The evening was settling in, with dark clouds looming over the sky, signaling an impending storm. A man cloaked in a hood strode down the desolate, eerie path until he reached a wooden cottage. Without hesitation, he pushed the creaky door open and stepped inside. Three other men sat waiting for him, their face tensed.
As soon as their eyes landed on him, they stood abruptly, stiff and straight, their gazes fixed on the floor. His suffocating aura pressed down on their shoulders.
"What do you have for me?" he demanded, his voice cold and commanding. Pulling a chair toward him, he sat down leisurely, propping his feet up on the table with an air of dominance that only heightened their unease.
The three men exchanged uneasy glances before one of them finally spoke. "The King is in Graymoore with Bailiff Harold. They have discovered the previous Duke's residence."
"Good. Good. And the fae? How are the preparations progressing?" the cloaked man asked, his tone sharp.
"They are on track, my Liege," the second man responded. "Everything will be ready before the end of the month, meeting the deadline as planned."
"I am quite pleased with all of you. You have done far better than that fool, Dargan," the man remarked, his voice laced with satisfaction.
"Thank you, My Lord. You are most kind," the three men replied in unison, bowing their heads in reverence.
"And the girl?, the man continued, his tone shifting to one of keen interest. "Has she shown any signs of uncovering who she truly is?"
"I do not believe so, My Lord. If she had discovered the truth, I would know—the King would be enraged. From what I see, they remain on good terms, which means neither of them knows," the first man replied confidently.
"Very well," the cloaked man mused. "She must remain oblivious until the time is right. When the King finally learns the truth, I hope he is foolish enough to cast her out. When that happens, I will be waiting to bring her to where she truly belongs." His eyes flicked over the table, then returned to the men before him.
"I almost forgot to mention a potential issue," the third man interjected. "A boy working for me reported that the King and his dog visited a woman named Amara. She was Leocade's wife, and they had a child together—a daughter."
"Oh, how intriguing," the cloaked man drawled, leaning forward slightly. "And how old is this child?"
"She was observed from a distance," the third man replied cautiously, "but she appears to be somewhere between thirteen and fifteen years old."
His lips curled into a sly smirk. "That woman truly thought she could hide from me. How naive to believe her little secret would remain buried," he muttered, more to himself than to the others.
His sharp brown eyes flicked to the dagger resting on the table. Gripping its hilt, he rose to his feet, his presence radiating menace. "Prepare yourselves. Tonight, we pay dear Amara a visit," he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument.
----
Amara had just dropped the potatoes into the pot of boiling water when a sudden knock at the door made her pause. She frowned, puzzled as to who could be visiting at such an hour.
Wiping her hands on a napkin, she made her way to the parlor and cautiously opened the door just a crack. Peering out, her eyes landed on two men dressed in black uniforms that resembled overalls. "Good evening. May I help you?" she asked, her tone polite yet laced with curiosity.
"Are you Amara?" one of the men asked, his voice cold and calculating.
"Yes. Is there a problem?" she replied, glancing between them with confusion and unease etched in her features.
"The Lord wishes to speak with you. Let us in," the other man barked, his tone sharp and commanding.
Amara's frown deepened as her instincts screamed of danger. "No, leave my property immediately," she said firmly, attempting to close the door. But her effort was halted as one of the men placed a hand against it, forcing it open.
Amara threw her weight against the door, desperate to shut it, her heart hammering as fear overtook her. A sharp gasp escaped her lips when the force against the door overwhelmed her, sending her sprawling to the floor. Her wide eyes darted upward as the door swung open, and the two men stepped inside.
"What are you doing here?! Get out of my house!" she shouted, scrambling backward on her elbows.
The men remained silent, their stares cold and unnerving. A third figure, cloaked in black, entered the room, his presence suffocating.
The man's hard features sent a chill through Amara's stomach. His eyes were cold and empty, his crooked nose and scarred lips making him appear even more dangerous. His hair was neatly gelled back, held in a small bun. "Good evening, Mrs. Amara," his voice was dark and sent shivers down her spine, her heart racing.
"What do you want? Money? I will give you whatever you need," she begged, tears welling in her eyes.
The man chuckled, his voice low. "I don't want your money, woman. Where is your child?"
Amara's eyes widened in shock. "What... What child?" she stammered.
The man tilted his head, his expression mocking. "Oh, I see. You want to play dumb?" He nodded to his men. "Find the girl and bring her to me."
"No!" Amara shouted, pushing herself to stand. But before she could move, one of the men kicked her back down, causing her to groan in pain. Ignoring the ache in her stomach, she scrambled to her feet, rushing to the kitchen where she grabbed a knife and gripped it tightly in her hands.
The man and his servant walked toward the kitchen, undeterred by her threat. Amara gripped the knife tightly, holding it in front of her as she shouted, "If you come closer, I will kill you! Get out of my house!"
The man smirked, his gaze unwavering as he took a slow step forward. "Do you truly believe your knife can kill me?" he taunted.
In a surge of desperation, Amara lunged at him, stabbing the knife hard into his neck.
The man didn't flinch as he pulled the knife from his neck, the wound healing almost instantly. His smile remained cold. "You shouldn't have done that," he said, his voice low.
In a swift motion, he grabbed her head and slammed it hard into the wall. Amara's vision blurred, stars flashing before her eyes as she crumpled to the ground.
Just then, the other man entered the kitchen, holding a struggling girl by the hair. "I found her," he announced.
"Lilith! No! Please, don't hurt her! I will do anything you want!" Amara's voice trembled, her tears falling freely as she tried to recover from the hit.
The man motioned for his servant to bring the girl forward. He gently brushed his hand over the girl's cheek before leaning in with a whisper, "Quite unfortunate, child." With a brutal twist, his fingers wrapped around her neck, snapping it effortlessly. He stepped back, and the lifeless body of the girl crumpled to the floor.
"No! Nooooo!!" Amara screamed, tears rolling down her face, her body jerking as she tried to reach her daughter. One of the servants gripped her tightly, holding her back.
The man approached her, crouching down to wipe away her tears. "This isn't personal, Amara. I simply hate loose ends," he murmured. With a swift motion, he ran the blade he was holding across her neck, cutting deep. Amara fought against the inevitable, but the life slowly drained from her, her body going limp. Her eyes stared blankly, empty and lifeless, as she passed away.
The man gave Amara one final glance before pulling his hood over his head. Without a word, he turned and walked out of the house, his servants following closely behind him.