡¯s going on, but the woman slams the doors closed as soon as she slips between them.

    She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

    Sighing, she begins her walk to her private chambers.

    Trivask takes a  step back upon entry, her senses immediately being attacked. A ball of striking energy rushes her, its power wrapping around her waist and tickling her nose. She grunts, not sure what her next actions should be. Startling blue eyes peak up at her. She had forgotten about the child entirely. ¡°Hai! I¡¯ve been waiting for a while. That man told me that you would be back hours ago!¡±

    The child is dressed in a light pink sleeping gown with puffy white sleeves, her hair wrapped tightly around scraps of fabric, most likely to form her bouncy curls. Her things must have arrived before Trivask had. Trivask places the palm of her hand on the child¡¯s forehead and lightly peels her off. She then pats the girl''s head. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve been quite bored.¡±

    She looks around her room and notices a few of her drawers are not closed properly. She frowns as she looks back down at the girl. ¡°You must have found something to occupy your time with.¡± Her crystal blue eyes go wide as she looks around, likely trying to see if she left anything that she had been playing with out.

    When her eyes find nothing out of the ordinary, she shakes her head. ¡°No ma¡¯am. I just stared out of the window for hours. I like trying to count the stars.¡± This is, quite obviously, a lie. Trivask blinks at her, surprised. No one has ever tried to outright lie to her before. Though, she has never had to deal with a mortal child.

    She looks into the little girl¡¯s eyes, crouching. ¡°Do you see my eyes, girl?¡± The child¡¯s face scrunches up as she nods. ¡°These eyes can detect lies. So you will not lie to me again. Is that clear?¡± The child¡¯s eyes get wet as she nods again, little wisps of her fair hair flying about.

    Trivask takes a moment to just look at the girl.

    She is as beautiful as her mother. Strangely enough, she finds herself hoping that the girl will not turn out like her sires. Vain and faithless. Beauty has a habit of tainting everything pure in the world. She hopes that this little girl is the exception.

    Sighing, she returns to her full height. Trivask slides her slippers off of her feet, flexing her toes. As she walks to her vanity, she asks the child, ¡°What is your name, girl?¡± Trivask watches her through the mirror. The girl¡¯s tears vanish as soon as Trivask leaves her.

    Interesting.

    She skips over to the four poster bed and jumps onto the plush mattress. ¡°My mum named me Liontha. Daddy calls me Lily.¡±

    ¡°Little Lion,¡± Trivask whispers. ¡°How¡­ fitting.¡± Trivask removes her facial chains before walking to the bathing chambers. She starts to fill the large tub with water, with a simple pull of a lever, then goes about searching for her matches so that she might light the coals under the tub.

    Nothing sucks more than accidentally allowing the tub to fill all the way before the coals are lit. The water takes ages to warm. She finds the matches and lights the coals, then returns to Liontha. ¡°Have you eaten, Little Lion?¡±

    ¡°I ate lunch before the trip here.¡±

    Trivask¡¯s lips purse. She didn¡¯t figure Jona to be the neglectful type, though it does seem there are other things that might be occupying his mind. The death of the eldest prince does seem quite¡­ important. ¡°You see that door over there?¡± She points to the one next to the bedside table. ¡°Check the leftmost pillow and you¡¯ll find the key to that door. There should be some things for you to eat in there. I¡¯m to bathe. I want you in bed before I¡¯m back. If you are, I¡¯ll take you to one of our dance instructors tomorrow morning.¡±

    Excitement lights up Liontha¡¯s eyes as she scrambles across the bed and snatches up the pillow in question. After going through her vanity drawers in search of her favorite bathing salts, Trivask enter the bathing room and tests the water.

    She¡¯s happy to find it''s the perfect temperature. Taking a bit of the water in her hand, she smothers the flames before undressing. She avoids the large mirror as she lowers herself into the scalding water, her skin instantly reddening in response to the temperature.

    Trivask sits, the hot water lapping against her neck. Her eyes close and a soft, content, sigh escapes her. It¡¯s times like this where she misses home the most. She misses warm water and loose flowing hair. She misses the mist and the fog and the heat. She misses the brush of aquatic plants against her legs and the water in her ears.

    Trivask sinks further into the water until her head is submerged. Her body feels light as she twirls her hands underwater. She wishes to dance, but instead will settle for creating small waves in the water and moving with them.

    Eventually, the water turns cold and her hands grow still. She wishes for more time, but knows that she will have plenty to do later in the day. So she grabs her salts and scrubs her body down, watching as the water turns brown with dirt, dead skin, and blood. Then she stands and dries herself off. She slips on a thin silk robe before draining the tub and leaving the bathing chambers.

    Trivask is happy and surprised to find Liontha softly snoozing, curled around the leftmost pillow with half an uneaten pickle falling slowly from her hand. She can¡¯t stop the laugh that bubbles to the surface, but she thankfully quiets it.

    After tossing the uneaten food, Trivask goes to her linen closet and unfolds a few duvets. She shoves them haphazardly onto the beautiful, yet uncomfortable window couch, then settles into her makeshift bed for the night.

    The sun has  unfortunately made its presence known by the time Trivask wakes. Groaning, the woman pulls into a long stretch, one of her hands going to cover her mouth as a yawn falls from her.

    Standing, she doesn¡¯t notice something at her feet until it¡¯s too late. The woman trips, her right foot catching on a bundle of blankets. She manages to catch onto the edge of the bed, preventing her from landing face first onto the cold stone ground.

    Muttering, she looks down and finds the golden haired child staring up at her, her wide eyes glossy with sleep, and her rolled hair covered in a layer of frizz. ¡°What are you doing on the floor, child?¡±

    Trivask pulls herself up, rubbing her hands along the length of her robe, which had thankfully stayed closed. The girl blinks up at her before rubbing her eyes. ¡°You talk in your sleep,¡± She states frankly. Trivask¡¯s brows furrow.

    No she doesn¡¯t.

    At least, no one has ever told her as much. Clearing her throat, she turns as she responds, ¡°That doesn¡¯t explain why you¡¯re sleeping on the hard floor.¡± She hears a little yawn thrown over her shoulder as she rummages through her wardrobe in search of the day''s attire.

    ¡°You sounded scared. When I get scared at night, Nanny Mildred sits next to me. She holds my hand until I don¡¯t feel scared anymore. I held your hand.¡± Trivask doesn¡¯t know how to feel about this.

    She swallows and gathers her clothes in her arms. ¡°Get changed,¡± Is all she says to the little girl. Then she walks to the bathing chambers and prepares herself for the day ahead of her.

    Soon, she will be summoned by the Lord of the house. He will require her report on the activity she was assigned the previous day, then he will delegate more. There will likely be another council meeting, filled with secret whispers and sweating brows. Trivask will be immensely bored, but she will stand by her Lord and pretend to be wholeheartedly invested in his every word.

    After, he will request that she stay while the others disperse to peruse the grounds, and she will see to his needs. Then there will be talk of the upcoming formal. He will likely ask that she perform.

    No.

    He will insist that she perform. Trivask will then give him a close lipped smile and she will nod her head like a good little girl. But after that, she will have her own time.

    And she will enjoy it.

    She stares into her own eyes as she fastens her chains in place, but she can¡¯t hold her gaze for long. ¡°Come along, Little Lion,¡± She calls as she exits the bathing room. She slips the tips of her fingers into a pair of silk slippers near the door as she exits her chambers, listening to the light and rushed steps of the child trailing behind her.

