Serena sat back in her throne, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows across the grand chamber. The events of the day replayed in her mind—the screams of horror, the gasps of awe, and finally, the rousing cheers of her people as they witnessed her unwavering resolve. She leaned her head back against the ornate throne, closing her crimson eyes for a moment, a faint smirk playing on her lips.
"Great Sage," she murmured aloud, her voice soft but firm. "What is my current favorability with the people? After today's… performance, I assume it has shifted."
In the corner of her vision, the translucent figure of Great Sage appeared, its calm and measured tone answering promptly:
"Overall favorability among the citizens of Celestafell: 94%. Breakdown: 76% view you as an untouchable protector, 14% are in awe of your power, and 4% are uncertain but leaning toward admiration. Negative favorability accounts for less than 1%."
Serena let out a quiet chuckle, a sound that echoed softly in the vast chamber. She placed her gloved hand over her mouth, her crimson eyes glinting with amusement as she sat forward. "Ninety-four percent? Truly? That's… ridiculous."
Great Sage chimed again, its tone unflinching:
"Your willingness to bear the wounds of your soldiers has had a significant impact. The people view it as a testament to your commitment and love for the kingdom. The event in the city square has been described as both horrifying and inspiring. The display of healing has reinforced the perception of your invincibility."
Serena smirked, her fingers tapping lightly against the armrest of her throne. "Horrifying and inspiring. I suppose I should be flattered. They think me a savior and a monster in equal measure."
"The sentiment aligns with your titles, my Lady. Fear and reverence are both potent tools for leadership," Great Sage remarked, its voice unchanging.
She tilted her head slightly, her smirk softening into a faint smile. "True enough. It seems my gamble paid off, as it always does. Ninety-four percent… I almost feel sorry for the skeptics. Almost."
Great Sage remained silent, its figure flickering faintly before disappearing from her vision. Serena sat back in her throne once more, her thoughts settling as her smile lingered. Celestafell's faith in her was unshakable. And with every move she made, she would ensure it stayed that way. She reached up, brushing a strand of dark hair from her face as she murmured softly to herself, "Aaah. I should have been an actor."
She chuckled, the sound low and almost musical, before pausing as a sharp, wet squelch broke the moment. Her left hand popped off at the wrist, tumbling to the floor with a sickening splatter as blood sprayed in a crimson arc across the polished stone. Serena tilted her head, her gaze flicking to the detached appendage with an expression more of mild annoyance than alarm.
"Poor cleaning crew," she muttered dryly, watching as the blood pooled and slowly began to congeal, her spell already working to reattach the limb. "I really should start warning them when I'm about to bleed all over their hard work."
She stretched her remaining hand out in front of her, flexing her fingers thoughtfully as the stump began to regenerate. The Requiem Core's magic buzzed faintly in her mind, knitting her body back together piece by piece. It was fascinating, really—how much damage her body could endure without her feeling an ounce of pain. It was as though the wounds were nothing more than an inconvenience, a distant echo of what they should have been.
The thought brought a question to mind, one that made her frown slightly. "Great Sage," she said aloud, her tone curious but carrying an edge of concern. "When the troops take wounds, even though the injuries transfer to me… do they still feel the pain?"
The faint shimmer of Great Sage appeared in the corner of her vision, its calm, measured tone answering without hesitation.
"Yes, my Lady. Though the physical damage is redirected to you, the initial pain of the injury remains with the individual until it subsides naturally or is treated."
Serena's brows knit together, her expression darkening slightly. She stared at her half-regenerated hand, flexing the stubby beginnings of fingers as the magic worked tirelessly to restore her.
"So, they feel every slash, every break, every burn… even though their bodies heal unscathed," she murmured, her voice quiet but filled with a strange weight.
"Correct, my Lady," Great Sage confirmed. "The spell does not negate their sensation of pain. It only ensures their physical survival."
Serena's lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze distant as she considered this. For a moment, silence hung heavy in the throne room, broken only by the faint squelch of her hand reattaching itself, the bloodstains slowly drying on the stone floor.
