Our kingdom has never been on good terms with any of the four that surround us. Five kingdoms with the same motives, the same hunger, and absolutely no trust.
War and conflict are as common as breathing. And being stuck in the middle of it all means our kingdom is always on edge, always watching our backs.
Lowering our guard for even a second means it's over.
The competition to win—to dominate—is high when every kingdom brings something lethal to the table. Armies that strike fear, strategies that shatter defenses, weapons crafted to kill with precision, mastery over the arts of alchemy and magic.
But this kingdom? We're a different breed.
We're survivors.
We don't have the flash or the immediate power of the others. We've got a reputation, sure, but it's built on blood and grit. The kind of grit that makes you get back up when you're knocked down, that keeps you going even when the odds are stacked against you.
We fight dirty if we have to. We use what we've got. Brains, patience, and a stubborn will to survive. Here it's more important to keep your head down and last longer than it is to shine in the spotlight.
It's not pretty. It's not glorious. It's not heroic. Hell, it's barely even dignified at times. But it's effective. When everyone else is playing checkers and we're out here playing chess. We may not dominate with the same fire as the others, but we outlast them.
And like every damn time, we outlast the enemies. Brains, like I said, that's what we've got. Specially with one person leading the way. Raven. Duke Raven. The creature of darkness.
It's not some myth that makes his name alone freeze people. No, it's because he's earned every bit of that title. Cruel, clever, ruthless. He doesn't play by the rules. He rewrites them. A master strategist with a mind that sees every move before it's even made.
Tonight, the banquet is for him. The king, of all people, arranging this grand banquet to honor Duke Raven's victory. The same king who's barely on speaking terms with him, who's seen Duke Raven as nothing more than a threat to his power.
They're constantly tearing each other apart. None of them can stand the sight of each other, much less be in the same room without trying to take a bite.
As Duke Raven has the ability to control the entire freaking country, the king is extremely furious of his influence. And the Duke? The politics of the royal family don't matter to him at all.
It's been this way for as long as anyone can remember—royals and the duke's house locked in a battle of egos. None of this is for the kingdom. None of it's for the people.
The only thing that matters is who holds the most power at the end of the day, who's left standing with their hand on the kingdom's heart, pumping it for their own benefit.
And the duke showed it. The creature turns out to be the hero the king was most eager to have put to death. The king cannot avoid the public humiliation, which is a complete slap in the face.
Duke Raven showed up, not out of loyalty to the kingdom, but to rub it in the royals' faces, to send a message. A message that says, "I'm the one holding the heart of this kingdom now. Not you. Me."
The slight pain in my head throbs with each heartbeat as I look out the window. In celebration of him, the streets are lit up and covered in banners.
By now, people must be coming in. Silk-clad nobility and ordinary people hoping to see the man who changed the course of events. Their sole purpose is to observe the Duke. To applaud the black creature who came to our rescue. Even though if they could, half of them would prefer to spit at his feet.
Not everyone will forget the nasty reputation he's carried for years overnight, just because he's suddenly a hero. I don't blame them.
Because, he didn't do it to be the good guy, to win anyone's favor. That was never the point. He doesn't give a damn if the entire kingdom hates him.
I feel my hand tremble again. I'd taken the medicine Zabel sent earlier, the ones supposed to help with the pain. But it's just a temporary fix. It doesn't matter what I take. Pills, potions, remedies from every corner of the kingdom. They don't work. They don't touch the core of it
"Hey, are you ready to go?" I hear Zabel's voice from the door, breaking through the fog in my mind. She's all set for tonight, looking like she stepped out of a fairytale. Her long white hair is perfectly styled, not a strand out of place, and the gown she's wearing must've taken three maids and two hours of work. It's all grace, elegance, and effort, and she pulls it off like it's nothing.
God, what a gorgeous woman.
"Can't you wear something bright for once?" she demands in a harsh tone while crossing her arms. She isn't even making an effort to hide her annoyance. As though my usually black attire offends her in some way.
"Yes, good evening to you too," I roll my eyes. There's no use in trying to act like I'm not irritated.
My tone doesn't really bother her. "Perhaps I wouldn't need to ask if you didn't appear to be heading to a funeral. But whatever, suit yourself."
I've never liked shiny, bright things. It's just not me. Never has been. Zabel's known this for years, and yet, here she is, still trying to nudge me into her world of glitter and light.
In any case, this sleek, rich purple gown fits me better. It's subtle, stylish, and dark—just what I want. There is merely a strong, deep shade that commands attention in its own quiet manner rather than begging for it. There is no extra shine or flashy distractions. It reminds me of myself.
"Let's go now," I say, not bothering to waste any more time on her style critiques. "Everyone must've already shown up by now."
The silent, dim corridors of the palace are behind us as we descend the grand staircase. Every footfall makes the ballroom's sound louder. By the time we get to the doors, there is a piece of joy, raising glasses, and the quiet murmur of courteous discussions.
These individuals remind me of moths circling a flame because they are so keen to outshine one another and to fly higher. I used to admire that drive, that hunger for more. It was like a fire inside me too, the same desire to be seen, to be better than the rest. But I learned my lesson.
The fire burns instead of warming. And the first to burn are those who fly closest.
I've been burned by it, just like everyone else. Because I was one of the fools who thought I could handle the flames.
Zabel gently nuzzles me, tilting her head with a slight grimace tugging at her lips as her piercing gray eyes meet mine. "What is it you're thinking? Let's go find something to eat." I can hear a subtle worry in her voice. She knows that I don't particularly love these kinds of events, so she is attempting to get me to concentrate on anything else.
As soon as we enter the ballroom, I can feel every pair of eyes turning in our direction. In my direction.
It's not respect I see in their eyes. No admiration or courtesy.
It's discomfort. Fear. And worse, the kind of judgment that fuels whispered gossip as I pass. They don't say it aloud, but I can feel their words, their thoughts, as if they're scrawled on the walls around me.
They don't treat me like a human being. I am something more horrible to them. I am a walking symbol of bad luck and suffering. A witch. That's what their eyes say, even if their mouths don't move.
Although, if I'm being honest, I've come to like the fear and hatred I've planted in their hearts. It's a strange, twisted kind of satisfaction, knowing someone's pulse quickens, their breath hitches, just because of me.
Fear commands a respect that kindness never could. Fear motivates action. Fear never tells lies or betrays. That's just the reality.
There's no point in playing the good soul when everyone around me is drowning in their own selfishness and cruelty.
The only way to deal with evil is to become it.
I no longer have the desire to outshine others, to be the person everyone loves and adores but I do have one desire. To become even more vicious than the demons that already exists within me.
Because it will numb me more the longer I continue go deeper into it. More so, it will protect me from their hatred. Nothing will be able to touch me once I've gone so far. Not their disapproval, not their sympathy.
Nothing.
No more weakness. No more trembling hands. Just a cold, unfeeling shell.