I didn't run. I teleported. There's a difference — a difference my enemies will never understand.
The cold word 'Bastard' that had been yelled rang out in my mind.
"Huh, that's a new one."
The air cracked open around me, shards of space folding inward like glass shards dragged through oil. My stomach lurched with the shift, but I stood tall when my feet hit the ground again. Gone was the bloodied hall, replaced by my personal chamber high in the eastern tower. Safe, for now.
My fingers curled into my palms until nails bit skin. Askath. He was an infamous adventurer here in the capital, one who many assumed would never return.
The name alone seared my tongue like iron heated too long. Why was he there? The Dragon Slayer, the Charming model, the man they call "the walking problem" — none of this should have been his concern. I expected guards, highly skilled too, but he shouldn't have been with the Vista boy.
I crossed to my desk, my boots loud against the polished stone floor. Alcors. I had to report it, the sources were all wrong. No longer mere flashes of light, there was more to his power, those restraints should've been plentiful.
I slammed the book shut. It wouldn't matter if I understood Alcor. None of it would matter after tomorrow.
The council meeting where all the competitors would meet in a month was already burned into my mind, even though it hadn't happened yet. I could see them — their faces taut with forced respect, their hands twitching under the table, pretending they weren't counting knives. They'd smile and bow their heads when I entered, but I knew what would come after.
They would speak of the future. But I would not mind them, the crown should already be mine.
By the time I left, half of them would already be writing letters to my enemies. The rest would be buying time until they decided who had the stronger blade at their backs.
Grim thoughts, yes. But realism tends to look like that when you're the only one without a knife hidden up your sleeve.
A knock came at the door. Too loud, too eager.
"Enter," I said.
The guards stepped inside, their faces blank in that way only men afraid to disappoint can manage. I saw the flicker in their eyes — they knew I'd seen their failure. They knew I was already writing their punishments in my head.
"Idiots," I hissed. "Do you think I pay you to breathe in my hallways? Begone."
They bowed their heads in unison, muttering apologies I didn't care to hear. My hand waved them off, dismissing their existence from my sight.
I turned to the window, fingers tracing the cold glass. And then, just loud enough for the room to hear, I whispered:
"Are you watching, patron? Are you still so certain I'll wear that crown?"
The air didn't shift, but I felt him anyway. That strange man with his stranger promises. He always answered when the walls were listening. He had been there for me for years, promising always the objects in my dreams.
"Yes," came the voice — soft, like silk around a blade. "You will sit the throne, Lady Neela. One way or another."
"And if the council chooses a different head for the crown?" I asked, though I knew the answer.
"Then there will be no council."
The air grew colder. My anger, my fear, my doubt — they all melted into that chill, replaced by something sharper. Something useful.
"I'll hold you to that," I said. "And if you lie—"
"You will get to kill me, but that will not happen," he finished smoothly. "That is our agreement, is it not?"
A smile tugged at my lips, unbidden but satisfying. "It is."
The guards were still at attention behind me, pretending not to hear, pretending not to wonder who I was speaking to. Let them wonder. Let them fear. Tomorrow would come, and they would not dare move their tongues.
The cold air pressed closer, and I knew the patron was still here. Not truly here—he never appeared like a proper man would. He was a voice in the shadows, a pressure in the air, he always left a taste of copper on the tongue.
"You didn't mention Askath would be there," I said to the silence. "That's the kind of detail you usually enjoy sharing. It was quite annoying, I was powerless against him. All my magic-. Failed."
A low chuckle, like wind whistling through hollow ribs. "I expected the Dragon Slayer would come eventually. Not so soon. Not while the little prince was still half-formed."
My little prince. The way he said it made my skin crawl. As if Fraero Vista was a figure whom was already in his control.
"Speaking of the Vista, his ally did something strange." I said, my fingers tracing the scar on my wrist—a gift from his first escape. "He did something I've never seen before."
"Oh?" The voice sharpened, eager. Hungry.