    While walking, she steps into her shoes. ¡°We¡¯ll grab you something quick to eat before heading to the ballroom. The dance instructors should be huddling in there somewhere.

    A giddy little squeal is released behind her.

    She stops her eyes from rolling as she continues her trip down the hall, turning once she reaches the end, then sliding a rather tall kitchen door open. ¡°Stay right here.¡± Trivask calls out.

    The kitchens are rather full today. It seems that the death of their prince has not taken the urgency out of preparation for the formal. Cooks dash to and fro, silver platters, pots, pans, and ingredients dangling from their hands.

    People shout across the massive space, demanding attention for this and that. Trivask continues to the pantry and snatches two freshly made croissants off of a cooling rack. The woman¡¯s eyes light up when she sees a particular fruit sitting happily in a fruit basket not two feet away from her.

    She snags two of the brightly colored fruits then walks happily out of the bustling kitchen. ¡°Here.¡± She hands the little girl half of what she has. ¡°Eat the croissant first.¡± Liontha nods, tossing her ringlets over her shoulder.

    They continue on their way. Trivask thinks that Siona would be the best instructor for the little girl. She¡¯s patient, her aura is calming, and she is an adequate enough dancer herself. Though she''s likely a better instructor when it comes to the basics.

    She definitely doesn¡¯t want Lance anywhere near the girl. He¡¯s too tactile, and much too clumsy to be teaching a child. He¡¯s a man of passion, and those are always the ones to watch out for.

    As they make it to the ballroom, Trivask takes her first bite of her peach and nearly moans. The first bite is always the best. The sound of the fruit¡¯s skin breaking and the resulting flood of juice always brings a smile to her face.

    She savors that first bite, licking the sticky juice that runs down her hand before chewing. Trivask walks through the towering arches of the ballroom, surprised that their curtains are pulled open and secured to the frame. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    They don¡¯t usually open the ballroom until the night before it¡¯s to be used. She peaks inside, noticing the lit candles and the banquet tables all pushed to the edges of the grand room. Not far from her, she hears whispering. Then giggling follows.

    She motions for the girl to stay where she is, then begins to stalk forward. ¡°Oh!¡± She hears.  ¡°Yes .¡± The word is  purred . Trivask almost shivers at the implication. She peaks around the width of a column, only to see a bright red dress being parted by a long leg. ¡°Oh,  Jona.¡±

    A giggle escapes her.

    Both heads turn as her giggle turns into a full blown laughing fit. ¡°You have to be kidding me,¡± She speaks between her laughter. Standing to her full height, she stares the pair down, her brows raised humorously. ¡°So this is what you do when you¡¯re supposed to be on duty?¡±

    Trivask¡¯s lips quirk up at one corner as she leans against a table. She crosses her legs at the ankle, her eyes scanning the cute little couple as she takes another bite of her peach.

    Siona is just that, cute. She has wide green eyes, and shoulder length black hair. Her cheeks and nose are always pink with life, and the sleeves of her modest floor length dresses are always puffed and hemmed with ruffles. She looks like a child standing next to a grown man.

    Trivask licks her bottom lip, as the girl quickly pulls herself from the adviser. He has yet to meet the mocking woman''s gaze. That¡¯s likely a good choice on his end.

    Trivask has a lot of questions for him, and he knows he won¡¯t be able to escape them. She wonders how this little  friendship  started. Sure, Siona is cute, but Trivask finds it hard to understand how anyone could want to be intimate with a girl that is barely of marrying age and squeaks like a pup when she¡¯s startled.

    Smoothing out her dress, Siona dips her head. ¡°Lionel, it¡¯s so nice to see you. It¡¯s been a while.¡± She doesn¡¯t raise her head, and Trivask doesn¡¯t tell her to. Her eyes travel to Jona instead.

    ¡°Yes, it has been a while my Little Susie. The last time I saw you, you were bawling your eyes out because you had failed your interview for the Dancing Stars. You never visited me when you returned. Though I shouldn¡¯t be surprised since you also didn''t say your goodbyes when you left.¡±

    Trivask doesn¡¯t mention that the young girl had taken with her, a dance routine that Trivask had taught her. It was a piece that was close to her heart as well. Siona is an adequate dancer, but not even Trivask¡¯s routines nor instructions can make her what she wants to be. That kind of talent is given to someone upon birth. It cannot be taught.

    Siona¡¯s head seems to sink lower, and Jona finally shakes off his shackles. ¡°That¡¯s enough Trivask. Why are you here?¡± Enough? She hasn''t even said anything harsh.

    Still, Trivask waves her flag first. Content with the meager amount of discomfort she¡¯s caused already. ¡°I¡¯ve brought you a new student, Siona. Come, little lion.¡± She directs the last sentence over she shoulder with an amplified voice.

    Moments later, an excited Liontha comes prancing through the arches. Siona looks up, confused. ¡°I want you to teach her all of the basic dances that a girl should know. Send her to my rooms no later than six in the afternoon.¡±

    Trivask turns to the girl. ¡°If anyone stops you in the halls, tell them you¡¯re a friend of the Loinel, understand.¡± The child gives a toothy smile and an exaggerated nod before turning back to the instructor. She drops into an unstable curtsy.

    ¡°I¡¯m Liontha, miss. It¡¯s very nice to meet you.¡±

    ¡°Make sure she eats lunch and dinner.¡± Trivask turns.

    ¡°Bu-¡± She leaves before she can hear the rest of the statement. Trivask doesn¡¯t care if Siona has plans or responsibilities to keep up with. That girl owes her more than she knows, and it¡¯s about time Trivask starts collecting her debts.

    The summons didn¡¯t  take long to come. She feels a tug, like someone cupping the back of her neck. Soon after, Alijah¡¯s voice follows. ¡®I need you,¡¯  He whispers to her. The words twist around her head and her heart.  He needs me.  She takes a heavy step forward.

    ¡°Trivask.¡± A hand goes to her shoulder, nearly startling her out of her skin. Jona¡¯s fingers wrap around the curve of her shoulder, his skin warming hers. She blinks a few times.

    Then she turns to him. ¡°Yes?¡±

    He drops his hand from her, his stance stiff. Almost as if he¡¯s readying himself for a fight. Her eyes meet his. ¡°What time.¡±

    ¡°Pardon me?¡± Trivask asks, her confusion palpable.

    He clears his throat. ¡°What time would you like to meet me. We¡¯re to start Regon Trivals¡¯ training today.¡± She had completely forgotten about that man.

    Trivask¡¯s neck warms as she answers. ¡°I will speak with my Lord about my schedule today. I will come looking for you, possibly some time around noon.¡± She then turns, her eyes blurring. ¡®I need you.¡¯  Her eyes cross, yet she still puts one foot solidly in front of the other.

    Eventually, she makes it to Lord Alijah¡¯s chambers. Slamming the door open, she¡¯s met with the nude back of her Lord. Her temper fizzes out, just the tiniest bit. She still slams the door closed behind her. ¡°Did you have to pull so hard?¡±

    Turning from his position hunched over his desk, Alijah shoots her a cheeky smile. ¡°Good morning,¡± Is his response. When she doesn¡¯t respond, the Lord rolls his eyes. ¡°I suppose I didn¡¯t need to pull so hard.¡± His eyes cast down to his desk again. ¡°There¡¯s to be another council meeting in an hour. I want you there.¡±

    Of course he does.

