The wind howled outside my chamber window, rattling the glass panes and whispering secrets only the ancient stones of the tower could understand. It was Monday evening, the city temple bells announcing the end of the day's prayers. But such things held no sway over me, as I am a witch who trusted only in the power of my own will.
My chamber was a reflection of my own restless spirit. Atop the highest tower of the palace, it offered a breathtaking view of the sprawling city below. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of purple and gold, but my eyes remained glued to the pages of one of my grimoires.
My long, auburn hair spilled over the silken sheets draped over my body. The air hummed with unseen energy, fueled by the countless magical items and grimoires that littered the room. Some were suspended in mid-air, their pages rustling with an unseen wind.
My pet Amber, a black and fiery red hell phoenix, perched regally inside its ornate cage, expertly roasting a rat it had recently snatched from the stables. The pungent aroma of roasted flesh filled the chamber, which I barely noticed. My mind was occupied by a far more pressing matter.
I needed to find a spell, a potent incantation, a way of forcing someone to speak the truth. My patience was wearing thin, and the imp's silence was beginning to grate on my nerves. I had tried everything: torture, threats, even promises of unimaginable wealth. But nothing worked. The imp remained stubbornly tight-lipped, a silent, smug enigma. Making matters even worse, all my grimoires' content was high-level spells. They were more interested in exploding people rather than making them speak.
"Your Highness, don't you think it's time to get out of this hellhole and have a walk in the garden?" Matilda, my personal maid, said, suddenly running into my chamber. "The air is lovely this evening, and the roses are in full bloom."
Then as usual she cast a disapproving glance at the phoenix in its cage. "And I'm sure that hell bird is going to set the palace ablaze one day."
I snorted," Don't you know to knock before entering, Matilda? A woman needs her privacy. "
I pushed the sheets away from my body, revealing my youthful form. The fact that I was approaching a hundred was a minor inconvenience, a detail I chose to ignore. After all, I was the only witch within the kingdom, besides the old death witch Helga, and Helga preferred to have an old, withered appearance. The point is, it made people feel uncomfortable to see me, their queen, the most powerful woman in the land, remain young forever while they aged and eventually withered away.
"Your Highness, don't you think it's time you actually appeared like, you know, who?" Matilda asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"What do you mean by 'you know who?'" I asked, rolling my eyes.
"I mean a woman, Your Highness," Matilda said, her cheeks flushing. "With a big chest and all."
I burst into laughter, my body shaking with mirth. "Why would I want to appear like that? People always underestimate me in this appearance."
"Because, Your Highness, it's better to let them know who you really are rather than making them suspicious about you?" Matilda said, her voice barely a squeak. She had always been a kind, gentle girl, but she was still learning the rules of the court.
"It's fine, Matilda. At least you speak the truth." I said. "But don't worry, no one will dare try to usurp my throne."
Matilda's face turned pale. She mumbled, "Of course, Your Highness."
I have to admit that the feeling of unease was beginning to simmer inside me, bubbling like a cauldron on the verge of boiling over. It had been a few weeks now since I first felt it, a creeping sensation of doubt, a nagging fear that something was brewing beneath the surface of the kingdom.
I needed to get the information out of the imp. I needed the truth, and I need it now. If torture wasn't working, then I would need to find a spell, a potion, a hex, anything to pry the truth from his lips.
I glared at Matilda, who was halfway through cleaning my chamber. She looked up, her eyes wide with apprehension.I snapped my fingers, and a miniature hurricane erupted inside my chamber, tossing books into the air, sending my clothes flying, and making the phoenix shriek with delight.
"Clean the room again, Matilda," I said, my voice a cold whisper. "And you can sleep without dinner tonight."
The sweet, gentle girl, the one who had always tried to speak soft, was gone. In her place, I replaced my true form. The witch I was born to be.
I gathered my black cloak, the long, hooded garment I used to cover my appearance when leaving the palace.
"I'm leaving to meet Lord Cunnington," I said, my voice a low, dangerous growl.