Then, she sighed softly, her smirk returning, though it lacked its usual sharpness. "Well, that's something to think about. Perhaps I'll have to design something to lessen their burden. Can't have my forces running ragged because they're in agony, can I?"
Great Sage's voice chimed again, its tone neutral. "An intriguing proposal. I can assist in devising an augmentation if you wish."
"Good," Serena said, her voice firmer now. She leaned back in her throne, resting her newly healed hand on the armrest as she glanced at the bloodstains once more. "But first, let's get someone in here to clean this mess. I'd rather not step in it later."
With that, she settled into her seat, her mind already spinning with possibilities, her smirk lingering as she mused on the balance of power, pain, and the price of her soldiers' loyalty.
The throne room was quiet, the air heavy with the scent of wax and parchment. The Vengeful One sat on her throne, her crimson eyes fixed on the latest stack of reports. Her hand moved fluidly, signing off on orders and dispatches with the ease of someone accustomed to endless work. The sound of boots echoed against the polished stone as Lucien entered, his emerald eyes flicking to her.
"My Lady," he said, his voice carrying a mix of warmth and exasperation. "I'm here to rescue you from yourself. You've been buried in work all day. Join me for dinner. Let someone else handle this for the night."
The Vengeful One glanced up, arching a brow at him, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Dinner, you say? How gallant of you, my dear consort. Very well. Let me at least look presentable for such a noble invitation."
She rose gracefully from her throne, the long, dark cloak trailing behind her. Just as she took her first step toward him, a sudden and silent force tore through the air. A horizontal slash appeared at her midsection, her torso separating cleanly from her abdomen. For a brief, horrifying moment, her upper half remained upright, her crimson eyes flicking downward to where her lower body still stood.
"Oh, for the love of—" she muttered, her tone more inconvenienced than alarmed as her torso began to tilt. "This is becoming a bit tiresome."
Her upper body toppled forward, landing unceremoniously on the stone floor with a dull thud, while her lower half crumpled beneath her. Blood pooled rapidly around her, staining the pristine surface of the throne room. Despite the grotesque scene, her expression remained calm, almost annoyed, as if someone had simply spilled a drink at an otherwise flawless banquet.
Lucien's eyes widened in shock as he rushed forward. "My Lady!"
She waved a hand dismissively, her voice as even as ever despite her circumstances. "Calm yourself, dear consort. It's merely another transfer. The troops must be engaging in something particularly unpleasant at the moment. Great Sage, confirm?"
The glowing figure of Great Sage appeared in the corner of her vision.
"Confirmed. Several injuries sustained simultaneously by frontline forces. No critical damage detected. Requiem Core will initiate full restoration. Healing estimated at eight minutes, thirty-six seconds."
"Eight minutes? Hmph, longer than usual. A nuisance," the Vengeful One muttered, propping herself up slightly on her remaining arm. "Lucien, be a dear and retrieve the cleaning crew before this blood sets. They'll never forgive me if it stains."
Lucien's jaw tightened as he stared at her, his emotions warring between frustration and admiration. "And what about you, my Lady? Just going to lie there?"
"What else would you have me do? Dance?" she quipped, her lips curling into a faint smirk. "The Requiem Core has this under control. I'm not going to waste energy fretting over something that will fix itself. Now, about that dinner…"
Lucien shook his head, letting out a heavy sigh. "You're impossible. But fine. I'll fetch the cleaning crew. After that, you're eating something. Preferably sitting upright."
As he turned to leave, she called after him, her voice laced with amusement. "Don't keep me waiting, dear consort. A queen shouldn't dine alone."
Lucien muttered something under his breath, though she couldn't make it out. As the sound of his boots faded, she glanced back at Great Sage.
"You'd think he'd be used to this by now, wouldn't you?" she mused.
Great Sage replied in its calm, emotionless tone.
"Human adaptability varies, my Lady. His reaction aligns with standard emotional parameters for individuals in his position."