    As much as Lord Alijah likes to pretend otherwise when the two are alone, Trivask is a symbol of power for him, and that¡¯s all she¡¯ll ever be. All her Lord has to do is whisper a few words, and his wishes are hers to grant. He''s likes to parade that power around.

    She is his in every sense of the word, and there is nothing anyone could ever say to make her forget that. So she nods. ¡°Is there anything else you need, my Lord?¡±

    He doesn¡¯t look back up from his desk, which is covered in manuscripts, rolls of parchment, and writing utensils. ¡°Yes. We didn¡¯t get to discuss it last night. Have you ensured Lord Helon¡¯s attendance?¡±

    Trivask leans against the frame of the door, her arms crossing and her lashes lowering. There¡¯s a feeling at the back of her throat that makes her stomach roll. ¡°Yes, my Lord.¡± She tries to suppress the feeling by contracting her muscles.

    ¡°That¡¯s good. I have nothing else for you today. You may leave, I have to finish these letters before the meeting.¡± She hesitates, her initial thoughts pushing her to ask if it¡¯s okay for her to meet with Jona.

    But she doesn¡¯t need his permission. She¡¯s been dismissed.

    She leaves, going to the one place Jona is guaranteed to be. As soon as she enters the training grounds, her heart begins to flutter. The smell of sweat, fear, and stupid determination makes her toes curl. The sound of wood smacking harshly against skin and grating voices yelling commands puts a smile on her face.

    Men and women dance around each other, their faces pulled into sneers, their hands and thighs aching. This has to be one of her favorite places in the Maelegori Manor. ¡°Toni, how many times do I have to tell you to widen your stance.¡± A nasty smacking sound follows the howler, accompanied by a grunt and a thud.

    Toni has fallen, and the impact has made the woman all the more angry. Trivask¡¯s smile grows wider as she walks further into the training grounds. Her head turns from left to right, inspecting each pair of fighters. She points out weaknesses in their techniques and soft spots in their stances.

    She envisions the ways that she would take them down, had she been the one sparring, each picture progressing in brutality. A man to her right gets struck. His head snaps to the side, his arms pin wheeling as his weapon is dropped.

    Blood gushes from his nose, and the tiniest of droplets finds itself speckling Trivask¡¯s cheek. She watches as the man falls and rolls, stopping right at her feet. His eyes are unfocused as they roll around in his head.

    The woman lowers herself to the ground, her own eyes going glossy. Her finger dips into the steady stream of blood flowing from the guard¡¯s nose. Inhaling, she smells nothing out of the ordinary.

    Not able to control herself anymore, she licks her finger, her eyes closing. In doing this, she learns that this man is absolutely average. He comes from an average income family. He¡¯s had average bedroom partners. He¡¯s done average activities to keep himself entertained. And he¡¯s joined the Lord¡¯s guard force because he¡¯s average at everything else that he does.

    What an utter disappointment.

    Her eyes open. ¡°I¡¯ve never known a man to be as dull as you are.¡± Her brows are furrowed, and her face is the perfect picture of puzzlement. How someone can be this lackluster is an absolute mystery to her.

    She rises, and finds a good deal of people have stopped practicing in order to stare at her. Including the man she came to see. ¡°Jona,¡± Trivask calls out, as she steps over the man at her feet. ¡°Have you been introduced to Regon yet?¡± She clasps her hands behind her back, as the adviser steps down from his stool.

    She watches as the man¡¯s eyes dart this way and that way, surveying how many people are now watching the interaction instead of doing their jobs. She''s sure that he''s memorizing their faces so that he may dole out punishments later. ¡°Yes. He is here now.¡± Her brows raise.

    ¡°You went to see him without me?¡± Jona continues until he stands before her. His form completely dwarfs her own, but Trivask¡¯s aura is larger than life. Though she stands at least a foot lower than him, anyone would say that she is indeed taller.

    Dipping his head, Jona turns to stare at a particular sparing pair. Trivask follows his lead. ¡°No, he came here on his own. I don¡¯t know what it is that drives him, but it is fierce. I¡¯ve never seen someone with such a lack of training fight the way he does.¡± Her head tilts, for she knows what drives him.

    Revenge can be a powerful motivator.

    It can also be the spark that leads to burnout. He needs to pace himself. She starts for him, shoving through guards that step into her path at the wrong moment. ¡°Regon.¡± He grunts, raising his practice sword up to parry his opponent¡¯s. Trivask looks to his opposition, her lip curling up.

    He tries to go slack, but Regon begins to bombard him once his guard is lowered. ¡°Regon,¡± Trivask draws out. Irritation creeps up. No one ignores her.  No one.

    Yet the man continues fighting, one leg solidly planted as he spins and slices at the legs of his opponent. Growing tired of the man¡¯s attitude, Trivask waits for him to plant his second foot down.

    He lunges, his wooden sword grasped tightly in one hand, and that¡¯s when Trivask strikes. She kicks the back of his knee, smiling as a yelp falls from Regon¡¯s lips.

    His legs buckle, and his descent into the ground is fast and painful. ¡°I¡¯m going to teach you a lesson you clearly have yet to learn Mr. Trivals.¡± Trivask fists his hair, pulling the man closer to her. ¡°There is an hierarchy here, and you are at the very bottom. When I call, you answer.¡± He clutches at her wrist, his eyes not meeting her own. ¡°You are dismissed from morning training. When you are ready to listen, come see me. Until then-¡± She turns to Jona.

    ¡°He is not to return to training until I say otherwise.¡± Trivask releases him, putting an extra bit of force behind her shove. She turns to leave, but stops to think for a moment. Then she turns back to Jona, having made her decision. ¡°He is mine,¡± She says.

    Jona is right. Regon is fierce and powerful. With time and discipline, he will make a fine warrior. Being trained by guards will stifle his potential. He needs more.

    And she will be the one to give him that.

    ¡°Thank you all  for being willing to attend this meeting today. I know that heartbreak is in the air, at the loss of our most enviable prince.¡± While most here might not agree with the way the nation is being ruled, she believes that none actually wish harm on the rulers or their heirs. The Lord pauses as he surveys the room. If Trivask didn¡¯t know any better, she would think that her Lord actually meant the words he just spoke.

    But through the connection the two share, she can feel that they are as empty as a dried up well. Her Lord cares nothing for the ruling family. Though that feeling is often apparent when talking to anyone higher up the familial blood lines.

    Across the room, one more patron has been added to the meeting. The Lord¡¯s son, Aldon, sits on a love seat, his right leg resting across his left. Aldon doesn¡¯t have nearly as much otherworldly beauty as his father. Trivask thinks that this might be attributed to his mother¡¯s genetics.

    Lord Alijah has never said so, but Trivask suspects that the boy¡¯s mother was a human. Maybe that is why he treats his son so coldly. After all, the Lord values power above everything, and the human blood in his son must sully some of the Maekravri power he had passed down.

    ¡°While I know there are laws governing the mourning period, I can¡¯t help but feel that letting our guard down during this time will only lead to bordering nations thinking we are vulnerable. And I believe we all recall what happens when nations believe the Khunese Empire is weak.¡±

    Several nod their heads, but Trivask is left confused. She doesn¡¯t know what he¡¯s talking about, but that¡¯s not surprising. She rarely paid attention during her lessons, and she doesn¡¯t go out of her way to learn about the nation she serves.

    There is no point in it, when she won¡¯t be here for long. ¡°That is why I have called you all here today. I have given so much of myself to this cause, and I expect the same from you all.¡± What has he given? His home? A bit of his coin?

