The woman regarded the man before her with skepticism, as if he were a puzzle waiting to be solved.
"You don't fear him that much. I can tell," she observed.
Xavier chuckled, the sound laced with amusement, as if she had just told the most ridiculous joke of the century.
"Oh, trust me, I do," he said, his tone light but firm. "Now, you've heard our prince. Do your job and leave."
Except she wouldn't be leaving—not alive, at least. He had already given orders for her to be eliminated the moment her task was complete.
Xavier watched the witch closely as she worked, his mind restless. Something about her unsettled him, though he couldn't quite place what it was. His instincts, honed over years of service to the prince, screamed that there was more to her than met the eye.
Then there was Alaric. For the first time in what felt like forever, his prince had shown interest in a woman. Xavier had been almost elated—almost. But the unease gnawed at him. Alaric, with his silver hair and amethyst eyes, looked nothing like a human, yet he refused to disguise himself. That alone was dangerous. They were supposed to be undercover, not announcing their presence to potential enemies.
"Xavier!"
He inhaled sharply through his nose, then exhaled slowly through his mouth, schooling his expression as he turned toward the voice.
Drusilla entered the room in a deliberate sway, her hips moving in a rhythm designed to capture attention. She knew exactly how to play the game, and Xavier—despite himself—couldn't deny that she was a master at it.
"Hey there, handsome," she purred, a sultry smile playing on her lips. "How's everything around here?"
Xavier met her gaze, his patience already wearing thin.
"Princess, get your luggage ready. We're leaving any moment now," he said, his tone clipped. "Your brother won't take it lightly if he's kept waiting."
Drusilla pouted, clearly unbothered by his lack of enthusiasm. But Xavier had no time for her games—not today.
"Who's this?"
The princess was surprised. It was the first time she had ever seen a woman in her brother's mansion—aside from the servants, of course.
Xavier, ever the cautious one, kept his explanation short and precise, revealing only what was necessary. "She's a witch, here at the service of the prince."
Drusilla arched an eyebrow. "At the service of my brother? Why would my brother need a witch?"
It wasn't exactly shocking, but this was Alaric they were talking about. Sometimes, she wondered if he secretly aspired to be a priest with how rigid and disciplined he could be.
"Unfortunately, I have no idea," Xavier replied smoothly. "My only job is to supervise her, make sure she does her work well—with no mistakes."
Drusilla let out a soft laugh, the kind that sent shivers down a man's spine. "And now we both know that's a lie," she said, stepping closer, eyes locked onto his. "But I'll pretend you're telling the truth. I'll pretend I believe you. And I'll let this slide—just this once—because I need to pack my things. But Xavier," she leaned in slightly, her voice like silk laced with steel, "this is the last time you'll lie to my face. Trust me, next time, I won't be as nice as I am now."
Xavier suppressed a sigh, keeping his expression blank.
Sometimes, he wondered what kind of sin he had committed against the heavens to deserve this torment.
Drusilla would surely be the death of him—he was certain of it.
She knew full well that he couldn't disclose everything to her; his loyalty to Alaric was unshakable. But that didn't stop her. She lived to make life difficult for others, especially Xavier. And by the gods, she revelled in it.
The way his jaw tensed, the flicker of frustration in his otherwise composed demeanor—it was enough to make her day.
~~~~
"You prefer the illegitimate daughter over our own princess?" one servant whispered to her colleague, momentarily distracted from the flowers she was tending.
Gossip was a favorite pastime among the palace staff, a way to kill boredom and entertain themselves. But there was one golden rule—never get caught, especially when discussing the nobles.
"Well, she's still our princess—the first princess, at that. She deserves some respect," Maria replied, keeping her voice low.
"She's an illegitimate child, Maria, and—"
"Illegitimate or not, she's still a highborn," Maria cut in firmly. "You and I are just common servants—peasants. And besides, she might be our empress one day. We'd be nothing before her."