I didn't bother looking back at Matilda. I knew she was loyal, that she would follow my every command. But I also knew that I needed to remind her of who I was, of the power I possessed, of the fear I could inspire. Sometimes, you had to use a little fear to ensure your power was never questioned.
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The palace corridors were eerily quiet, the only sound the echo of my footsteps on the polished marble floor. The air hung heavy, thick with the scent of incense and ancient magic. And there was one more scent to it, a lingering sweetness, a hint of spiced honey and toasted almonds—a scent the royal chef must have carried along this corridor moments before, the warmth of his pastry still lingering in the air. Is he dining inside his chamber at this hour alone? I wondered. After all, that food was his favorite.
Lord Cunnington's chambers were at the opposite end of the palace, a long, winding journey that took me past countless paintings of past kings and queens, each staring down at me with an expression of stoic disapproval. I ignored them, suppressing my desire to burn them to ashes. I focused on the task at hand.
My mind drifted back to the imp, the creature I was determined to make talk. He had been caught trying to peddle worthless trinkets and cheap weaponry near the city temple, disguised as a short tradesman, using cleverly crafted extensions to make himself appear taller. Everyone knows dwarves don't care about gold. As far as the stories go, they have mountains of dragon hoards! This particular dwarf lived inside the magical labyrinth beneath the city, a place said to be a web of tunnels and chambers that stretched far beneath the kingdom's foundation. The maze, they say, is a living thing, able to shift and change, opening portals to other realms. He could easily go anywhere he wanted. But the damn imp wouldn't admit to anything, it refused to acknowledge the existence of the labyrinth, and even denied he had helped protect the kingdom during the attack of the undead army. He was a skilled spy, if nothing else.
But why was he here? Why spy on my kingdom? What secrets did he guard, and what did he want? His refusal to speak fueled my anger. My thoughts returned to the attack of the undead, and the whispers of soldiers talking about mysterious pits and holes opening in the kingdom's underground water channels and sewage systems. I have heard tales of undead falling into the abyss, their bodies disappearing into the labyrinth's depths. It had been a turning point in the battle, a silent force working beneath the surface, a hidden ally in a war we never fully understood. Yet, the imp refused to acknowledge its existence, and that was a betrayal, a silent insult that was driving me mad. But I was a witch and a queen. I can't wait. Not anymore. The imp had no way to escape me, and I would extract the truth from him, one way or another.
Finally, I reached Lord Cunnington's chambers. I paused, my hand resting on the ornate door knocker, a silver dragon's head with ruby eyes. I didn't knock. He knew I was coming, and the door swung open.
"Ned?" I questioned, my voice laced with false surprise.
"Ah, Your Highness," he said, looking up, his eyes filled with a mixture of apprehension and amusement. "You grace me with your presence."
Ned, once the dashing young knight, now stood before me, older, his youthful exuberance replaced with a sober seriousness. He had a beard, a thick, dark beard that framed his face, and his hair, once a rich, dark brown, was now streaked with silver. He had even married Ela, my cousin, one of the most powerful families in the kingdom. She was a beauty, a woman with sharp eyes and a ruthless ambition that mirrored my own.
But I should say that I always felt like there was something off with the name Ned Cunnington. Cunnington didn't resonate with him nor his family. Cunnington was a name for a scholar, a man who valued intellect over action, a man who would prefer to scheme and plot than fight. Ned and his ancestors, on the other hand, were men of action, warriors who thrived on the thrill of the hunt, the clash of steel, the rush of adrenaline.
"Save the formalities, Ned. I'm not in the mood for courtly pleasantries."
"Feyona, you're here. How… lovely," Ned said again, forcing a smile.
His voice, once full of youthful enthusiasm, was now tinged with a forced calmness, a strange note of tension that made my blood run cold. I knew something had gone wrong the moment I saw him. Ned always wore his heart on his sleeve. His discomfort was obvious, a tight smile masking a hidden unease. His knuckles were clenched, his eyes darting around the room, his voice a little higher than usual. He was trying to hide something, something he was afraid to tell me.
I stepped into his chamber. "Ned, out with it," I said, my voice low and dangerous.