    Trivask doesn¡¯t recall ever seeing her Lord lift a hand in opposition to any of the more unsavory laws and mandates that the ruling family had put into place. She doesn¡¯t recall seeing him lend his men for protests in the capitol. He has never given his coin to help the families struggling to pay their taxes now that it has been raised disproportionately.

    Alijah doesn¡¯t care about the welfare of the nation, he cares about the power he would gain if he were to move up the line of succession.

    A wicked little smile takes a hold of her features, as she¡¯s finally figures out her Lord¡¯s endgame. She looks around, noticing that there is at least one person from each of the founding families, not including Toanc, in his inner circle. Alijah didn¡¯t create the council to discuss the state of each of their domains.

    He¡¯s brought them together over the year to assess them. To poke and prod. To gain their trust and discover their weaknesses and power.

    Lord Alijah isn¡¯t planing a coup. No, he¡¯s planning to slowly work his way up to the favor of the Toanc¡¯s.

    The man takes a sip from his crystal cup, his smile just barely hidden behind the refracting pieces of glass.

    A warm sensation heats up her neck, just below the thin band of velvet that she never takes off. The Lord¡¯s eyes meet her own, and they say everything that he hasn¡¯t. His goals are personal.

    After he moves up the line of succession, he will go for the King and Queen, and he will tear them down from the inside.

 The Formal

    ¡°Can I wear  a bow?!¡± Trivask shakes her head at the little girl as she finishes brushing out her golden ringlets. Taking a step back, she looks at the full picture, and in that moment, she knows that this girl will become a force that is almost impossible to oppose when she grows up.

    Liontha is gorgeous. From the hue of her eyes to the shape of her chin. All eyes will be on her when she comes of age, and some will trail her well before that. ¡°You are not old enough to wear bows yet, little Lion.¡± Trivask fixes the girl¡¯s left sleeve. Hair bows are reserved for girls of courting age. ¡°Perfect.¡± Liontha smiles up at her. ¡°Do you remember the dances Siona taught you?¡±

    Trivask receives an elated nod in response. ¡°And you remember the order?¡± Again, she nods her pretty little head. ¡°Then, you¡¯re all set to go, little Lion. Here are your slippers.¡± Trivask hands the girl her shoes. She had scuffed the bottoms of them yesterday night, so that she might have a bit of grip on the freshly waxed dance floors.

    ¡°Go on now. And be careful.¡±

    ¡°Of course!¡± She child screams over her shoulder as she rushes from the chambers, her little feet barely stopping long enough for her hands to attach her shoes. A small smile takes over the woman¡¯s face.

    How anyone could ignore such a child is something she just can¡¯t understand. Sighing, Trivask looks back at her own reflection. She watches as her head tilts to the side, her facial chains dangling.

    Tonight, she looks just as her Lord wants her to look. Her dress, possibly made from pieces of the night sky, is thin and gauzy. Its back is open, exposing some of the flesh colored script covering her skin. The straps are thin pieces of tulle that hang off of her shoulders. A slit runs up both of her legs, restricting her movement, should she wish to not expose herself.

    She is every bit the spectacle that Lord Alijah expects her to be. She blinks at herself, almost expecting to see something off with her reflection. Trivask¡¯s hand floats up to the strip of fabric wrapped around her neck.

    It¡¯s so soft, that it almost feels as if it caresses her back.

    ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± A soft knocking on the frame of her door draws her attention. One of the formal¡¯s many temporary servants stands, his hands immediately going to clasp behind his back. Breaking himself in half, the servant folds into a bow. ¡°Lord Maelegori has requested I escort you to the gathering room.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Trivask responds. Her master has called, so it is time for her to make her appearance. After wrapping her arms around the servant¡¯s extended one, the pair begin their travels. ¡°If you had to guess, how many attendants would you say are here tonight?¡±

    The man stiffens at her side, clearly not expecting her to speak to him further. Clearing his throat, he states, ¡°I would guess there are a few hundred people here tonight, Lady.¡±

    Trivask pats his arm, her head going to lean on his bicep. ¡°I am no Lady.¡± They approach the grand arches, which have been decorated to fit the theme: woodland. Those terrible  living veins  have been secured in tumbling patterns along the top of the entryway.

    Already they hiss, craving some type of sustenance. Her eyes narrow. When Alijah had asked her what foliage should grace the arches, she had said  anything but those terrible vines you have in your bedroom . It seems he asked for her opinion solely to disregard it.

    Her face loses its expression when she notices the first person look at her. Turning to the servant, she thanks him, giving him a quick tilt of her head, then she heads off. It doesn¡¯t take her long to spot the Lord of the manor. He stands in the middle of a large group of people, his feet nearly covered by the skirt of all the ladies that surround him.

    Upon reaching the group, she clears her throat, though she does so only for the benefit of those around her. Lord Alijah had no doubt felt her presence as soon as she entered the gathering room. The small crowd turns at the sound of her, and they all but freeze. ¡°Ah, finally. Tonight¡¯s Lady of honor has arrived.¡± He claps his hands together.

    He parts through his chatting partners, his arm extended towards her. Trivask, of course, takes it, pulling on a small smile. ¡°Allow me to introduce my Loinel, Trivask.¡± It becomes increasingly difficult to ignore the path that their watchful eyes take. She is by far, the least dressed in the room, and she supposes it is for good reason.

    Tonight is Lord Alijah¡¯s night to show her off. Trivask just barely catches the gasp that falls from a nearby lady¡¯s mouth as her uncovered leg peeps through the slit of her dress. The group is silent only for a moment. ¡°She¡­ She has no last name?¡±

    Trivask takes it upon herself to answer this question. ¡°I have no other names that you should worry about, sir.¡± She dips her chin as he attempts to hold in his scoff.

    ¡°Right. Well, it¡¯s time to let everyone into the ballroom now. Please keep my guests company for a moment, my gem.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Trivask softly replies. The most effort she will put into this interaction is responding to conversation directed to her. She will otherwise keep her mouth shut, like a good little girl. Lord Alijah gives her a quick pat on her exposed back, before he pardons himself from the group.

    Five men and their ladies remain. Three of the latter have opened their fans so that they might openly gossip about the spectacle that is Trivask. She looks at the other people in the group, and is just starting to inspect the strand of gray in the male at her left¡¯s head when she hears a throat clear.

    She turns, and finds that the sound came from a man at her right. He stands a least a foot taller than her. His broad shoulders are covered by a black velvet vest that is settled nicely over a deep purple tunic and tucked into nicely fitted breeches.

    Trivask looks to his ears, which are left uncovered due to his haircut. She only has sight of his left. He has four rings in his ear. And he also has her interest now. The man smiles when her eyes finally travel to meet his own. ¡°May I ask where you are from, Miss Trivask?¡±

    His gaze is friendly, perhaps a little too friendly, if the way the lady on his arm stares around her fan means anything. ¡°You may call me Trivask, or Lionel, if you wish to use honorifics,¡± is how she starts.

    ¡°As you wish, Lionel,¡± The stranger responds, awaiting her answer.

    ¡°I am not from any place you have heard of. Ask a different question and you may receive a far more interesting answer.¡± Her eyes begin to wander again. It seems her Lord has gotten pulled into another conversation.