The Vengeful One chuckled softly, blood still pooling around her as her torso began the slow process of regenerating. "Ah, humans and their standard parameters. Always entertaining."
The streets of Celestafell were alive with the vibrant hum of evening activity. Lanterns glowed softly along the cobblestone roads, their light casting golden halos over the bustling marketplace. The scent of fresh bread and roasted meats mingled with the faint perfume of blooming flowers, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere.
Lucien walked beside his queen, his emerald eyes glancing occasionally toward her as they strolled through the lively streets. The Vengeful One, as regal as ever, moved with an ease that belied her title, her crimson eyes surveying the city with a rare, relaxed expression. The long, dark cloak she wore rippled gently in the cool breeze, adding an almost ethereal quality to her presence.
"You've been unusually secretive about this destination, dear consort," she teased, the faintest hint of amusement coloring her tone. "Should I be concerned? Or is this another one of your attempts to surprise me?"
Lucien smirked, his hands clasped casually behind his back. "I wouldn't call it an attempt, my Lady. I'd call it a certainty. You'll enjoy this, I promise."
She arched a brow, her lips curving into a small smile. "Certainty, is it? How bold of you. Very well, lead on. Let's see if your promise holds weight."
As they continued, the occasional vendor or shopkeeper called out, recognizing their queen and her consort. "My Lady! My Lord! Fresh fruit for you both!" one merchant exclaimed, holding up a basket of shining apples.
Another chimed in, waving a handwoven scarf. "Something warm for the cool nights, your Majesty? On the house!"
The queen inclined her head politely, though she waved off most of the offers with a faint smirk. Lucien, however, stopped once or twice to thank them, occasionally accepting a small token of their gratitude, which earned him a playful eye-roll from Serena.
"Do you ever tire of indulging them?" she asked, her tone light but teasing.
"Not when it's genuine," he replied, handing her a small bouquet of wildflowers a child had shyly offered him moments before. "Besides, it's good for them to see us like this. A queen among her people, and a consort who hasn't lost his charm."
Serena chuckled, taking the bouquet and twirling it between her fingers. "Charming, indeed. I'll give you that much."
They continued their walk, the streets growing quieter as Lucien led her toward a more secluded part of the city. The buildings were smaller here, their architecture simpler but no less beautiful. Finally, they stopped in front of a modest but inviting little inn, its wooden sign swinging gently in the breeze. The faint sound of music drifted from inside, accompanied by the warm, golden light spilling from the windows.
"This, my Lady," Lucien said, gesturing toward the inn with a dramatic flourish, "is where I thought we could enjoy our evening."
Serena tilted her head, her crimson eyes narrowing slightly in mock skepticism. "An inn? Hardly the grand dining halls of the castle. Are you trying to humble me, Lucien?"
He chuckled, pushing open the door and stepping aside to let her enter. "Not humble, my Queen. Remind. Sometimes, the simplest places hold the greatest treasures."
Curious, Serena stepped inside, her eyes immediately drawn to the cozy interior. A small fire crackled in the hearth, its warmth filling the room. The tables were set with simple yet elegant wooden plates, and a musician in the corner played a soft melody on a lute. The air smelled of freshly baked bread and spiced cider.
"Well," she admitted, her voice softening as she took in the atmosphere. "It is… charming. I'll give you that."
Lucien led her to a table near the fire, pulling out a chair for her with a flourish. "Charming and warm. A combination you don't often get in the castle."
Serena sat gracefully, her lips curving into a faint smile. "Flattery again, Lucien? You're trying very hard to win points tonight."
"Always, my Queen," he replied, taking the seat across from her.
As the evening progressed, the warmth of the fire and the soft hum of conversation filled the air. Their laughter blended with the music as they talked about everything from the day's trivialities to their shared dreams for Celestafell's future. For a moment, the weight of their titles and responsibilities seemed to vanish, leaving only Serena and Lucien—two people enjoying a rare, quiet evening together.
By the time they left the inn, the stars had come out, their light scattering across the darkened sky. Hand in hand, they walked back toward the castle, their steps unhurried, their voices low as they shared quiet laughter.