Maria hadn't seen much of the mysterious first princess, but if given a choice, she'd pick her over the arrogant and cruel Elisabetha any day.
"Of course, I'd never dare disrespect a noble, let alone a royal," her colleague admitted. "I'm just saying—I doubt the nobles would ever allow her to sit on the throne. You know how they are, always clinging to their egos like life depends on it."
The two shared a quiet laugh at the thought.
"I don't think she even wants anything to do with Arthandica, let alone the throne," Maria mused. "Rumor has it that Princess Elisabetha is obsessed with the prince."
Her colleague rolled her eyes. "Old news, Maria. You really should talk more with the servants from the inner palace. They have the juiciest gossip."
"I hope you wouldn't mind sharing the new news with us. We'd love to know, wouldn't we, Maria?"
The two maids paled instantly. Fear gripped their tiny human hearts so tightly that they barely registered their princess' words.
Elisabetha stood before them, her power seeping out in angry waves, a suffocating presence that threatened to consume them whole. She was furious—so much so that the maids swore they could see her rage manifest around her. And yet, she tried to rein it in.
Her meeting with her friends had left nothing but a bitter taste in her mouth. Julie, of course, had chosen Blair over her again. It was always the same—Julie taking Blair's side, leaving Elisabetha to stew in her own emotions.
"Don't keep me waiting."
"You—your High—Highness, I-I..."
"I didn't take you for a stammerer," Elisabetha cut in coldly. "Get over your fear and speak."
Then, as if reconsidering, she changed her mind.
"Actually... I think we should finish this conversation in my room, Maria. You seem to know so much about the first princess. And as for you—the one with the latest rumor—I'll deal with you later."
It was only then that Lucy found her voice.
"Your Highness, please—please pardon her! She knows nothing—it was sniff I who forced her to tell me what she thought. Sniff Please, have mercy!"
She had been there all along, standing with them in the garden as they gossiped about her. But, unfortunately for them, their human noses had failed to pick up her scent. Their human ears had not heard her approach.
"Are you Maria?" Elisabetha's voice was smooth, almost indifferent. "If not, then get back to what you were doing. Maria, come with me."
With that, she turned on her heel, leaving the terrified maid no choice but to follow. Maria would be lying if she said she wasn't scared—terrified would be more fitting—but as I said earlier, she had no choice.
Inside the princess' chambers, Elisabetha faced her with an almost lazy curiosity.
"So, Maria, tell me everything you really know about the first princess. Apart from the fact that she wants nothing to do with Arthandica or the throne."
She dragged her words, savoring each syllable, letting the tension coil in the room like a serpent tightening around its prey. It worked. Maria was trembling so violently she could barely stand. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Her vocal cords had betrayed her.
Elisabetha fed on that fear. It curled around her like a comforting shroud, sending a delicious thrill through her veins. But that thrill suddenly twisted into something else.
Hunger.
"The way you're shivering..." Elisabetha's lips curved into a slow, sinister smile. "It makes you look so... delectable. Come here."
"N-no! Sniff Please... sniff P-please, Your Highness—"
Maria sobbed, tears carving frantic paths down her pale cheeks. But her begging did nothing to change the princess' plans.
Elisabetha yanked her forward with effortless strength. Before Maria could let out another plea, sharp fangs pierced her delicate neck.
A shrill, broken scream ripped from her lips. She thrashed wildly, her nails clawing at Elisabetha's arms, but her strength was nothing compared to the supernatural force holding her captive. The princess drank deeply, intoxicated by the taste, lost in a euphoric haze.
Maria's struggles weakened. Her limbs twitched before going slack. Coldness seeped into her body. She felt Death's cruel embrace wrapping around her, pulling her into a bottomless abyss.
Her last thought before the darkness swallowed her whole?
At least she hadn't died a coward. She had fought. But it hadn't been enough.
Elisabetha didn't even realize the girl was dead. She was too lost in her own world of blissful illusions, too drunk on the high of feeding—until she finally pulled back and saw the lifeless body crumpled in her arms.