    She may have to entertain for longer than she thought. ¡°Alright. Since I cannot know where woman like you are made, can I at least know how you came to become Lord Maelegori¡¯s  acquaintance ?¡±

    That is an innocent enough question, but is also one that she can¡¯t answer. The smile that takes over her face says enough. ¡°Really?! Then why don¡¯t you tell me what questions I  am  allowed answers to?¡±

    She¡¯s saved from responding. A clang, loud and metallic, vibrates through the gathering room, claiming the attention of all its occupants. It¡¯s time for the formal¡¯s formal beginning. ¡°Evening everyone.¡± Alijah has taken to standing on an accent table to elevate himself. ¡°I¡¯m delighted that everyone could make it here.¡±

    There are a few whoops from the crowd, mostly from those excited for the night¡¯s festivities. It¡¯s been a while since Alijah has hosted an event of any kind. The man that has been speaking to her, gives her ribs a little nudge. ¡°Do you know the occasion? Lord Maelegori hasn¡¯t hosted a party in so long, there must be a reason why?¡±

    Yes . There must be a reason why. Trivask brings her finger up to her glistening lips to silence the man. ¡°In just a few moments, I will allow everyone into the ballroom, and I will introduce the night¡¯s main entertainment. Until then, I ask that each of you take a glass of  shimera  to enjoy.¡± He steps down from the table, just as servants dressed in bright yellow attire begin to step forward.

    As a woman in a floor length yellow pinafore steps towards the group, Trivask waves her towards the other. She doesn¡¯t enjoy the taste of  shimera . She much prefers sweet drinks, and  shimera  is known for its sourness and acidic after-taste. Faeries, Trivask had come to know, don¡¯t like sweets.

    ¡°Do you not drink?¡±

    Trivask¡¯s brows frown when she looks back to the man. ¡°You ask a lot of questions for a man that has never properly introduced himself to me.¡± She looks over his shoulder. ¡°You also have yet to introduce your companion.¡± She waves her fingers at the woman, who has finally dropped her fan to sip her drink.

    Trivask can see the tips of her rounded ears go pink under her scrutiny. ¡°In fact. You all have been quite rude as to not introduce yourselves.¡± This time, she addresses the group as a whole. ¡°I like that you all seem to think you¡¯re above me, yet you seem to lack the basic manners your kind are always rambling on about.¡±

    Eyes that never fully left her now give her their full attention. Some faces turn embarrassed, while others go red with anger. They must be wondering what gives her the audacity, but it seems they recall her title. She is the Lionel of the Maelegori family. And while they might not know exactly what she is and how she came to be in their nation, there is still a certain decorum they must abide by.

    ¡°Right, my apologies, Lionel.¡± It is the man that stands directly across from her that speaks. He stands no taller than five feet and a couple of inches. His shoulders are wider than a bull¡¯s, and his ears are just as pointed as one¡¯s horns. ¡°You are¡­ shock instilling. If I may introduce myself and my companion?¡±

    She nods and waves him on, her hands falling together after. ¡°I am Revonad Jaetrer, the current diplomat for the Jaetrer family. This here-¡± He waves his hand to the small woman cuddled up to his arm. ¡°-is Revonad-Smitha Jaetrer, my companion for the evening and for the rest of my life.¡± The smile that takes up residence on the couple¡¯s face is almost too much for Trivask to bear.

    The air thickens as their eyes connect, the link between them twisting and writhing. She almost wishes her abilities weren¡¯t as refined as they are. At least then, she wouldn¡¯t have to see what passes between the couple.

    The man to her left speaks next. ¡°I also wish to give my apologies. It was never my intention to be rude, Lady Trivask.¡± She doesn¡¯t bother correcting the man. What would be the point? ¡°I am Youlin Larna. This is my companion, Eurlien Yettier.¡± She needs to hear nothing else from this couple.

    Their names are enough.

    The man to her right finally opens his mouth to introduce himself, but he is swiftly cut off. The curtains have been pulled open and guests have begun entering the ballroom. ¡°Another time, I suppose,¡± Trivask remarks before she begins to walk through groups of people.

    She searches for her Lord, and quickly latches onto his arm when she finds him. ¡°Did you enjoy the quick chat?¡± He asks her before taking a sip from his flute. Her eyes roll.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°Oh yes, it was quite the revetting five minutes.¡± Her tone is infused with such sarcasm, Trivask fears she might slip on some that had fallen from her mouth. ¡°Your friends are lovely.¡±

    Lord Alijah bends down, his mouth stopping just before her ear. ¡°Make no mistake, my gem. No one here is a friend.¡± She figured as much. Who could make friends with a man like Alijah? Someone as domineering and conniving as him could only have business partners, and even those are just servants in nicer clothing to him.

    They enter the transformed ballroom.

    In two days time, they had managed to completely re-wallpaper the place. The walls are a forest green, with spots of brown, likely to represent actual trees. Dangling from the ceiling are a variety of foliage. Dark green vines and sparkling yellow flowers hang low enough to tickle the heads of particularly tall guests.

    Trivask even spots- ¡°Morning glories,¡± Her breath catches as she looks at them masterfully arranged against the wall opposite of them. They form a deceptively beautiful portrait.

    ¡°Do you like it?¡± Trivask continues towards it, her arm still entangled tightly with her Lord¡¯s.

    ¡°Is this me?¡± She asks, her fingers reaching out to touch the petals. She pulls back just before she feels their soft skin. The portrait is made of up at least twenty different species of morning glory. Her skin is made of the darkest petals, while her hair is made from the species that blooms at night.

    The Lord separates their arms, his hands going to hold her own. ¡°It is.¡± He seems to be confused by the surprise that lights up her face. ¡°Do you not know what today is?¡± She doesn¡¯t know. ¡°It¡¯s the anniversary of the day you decided to stay here¡­ with me.¡± Trivask swallows.

    She doesn¡¯t own a calendar, so she has no way to track these things. But even if she did, she wouldn¡¯t have thought that this would be an occasion to celebrate. It would merely mean that she¡¯s been working for her Lord for a year now. ¡°The portrait is lovely. I only wish that I could keep it.¡±

    Alijah smiles. ¡°Come, it¡¯s time to introduce the main entertainment.¡± Reality comes back to her in that moment. Trivask nods and allows him to pull her up the main platform. The stairs have been decorated with pseudo-grass, which is admittedly, a lot easier to walk on.

    The Lord lets go of her hands as he greets his guests. ¡°Thank you all for coming. I would like to introduce Trivask, the Lady of the night, and the main entertainment.¡± A soft round of clapping ensues as Trivask gives a small smile and even smaller wave.

    ¡°This party is being thrown on her behalf, actually. I have never known a more loyal second in my lifetime. And I have never known a more beautiful or powerful woman. I thank you for standing by my side.¡±

    He plants a kiss on her forehead, then walks off of the platform to stand with the crowd. The strings begin to play behind her. A soft and melancholy cry falls from over her shoulder.

    It¡¯s time for her to perform.

    ¡°Good evening all,¡± Trivask speaks softly into the air as her hips begin to sway along with the music. If she could do nothing but dance for the rest of her life, she would be content. The woman¡¯s eyes close, refusing to stare back at those that watch her, those that mock her behind their fans.

    The slit on the left side of her dress parts at the tips of her toes draw patterns along the smooth floor. The music hardens and Trivask pulls into a  forward attitude , her back foot flat and her front foot pointed.

    As her arms raise, the crowd gasps. Tendrils of living mist wisp from the points of her poised fingers, wrapping harmoniously around the length of her arms. Trivask sweeps low before bringing herself into a crisp  croise devant .