As they neared the gates, Lucien glanced at her, his emerald eyes shining with a rare softness. "Did I keep my promise, my Queen?"
Serena smirked, tilting her head slightly as she looked at him. "You did. But don't let it go to your head, dear consort. There's always next time to prove yourself again."
"I'll look forward to it," he replied, his smirk mirroring hers as they disappeared through the castle gates, the warmth of the evening lingering between them.
The grand chamber was unusually quiet, the usual hum of activity reduced to the soft scratching of The Vengeful One's quill as she signed off on another stack of requests and reports. Her crimson eyes flicked over the parchment with practiced efficiency, but the faint furrow in her brow suggested a growing impatience with the monotony.
The door creaked open softly, and one of the housekeepers—Merra, a young woman with auburn hair tied in a simple bun—stepped inside hesitantly. She carried a tray of tea, her hands trembling slightly as she approached the queen. Though her presence was acknowledged with a brief glance, Merra's nerves refused to settle.
"Set it there," Serena said, her tone even but not unkind, nodding toward the small table beside her.
Merra placed the tray down carefully, her gaze darting toward the queen's long, flowing hair. For weeks, she had noticed how Serena's hair remained untouched beyond its natural beauty—loose, sleek, and cascading down her back. An idea had begun forming in her mind, but voicing it seemed daunting. Still, as the moments stretched and the queen resumed her work, Merra found her courage.
"My Lady?" she said softly, her voice almost a whisper.
Serena paused, setting her quill down with deliberate care. Her crimson eyes lifted to meet Merra's, one brow arching in mild curiosity. "Yes? What is it?"
Merra clasped her hands in front of her, her cheeks flushing as she spoke quickly, afraid she might lose her nerve. "Forgive me for being so bold, my Lady, but… I was wondering if—if perhaps—I might… style your hair?"
For a moment, silence filled the room as Serena blinked, clearly caught off guard. Then, to Merra's astonishment, the queen's lips curved into a faint, amused smile. "Style my hair?" she echoed, tilting her head slightly. "That's an unusual request. Why?"
Merra's face turned a deeper shade of red, and she began to fidget with the edge of her apron. "It's just… I enjoy doing it. A hobby, you might say. And—and your hair, my Lady, is so beautiful. I thought it might be… nice. If you'd allow me, of course."
Serena leaned back in her chair, resting her chin on her hand as she regarded the nervous housekeeper. "A hobby, you say? How cute. Very well, Merra. I'll indulge your little passion. But if this turns into a disaster, you'll be the one brushing it all back out. Understood?"
Merra's eyes lit up with a mixture of relief and excitement, and she nodded quickly. "Yes, my Lady! Thank you, my Lady!"
"You'll need more than gratitude to impress me, Merra," Serena teased, standing and gesturing toward one of the smaller sitting areas in the room. "Go ahead. Let's see what you can do."
Merra practically skipped to gather the supplies she'd brought with her—combs, ribbons, and pins neatly arranged in a small pouch. As Serena sat down, Merra began to carefully run her fingers through the queen's long, silky hair, her movements gentle and reverent.
"Do you do this often?" Serena asked, her tone casual but laced with genuine curiosity.
"Oh, yes, my Lady," Merra replied, her nerves starting to fade as she focused on her work. "I used to style my sisters' hair all the time. Sometimes even my mother's, though she would complain about the tugging."
Serena chuckled softly. "I hope for your sake you've learned to be gentler since then."
Merra giggled, her fingers deftly weaving strands of Serena's hair into an intricate braid. "I think so, my Lady. Though you'll have to tell me if I'm not."
"Don't worry, I will," Serena said, her smirk softening as she watched Merra work with surprising confidence.
As the minutes passed, Merra began adding delicate touches—small ribbons threaded through the braids, pins holding intricate twists in place. Serena found herself oddly soothed by the process, the gentle tugging and soft murmurs of the housekeeper a welcome change from the endless pressures of her duties.