A corpse.
~~~~
"Are you not done with that?"
Alaric's voice was sharp, cutting through the stillness of the room. The witch, who had her head buried deep inside a transparent tube, barely registered the question.
"Almost there," she murmured, fingers working furiously. "Just give me a few more minutes, and I'll be all done and dusted."
Xavier crossed his arms, unimpressed. "You've been repeating that same line for the past ten minutes. How many more 'few minutes' are we talking about here?"
Before she could respond, a voice—low, commanding, and brimming with barely restrained irritation—filled the air.
"Time's up."
Alaric.
The witch nearly jumped out of her seat, while Xavier shot a deadly glare at his prince, though he wisely held his tongue.
"Go check on Drusilla," Alaric ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Make sure she's ready. We're leaving in an hour."
Xavier exhaled through his nose, reluctant but compliant. He could see the storm brewing in Alaric's amethyst eyes. Pushing back would be foolish. Without another word, he turned and left.
The witch, still shaken, cleared her throat. "She's human, Your Imperial Majesty."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. I've checked three times just to be sure. The results remain the same—she's a human."
Alaric studied her for a moment, then gave a slow nod. "Very well then. Your job here is done."
Before the witch could process his words, the world tilted. A searing pain—brief, fleeting—then nothing.
One moment, she was standing. The next, her lifeless body slumped forward, no visible wounds, no chance to scream.
Alaric stepped back, expression unreadable. "Get rid of her body."
His command was calm, detached, as if he were discussing disposing of a broken chair rather than a corpse.
From the shadows, a familiar voice chimed in, laced with amusement.
"Well, brother dearest, I do know a few spells that can make a body disappear into thin air, but..."
"Drusilla, not now."
Her pout was audible, but she said no more.
"Xavier, get to work," Alaric continued, already turning away. "Meet me in my study when you're done."
And just like that, the matter was closed.
Alaric had sensed his sister long before Xavier, but he chose to ignore her. He had no patience for her antics today.
"Princess, tell me, how exactly do you plan on making this body disappear into thin air?" His tone was laced with skepticism, knowing full well that Drusilla had no actual knowledge of spellcasting.
Drusilla's lips curled into a smirk. "I won't teach you, Xavier. I will work, and you will watch." She tilted her head playfully. "But before that, I need your word—you owe me one."
Xavier hesitated, but curiosity got the better of him. He gave his word, still doubting she could pull it off.
Less than five minutes later, the body of the red-haired witch was nowhere to be seen.
Xavier swallowed hard. He felt sick. Regret crashed over him like a wave as realization dawned on him—he had just sealed a deal with Drusilla.
"You owe me one, pretty boy." She sang the words, her smile wide and utterly delighted.
Xavier groaned, running a hand through his hair. "You could at least pretend you're not enjoying this."
Drusilla pouted mockingly. "Oh, but I am." She gave him a teasing wink. "Don't be a sore loser, Xavier."
---
Matred clutched her head tightly, the pain unbearable. A silent scream burned in her throat as a fresh wave of agony crashed over her.
She didn't want this. She never asked for it. And yet, she had no choice.
Her reflection in the mirror was almost unrecognizable—her once radiant features were now dull, her skin sallow. Dark circles clung to her eyes, concealed only by layers of makeup. She was a ghost of the woman she used to be.
Dinner with Alaric had been nothing but torment. She could barely breathe, but she masked it well. Tomorrow, she was supposed to meet with the one responsible for this nightmare. She prayed—begged—that they wouldn't go back on their word.
If they did, she would take matters into her own hands.
She would end everything, once and for all.
All of this—her suffering, her slow unraveling—had started with a single act of kindness. A mere moment of compassion for a strange little girl.
And now, she reeked of a scent that wasn't her own. A foreign, unrelenting stench that clung to her skin, to her soul.
She wasn't living anymore.
She was merely enduring.