    Dark clouds form over the middle of her body and travel down to the points of her feet until nothing can be seen of her but her head and the point of her left index finger. She spins, the mist traveling with her, forcing the somber cloud to finally obscure her face.

    The stringed instruments come to a startling halt.

    The mist dissipates.

    In Trivask¡¯s place sits a sleek and proud black panther.

    The crowd shuffles back as a single unit as claps ring out from between her Lord¡¯s hands. ¡°Marvelous.¡± Lord Alijah is breathless as he walks to the platform. ¡°Just¡­ marvelous.¡± His eyes travel along the length of the panther¡¯s coat, stopping only once his meets the animals amber eyes.

    The Lord holds out his hand, unsure if this animal still has the instincts of the woman that once stood in its place. When it leans its head towards him, he smiles.

    ¡°You¡¯ve brought shifters into our lands?!¡± His peace is broken, just like that. Trivask, though mildly entertained with the thought of someone starting an argument with her Lord at his own party, decides that it would be best if she answers any questions about her heritage.

    She lets out a low growl, a warning for the older woman, before her mist covers her body again. Her dress was easy enough to slip out of during her change, so it sustained no damage. Trivask assumes this was the reason behind Alijah¡¯s choice in her costume.

    She can¡¯t help but feel a little silly that she was so quick to paint him as an egotistical pervert that wanted nothing more than to parade her skin around.

    Trivask changes and clears her throat before responding to the woman. ¡°Normally I would take such a statement as an insult. Shifters are such¡­ barbaric and static creatures after all. But I will allow it to pass for now, as I know you¡¯ve all been drinking.¡± She grabs her Lord¡¯s hand and he walks her down the platform to stand in front of the woman.

    ¡°I am no  shifter , woman.¡± Being a shifter would imply a certain level of connection with the skins she occasionally wears, but other than a small preference for her panther, there is none. From what she has read though, shifters only have one other form. ¡°I am something much-¡± She releases her Lords hand, stalking around the woman. ¡°Much-¡± Trivask takes a small sniff.

    The woman, though she doesn¡¯t tremble, smells of fear. In fact, this scent seems to be wafting from quite a few bodies. ¡°More dangerous.¡± This triggers a shudder from the faerie woman and a feral smile from herself. ¡°I will entertain myself until you call for me again, my Lord.¡±

    Alijah gently grabs her hand and presses a kiss to it. ¡°Enjoy yourself.¡± As she slips away, she hears him call for the music to start up. It doesn¡¯t take her Lord long to get the party started.

    Right as Trivask  was planning to slip out of the ballroom, she spots a certain someone heading out to one of the small balconies. She can¡¯t resist the temptation pulling at her chest.

    Her resolve breaks easily, and before she knows it, she slipping between the slowly closing door to the balcony. His silhouette is brooding. It¡¯s almost as if he aims to scare the cold night air away. ¡°My, what a surprise it is to see you out here.¡± Trivask speaks into the night.

    The man jumps, his body twisting to view her. When Trivask sees those striking blue eyes, she¡¯s almost pulled in. The feeling of something  unnatural  begins to creep up on her, settling itself gently against her shoulders. It warms her. ¡°I don¡¯t believe we¡¯ve ever been introduced.¡±

    Trivask walks until she stands next to the lithe fellow. She too, leans against the railing of the ornate fence. The man doesn¡¯t take his eyes off of her. ¡°No, I don¡¯t believe we have been.¡± His voice is not as she pictured it. She imagined from his looks, he would have the voice of a cold prince. Level and chilly. But his voice is warm and almost as low as Jona¡¯s own.

    ¡°Now, I¡¯m no portrait for Khunese manners, but I think this is the part where you would introduce yourself.¡± His eyes search for something in her, something that she doesn¡¯t believe he will find.

    Silence settles over the two, and Trivask begins to think that the man will remain this way. ¡°You may call me Keiran, Lady Trivask.¡± Finally, a name to match a face.

    ¡°What family do you hail from, Keiran?¡± He has no rings on his ears and he has decided to not give her a last name. This man is suspicious to say the least.

    His booted feet cross behind him as he turns to stare off at the moon. Tonight is a great night for watching the stars. Trivask makes a note to slip off into her favorite place before the moon goes to sleep. ¡°What family do  you  hail from, Lady Trivask? It certainly can¡¯t be one of the Khunese empire.¡±

    She doesn¡¯t bother to act surprised. It¡¯s as clear as day why this man is attempting to ignore her questions. ¡°This is true. My family is, thankfully, far away from this place.¡± This, she does not lie about.

    The day Trivask meets her family again, is the day when this world will fall apart.

    She swallows. ¡°You don¡¯t come from this empire either, do you?¡± The silent blankets them again. As if debating the repercussions of telling her something she already knows, the man nods, ever so slightly. ¡°And where you come from, it is polite to feed off of those that welcome you into their homes?¡±

    Keiran goes stiff.

    Behind them, a merry waltzing song begins to play. Trivask claps. ¡°Oh, I so wish I had someone to dance with me. I love this type of dance.¡± She pulls away from the railing, positioning herself as if to dance with an invisible partner.

    But before she can even take her first step, a cold hand is wrapped around her neck. The force of the attack pushes her back, causing her to nearly trip on her stupid floor length gown. She doesn¡¯t stop falling until she feels the chilled stone of the wall pressed painfully against her bare back.

    Trivask notices that the pair have moved out of the way of the glass door. No one can see them.

    Keiran¡¯s once bright eyes have darkened considerably, along with the skin under his eyes. At her neck, just above the velvet of her necklace, Trivask can feel something warm and sharp sticking in her skin. ¡°What exactly do you think you know, Lady Trivask?¡±

    Her expression has gone lazy. Truly, she expected a better show than this. Trivask expected at least a little bit of mind games before the man went full brute on her. She supposes she expected too much. ¡°Truthfully, Kieran, I knew nothing but the obvious. Now I know a little more. These-¡± She leans into the talons clawing at her neck. ¡°Are not faerie attributes.¡±

    Blood begins to run down her neck, collecting at the band sitting around it. Trivask licks her lips. ¡°You¡¯re playing with Lady Helon, yes? Toying with her. Making her think that you¡¯re satisfied with merely being her call boy. You¡¯ve seduced the seducer, and since you¡¯re almost finished with her, you¡¯ve started to feed on her. What you take from the woman, I don¡¯t know. But I can smell what you¡¯ve been doing.¡± She laughs at the singsong tone she¡¯s taken on.

    ¡°I can¡¯t say I approve of mixing business with pleasure, but¡­¡± Her head turns to look back at the doors. ¡°I can say that I understand it.¡± Keiran still hasn¡¯t said anything to her, which is sad. ¡°I won¡¯t spill your secret, Keiran. I¡¯m just curious. What are you? What do you want?¡±

    Trivask watches as his eyes change from blue to red, the skin underneath them darkening with the appearance of bulging veins. The auburn hair on his head begins to shift as rounded horns seem to grow. Trivask¡¯s head tilts.  Interesting . He forces her to stare at him straight on, and before Trivask can guess his next move, his lips are on her own.

    Certainly not expecting this course of action, Trivask¡¯s eyes widen and her lips part.

    The world begins to blacken and the ground beneath her begins to shake and shatter.  More . Trivask finally puts her own hands to work. She pulls on the collar of Keiran¡¯s shirt, pulling him closer and closer and¡­ ¡°Ow!¡±

    Her fang scrapes against Keiran¡¯s tongue, a small slather of blood falling from his mouth to her own. The fog that was once clouding her eyes rises as that coppery taste envelopes her tongue, and the realization that the ground actually is shaking beneath her smacks her out of her stupor.