When Merra stepped back, her face glowing with pride, Serena turned her head slightly to catch her reflection in a nearby mirror. Her hair had been transformed into an elegant cascade of braids and twists, accented with subtle yet striking adornments.
"Well," Serena said, tilting her head to examine it from different angles. "I must admit, you have quite the talent, Merra. Perhaps I should add 'royal hairdresser' to your duties."
Merra's eyes widened. "Oh, no, my Lady! I wouldn't presume—"
Serena waved a hand, cutting her off with a faint chuckle. "Relax. It was a jest. For now. But I won't stop you from practicing on me again. It's… refreshing."
Merra beamed, bowing deeply. "Thank you, my Lady! It's an honor!"
As the housekeeper began gathering her tools, Serena leaned back, her fingers brushing lightly over the intricate braids. A rare, genuine smile graced her lips as she murmured softly, "Cute indeed."
As Merra exited the chamber, her pouch of tools clinking softly with every step, the room fell silent. The Vengeful One remained seated, her fingers lightly brushing the intricate braids woven into her hair. The mirror before her reflected a rare sight—a softer, almost humanizing elegance that felt both foreign and oddly fitting. She tilted her head slightly, admiring the craftsmanship, when the familiar presence of Great Sage flickered into view in the corner of her vision.
"My Lady, once word of this reaches the staff within the castle manor, favorability among your immediate personnel will exceed 100%. Current projection: 126% favorability."
Serena chuckled softly, her crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. "One hundred twenty-six percent? Truly, Great Sage, I thought the maximum was one hundred. What's next, groveling at my feet?"
"Not groveling, my Lady," Great Sage replied in its usual calm tone. "However, admiration and loyalty from your direct staff will reach beyond calculable thresholds. The act of allowing a housekeeper to style your hair is perceived as both humble and benevolent. Such gestures amplify morale significantly."
Her lips curved into a sly smirk as she leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. "Well, well. It seems my plans are rolling more smoothly than I anticipated. Even my smallest indulgences work in my favor."
She cast one last glance in the mirror, tilting her head to examine the way the ribbons intertwined with the braids. For a fleeting moment, her reflection seemed almost unrecognizable—a queen not just feared, but loved. A rare sense of satisfaction washed over her.
"I must admit, she did an excellent job," Serena murmured, her tone carrying an edge of genuine approval. "Perhaps I'll let her try something more elaborate next time."
Standing gracefully, she adjusted her cloak and smoothed the folds of her dress, her heels clicking faintly against the polished stone floor. Her crimson eyes flicked toward the door, and with a final glance at her reflection, she turned toward the corridor.
The castle was quieter at this hour, the echoes of the day fading into the calm of the evening. As she made her way through the halls, Serena's presence drew soft whispers and polite bows from the occasional passing staff. She acknowledged them with a faint nod or a small smile, her steps unhurried but purposeful.
Her routine was well-practiced, though tonight carried a faint air of pride. From the kitchens to the armory, from the scullery to the guard posts, she made her rounds, pausing briefly in each area to offer her thanks.
"Good night, and excellent work today," she told the cooks as they cleaned the last of the pots and pans.
"Rest well. Your efforts do not go unnoticed," she said to the cleaning crew, their tired faces lighting up at her words.
"Keep your vigilance sharp, and remember, you are the foundation of this kingdom's strength," she reminded the guards stationed at the outer halls.
By the time she reached the final corridor leading back to her chambers, the faintest traces of a smile lingered on her lips. Great Sage chimed in again as she walked.
"Morale within the castle has risen by 17%. Projection: castle operations will see an increase in efficiency tomorrow by a similar margin. Favorability remains beyond maximum."
Serena chuckled to herself, her voice low and almost musical as it echoed faintly in the quiet hall. "I do enjoy hearing such numbers. Efficiency, loyalty, and admiration all on the rise. It seems I'm not just a ruler—I'm a legend in the making."
Her smile softened slightly as she neared her chamber door, her steps slowing. She glanced back down the hallway, as if savoring the success of the day, before disappearing into her quarters.