"He broke out of the restrainments you promised would work. No keys, no spells, no clever tricks. He stood there—idle as a rock—and when the time came not only did the power of fate's chosen arise, the veins on his arms turned…purple."
The silence stretched too long, as though even my patron had no immediate reply. That unsettled me more than anything.
"Describe the color," the voice finally said, quieter now.
"Purple," I repeated. "But not plain, ethereal violet, like the sky during a rune storm. When he tugged at the chains, they broke apart with little resistance. Even though before, he couldn't even get them to budge."
I felt it again—the memory of the chains trembling at Alcor's fingertips. No young child ought to be that powerful. Especially more powerful than me.
"Interesting," the patron said, voice almost amused. "I expected him to be Fate's Chosen—there's always one, isn't there? A dozen golden souls to drag this miserable world forward. But this? Even I do not know the nature of those veins.
"Don't lie to me," I snapped, turning to glare at the empty air. "You told me to take him. You said he was important. You must've knew, you got my people slaughtered. Is he truly someone we should mess with, I'm talking about the Alcors boy, but also the Vista."
"For both your questions... He is." The voice came from the far corner now, as though the air was spinning around me. "But important things do not always behave. Sometimes they break their molds. Sometimes they become... something else that you did not account for. And the chains you throw will miss."
"What does that mean?" I demanded.
"It means," the patron said, "that Alcor might be Fate's Chosen. And he might be something more, meanwhile Fraero seems to have gathered a powerful ally in the Dragon-Slayer, it would be best to halt our steps for now. Until things progress pleasantly..."
The candlelight in my room dimmed, shadows pulling too long across the floor. I felt his presence, had he apparated here just now?
"Is this your way of saying you don't know?" I pressed, hating the tremor in my voice. "Why have you come here? Are you going to deal with them yourself? You don't even know their powers."
"Not everything has a name yet, my dear Lady." His voice dropped to a whisper, brushing against my ear as he stood beside me, his figure hidden in a thin veil of darkness. "But I can tell you this—if those veins spread, they will either crown him or consume him. Perhaps both. I should hope he is consumed and I am there to pick up the pieces. So I may deliver them to you of course."
I clenched my fists. "And what of my crown? Why are we even bothering with them? All you did was make me an enemy. I don't want this riff-raff, I need the crown."
"And you will have it," he purred. "But you must survive first. Alcors, Fraero, Askath, they are not the only threats."
"Askath," I spat. "Is he truly as the legends say? Did you send me into him to make me feel powerless?"
The laugh returned—sweet, high, almost childlike. "No, no. Askath is too protected for me to whisper to. Too stubborn. Too…honorable. Too loved by fate..."
The word dripped with disdain.
"Then what now?"
The silence was answer enough. I could only twirl my blue locks in displeasure.
I turned back to the window, breathing slow and measured to leash my temper. "If the boy Alcor's power is unknown, how would you control him?"
"Control?" The patron sighed, disappointed. "I never said we would control him, Neela. I just want you to take him. The difference is important. If you cannot control him, you must either break him or make him need you. And if neither works…"
"Then I kill him, because what good is a weapon only your enemy can use." I finished.
"That's my clever girl."
"Gross."
My reflection in the window flickered, for just a breath. I wasn't alone in it. A pale face beside mine—a man with no eyes, only endless spirals where they should have been. A smile too wide. Fingers far too long.
I turned sharply, and he was gone.
"Don't do that, you know your face is a terrible one."
The guards still stood at the door, pretending not to notice my conversations with thin air. They would not ask. They knew better.
"We'll speak again soon," my patron said, his voice already fading into memory. "And Lady Neela?"
"What."
"Next time, watch his veins closer. If they are what I hypothesise, it will be a very interesting reality we live in. One that goes against all of history, I believe."
The room was empty again.
I stood there alone, hand pressed against the cold window, wondering if my crown would be mine and how much blood would have to be shed for this dream.