    Trivask¡¯s foot flies out, sending a solid kick to the stomach of the man that had just assaulted her. Her ears open up to the sounds around her. And as Keiran¡¯s body flops over the railing, the screams of the party¡¯s guests come flooding in.

    It seems that Maelegori Manor is under attack.

 The Attack That Cost Everything

    One could come  to the conclusion that someone is having a particularly heinous argument on the dance floor if it wasn¡¯t for the fact that so many people are screaming.

    And it isn¡¯t a simple rising of the voice either.

    Trivask¡¯s heart beats painfully against her ribs as agonizing screeches are pulled from the depths of once delighted souls. The building trembles, barely withstanding the waves of despair writhing from those trapped within its walls.

    Now frantic, Trivask pushes through the balcony door and witnesses firsthand what the formal has turned into. ¡°It¡¯s a massacre.¡± From the shadows offered by the corner, Trivask¡¯s eyes travel through the room. The freshly waxed dance floor has been coated with a healthy layer of blood. The west wall hosts a hole three men wide and two men tall.

    The room has been darkened with shadows. She immediately reaches between her legs, no longer caring for modesty, and pulls the dagger attached to her thigh strap out.

    ¡°Someone, ple-¡± The words turn into gurgles. Trivask stares as a woman that once wore a pale blue dress is torn straight down the middle of her body. Her eyes, try as they might, can¡¯t find the culprit.

    The candles had been blown out, and no gas lamps are to be seen. It¡¯s too dark for her to make out facial features, but even so, Trivask can hear all of the horrors that are being committed in the dark.

    The sound of flesh parting, the muffled screams of people being trampled to death, the panicked panting of persons that have no idea which way to run. The sounds bounce around in her head, almost overwhelming all of her other senses. Her neck heats, shocking her into action. Grabbing the arm of a man desperate to escape the carnage, Trivask yells, ¡°Where is the Lord?!¡± He pulls, his shoes slipping against the floor.

    The man¡¯s head shakes as he screams back, ¡°I-I don¡¯t know. Let me go!¡± She tsks as she drops the man¡¯s arm and moves onto the next person, her shoes sliding in puddles of blood. The servant begs that she let him go as well, but she has to find Alijah.

    For some reason, she can no longer feel his presence. It¡¯s like he¡¯s unconscious¡­ dead to her. ¡°The Lord! Where is he?!¡± She receives no valuable information on this attempt or the next. But eventually, one of the screaming patrons finally manages to tell her something useful.

    Alijah had stepped out moments before the side of the building fell in. He went to discuss business with a woman clad in green finery and with hair the color of rubies. She lets out a breath she was holding and decides that since her Lord is in no immediate danger, it might be good for her to at least attempt to save some parts of his manor.

    Trivask shifts, her body momentarily coating itself completely in mist before the sleek black creature emerges. With the change comes the ability to see the absolute bloodbath laid out before her. She watches as the leg of a man is torn clean off by what seems to be an invisible foe.

    People are dying all around her, but with no opponent in sight, Trivask isn¡¯t sure what to do. So she prowls low to the ground, moving around leaking corpses and sliding through puddles of bodily fluids, her nose burning all the while.

    It doesn¡¯t take long for her to spot someone that she recognizes. Backed into a corner, Regon crouches with a small dagger in hand. His face and legs are covered in blood, his pants legs torn, but he stands strong. Trivask goes to him.

    The man kicks out at her as she licks his wounds, immediately assuming that she is the enemy. It takes mere seconds, but the full picture comes to her soon enough. The man swipes at her, but she dodges as pictures flash in her head. During a waltz, the west side of the room was blown to bits. Stone and crystal and screams chucked about.

    The explosion resulted in all of the lights blowing out and chaos ensued. From what she can gleam of his memories, Regon believes the people killing everyone are shadow walkers. That means she¡¯ll be of no use in this form.

    Trivask shifts, her body growing in height and her muscles growing in strength. She¡¯s never encountered creatures with the ability to control shadows, so she has no clue what their target range is. ¡°Do you know anything about shadow walkers?¡± The ground shakes beneath her feet, as someone screams for their mother.

    ¡°Trivask?¡± Regon turns toward her voice, still not able to fully see her. She tsks, lunging for his head. Trivask presses her fingers into his temples to keep him from moving as she spits into his eyes. ¡°Wh-¡± Regon blinks. She knows he can see her clearly now.

    ¡°Focus! What do you know about the enemy?¡± He blinks again, looking down to his hands. She¡¯s tempted to hit him, if only to get through to the man. This isn¡¯t a situation in which wasting seconds is optional.

    ¡°Uh- um-¡± He swallows. Then something hits him. ¡°They have to be here.¡± Regon stands up taller. ¡°They have to be in the ballroom, within the shadows. They have to stand in the shadows they control.¡±

    She nods. This is actually good information. She believes that they won¡¯t move from their hiding places until everyone is dead. ¡°We have to light up the room. Regon, find the kitchens. There should be matches in there. Go!¡± He stares at her, his eyes wide. ¡°Go now!¡±

    ¡°O-okay!¡± He drops low, skirting around bodies as he travels to the exit that no one else seems to see.

    That¡¯s when she understands what the intruders have done. She looks to where the arches of the ballroom are. ¡°They can¡¯t see it¡­¡± She waves her hands over her eyes, changing them back to normal.

    Where the arches once stood, tall and proud, is a solid black wall. She swallows. Such power¡­

    I have to have it.

    The screams have lessened considerably, and Trivask is almost under the impression that nearly everyone has been killed. If she¡¯s being honest, she doesn¡¯t truly care of the lives lost here, so long as Alijah has made it out alive.

    ¡° Ahhh! Nooo! ¡±

    Her head snaps to the left. That sounds like- ¡°Liontha!¡± She waves her hand over her eyes again and rubs her ears. Trivask runs from the safety of her wall, her eyes darting this way and that way as she desperately searches for her Little Lion. ¡°Liontha! Where are you?!¡±

    She slips, her body falling over a warm corpse. Her fingers wrap around the puffy tulle of an over-sized dress as she pulls herself forward.  ¡°Trinny !¡± She sees movement not ten feet from her.

    A small body wrapped in a tiny pink dress is being pulled across the dance floor, her little hands begging for something to hold onto.

    Trivask pushes herself up, her bare feet just barely planted on the ground. She runs for the girl as the shadows rush to claim her. The woman slides, slight friction burning her skin. Her arms wrap securely around the child as they collide. Together they tumble across the floor, just barely making it out of the path of a rampant wisp of darkness.

    Liontha shivers in Trivask¡¯s arms, and it takes all of Trivask¡¯s willpower not to lash out when she sees blood staining the poor child¡¯s golden hair.

    Just as she begins to whisper to the girl that all will be okay, the air around her shifts. The smell of sulfur fills her nose. The space by her feet grows dark.

    Liontha cries out, her body rumbling with fear that can hardly be contained.

    Trivask¡¯s eyes trail up, only to find that pesky spear of darkness hovering over them. It raises like a cobra preparing to strike. She looks around. If they run, the darkness will follow. ¡°Close your eyes,¡± Trivask instructs the girl, her breath deepening. ¡°Do as I say!¡± Liontha does with soft sobs falling from between her lips.

    The woman rolls so that the child lays beneath her just as the shadow strikes. Her back arches as her muscles loosen, and her breath stops as the darkness travels through her flesh.

    Blood, molten and runny falls from her stomach, its heat nearly burning the child beneath her. Trivask blinks, pushing the shadows from her eyes. She can¡¯t feel her legs anymore. The darkness within her raises, lifting her body an inch off of the ground.

    The woman pulls her weight down, attempting to make herself heavier. With lips that barely move, Trivask whispers, ¡°I need you to run.¡± Liontha whimpers as the shadow curls around the woman¡¯s draining abdomen. Trivask¡¯s hands shudder when she touches the girl¡¯s chin. It¡¯s been painted in red. Screams fill her head with nonsense, and that pesky darkness threatens to overwhelm the rest of her senses.

    ¡°Listen to me Little Lion. Run for the exit. That¡¯s all you have to do to save me.¡± The shadow tightens its grip on her. Trivask spits, the liquid landing solidly in the little girl¡¯s eyes. Liontha screams, her hands rushing to her face.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    No longer able to hold herself down, the darkness snatches Trivask¡¯s body up with a final harrowing, ¡°Run!¡± bursting from her mouth.

    Vision filled with nothing but the dark and body wracking with agony, Trivask is thrown into the air. The shadows whisk out, catching her leg. She¡¯s a mouse held by its tail.

    The woman grunts as the blood from her wound trails down her body, the hot liquid pooling at her chin only to fall over like a splash of water. The  thing  twists around her body, constricting, it¡¯s a snake that¡¯s about to strike.

    Her temples pound, the skin on her head and neck heating to unbearable temperatures. Trivask¡¯s nails lengthen and harden as she attempts to gain hold of the gaseous creature holding her captive.

    Talons fall through the monster and dig into her own skin, carving rivers up her neck.

    She doesn¡¯t know how much longer she¡¯ll be able to hold on. Her eyes open, but her left has been blinded by the onslaught of running blood sliding down her face and into her hair. Still she looks, her vision tunneling towards where she knows the ballroom arches to be.

    But she can¡¯t see.

    A whimper falls from between her bruised lips as the shadow decides that it¡¯s had enough of her. In one fell swoop, Trivask is thrown, her back cracking against the floor beneath her.

    The woman coughs, nasty and wet, into her hand. The outside of her has become more liquid than solid. She swallows, as a chill begins to work its way up, starting at the tips of her numb toes.

    ¡°No¡­ ¡± A groan forces itself out of her as she rolls onto her stomach. The chill reaches her knees.  ¡°No¡­ Not yet.¡±  Trivask is still hoping that by some miracle, Regon will return. He¡¯ll have a lit torch wrapped between his hands. The man will yell out for her, then he will throw the torch and set the room ablaze, lighting up every foul enemy that would dare come into her home.

    And then she will handle her business the right way.

    Trivask shivers, her shoulders freezing.

    Unfortunately for her, this is not a faerietale. Regon is either dead or in a situation that will ultimately lead to death, and Trivask isn¡¯t far behind.

    Her teeth chatter as her neck goes stiff.

    Unable to see, Trivask doesn¡¯t realize that the shadows have returned until they¡¯ve settled over her convulsing form. The darkness weighs heavy on her, its shapeless mass sinking into her mouth and covering her nose.

    She thrashes, yet her body is too stiff to contend with the blankets over her.

    Her nose burns.

    Surrounded by darkness, covered in blood, and shivering so hard her teeth feel like they¡¯re about to knock loose, Trivask tries to hold herself together.

    She tries to wait for the light to find her.

    But it isn¡¯t coming.

    And if it wasn¡¯t for the prepubescent roaring that bounced throughout the ballroom at that exact second, Trivask would have forced herself still until she suffocated.

    But the signal from a Little Lion came, and she could finally find sweet unbridled release.

    Light, pure as  freshly fallen snow and cold as ice pours from her wounds, slashing through the bed of darkness suffocating her.

    From her stomach, fluid rays of blue light cascade, pooling underneath her broken mortal body. Trivask finds the strength to dig her fingers into her gaping wound, ripping what remains of her flesh off chunk by chunk.

    Screams tear from her body as the light expands. It leaks all over the floor, spreading like spilled milk. The light overtakes the bodies littering the ground, freezing them solid then vaporizing the hardened masses.

    Trivask rises from her body, shining brighter than any star that¡¯s stared into this realm. The shadows hiss the moment they come into contact with her light, pulling back like scolded hands.

    Soon enough, all that can be seen is whiteness, so void and expansive that the daemons lurking in the corners fall to their knees, madness ready to wreck their souls and create soup with what remains.

    Trivask moves, traveling to the first intruder that she sees. The man, now small and shivering beneath her cold brightness, places his head to the ground, lies ready to shoot from him.

    But before he can beg her to spare him, Trivask moves, her light becoming razor thin as it travels down his mouth and into the very dark and foul pit of a man.

    She fills him so deeply that he bursts, his insides becoming outsides.

    Trivask seeks out the next shadow walker, and the next, and the next, until only one remains.

    The woman, clad in black leather from head to toe, kneels before the celestial creature, her eyes nothing but blackened pits.  ¡°You will do,¡±  A voice none would recognize as Trivask¡¯s own, calls out from the crackling shapeless mass of energy.

    The light dims, taking with it the deadly chill.

    If there were  anyone left to see her, they would likely call upon their gods to answer their questions. What creature could do this kind of damage? What creature could survive death?

    As Trivask stands before the daemon, fingers grasping its chin tightly, she feels these questions swarming within it. Her anger rises, thumping against her now mortal flesh. Lips peeling back, she hisses, ¡°You come into  my  home-¡±

    Trivask kneels before the blind daemon as it whimpers in her arms, just as Liontha had. ¡°You tear down  my  walls-¡± She leans in, her nostrils flaring at the nauseatingly sweet smell of fear and blood and death.

    ¡°You wound  my  vessel-¡± Her nails lengthen to deadly points, digging into skin and drawing blood. ¡°Yet you have to audacity to sit before me like a wounded pup.¡± She draws back, taking a subtle lick of the blood now caking underneath her nails.

    There¡¯s a strange lack of awareness in this creature. It knows nothing of who¡¯s manor this is, it knows nothing of why this attack was planned. It knows nothing. ¡°Please¡­¡±

    Trivask has heard enough lies to last her a millennium. ¡°You¡¯ve cost me everything!¡± She stands, taking the woman with her. Eyes darkening and pulse steadying, she roars, ¡°Now you give me something in return!¡±

    In a single swift yet brutal motion, Trivask strips the daemon of its head. She twists, stretching until the skin and muscles at the neck tear. Blood arches around her, spurting as she drops the body.

    It doesn¡¯t take long for her to open its head.

    And it takes even less time for her to rip everything out of it, and devour the very soul within.

    The bottoms of  her feet slap against the thawing ice beneath her. Her breath is staggered as she leans against what remains of the crumbling walls. Body heavy like lead, she stalks towards the arches that are now visible to the naked eye.

    Her knees creek and her hips pop with every step.

    With nothing to cover her but frost and blood, she drops to the ground. Steps, light and unhurried, approach her body. ¡°You did good, my gem.¡± Trivask gives a lazy smile as her Lord leans down, laying a heavy cloak over her body just before he sweeps her up.

    ¡°Very good indeed.¡±

    Together they travel into the darkest depths of the manor so that Trivask may be treated and rewarded for the efforts she displayed tonight.