His Love

Chapter 53

Unknown POV

Sitting at a round table, I threw different herbs into a bowl, their scents mixing into a sharp, earthy aroma. Holding sage in my hand, I waved its mist around me, cleansing the air. I began mumbling the spell, each word flowing like a chant from the ancestors themselves.

The room trembled violently, and the sound of screaming filled the air. The ancestors were restless—no, terrified.

"What is wrong?" I demanded, closing my eyes to focus on their cries. Their voices overlapped until one emerged louder, more commanding than the others.

"Child, you must stop it from happening," the voice wailed, shaking with urgency.

"Stop what?" I asked, frowning.

"The abomination that is to come," they whispered in unison.

"What abomination? I will stop it, but I need a name," I pleaded, my heart racing.

"Klaus Mikaelson," the commanding voice answered.

"That's impossible," I muttered, disbelief creeping into my voice.

Suddenly, an invisible grip tightened around my throat.

"Do you doubt us, child? He and a witch will have a child—an unnatural creature—one that will bring ruin to us all. You must stop them. That child should never walk this earth."

The grip vanished, leaving me gasping for air. My fingers instinctively went to my neck, feeling the tender, swelling bruise. "I'll fix this," I croaked, my voice hoarse.

Snuffing out the candles on the table, I stood and straightened myself. There was no room for mistakes.

A knock sounded at the door. "Come in," I called, my voice steady despite my trembling hands. A small, fragile girl entered, bowing her head.

"Regent," she said softly.

"I have spoken to the ancestors. Gather everyone in the Quarter," I ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," she replied, hurrying out.

I changed into a white turtleneck to hide the bruising on my neck and let my black hair cascade down my back. One of the coven women met me at the door.

"They are ready for you," she said.

I walked down the steps, flanked by five women in black robes. The air outside was heavy with tension as we approached the assembled witches and warlocks in the Quarter.

"Witches and warlocks," I began, my voice echoing. "The ancestors have spoken. There is a monster—an abomination—that will bring our destruction unless we act now."

A man raised his hand. "Do you know who this abomination is?"

"Yes. Klaus Mikaelson's child."

Gasps erupted, followed by a cacophony of whispers.

"SILENCE!" one of my robed companions bellowed.

"But Klaus doesn't have a child," someone argued.

"Not yet," I corrected. "But he will. If we don't act now, we'll all pay the price."

"And what do you propose? Go against Klaus and the Originals?" a woman asked incredulously.

"Why risk war? The Quarter is peaceful now," another added, earning murmurs of agreement.

My patience snapped. I clenched my fist, and with a flick of my hand, I sent the doubting man hurtling into a tomb wall.

"Who's next?" I shouted, the silence deafening as they stared at the unconscious warlock at my feet. "Do you forget who led you through the vampires' tyranny? I speak the will of the ancestors. This is our future, and I will guide us through it. If you stand against me, you stand against them."

The crowd hesitated, then one by one, they began to kneel. "Regent! Regent! Regent!" they chanted.

I turned and walked back inside, my head held high. One of my coven members stepped forward.

"The Regent will assign missions to ensure our success. Meeting adjourned," she announced.

The witches dispersed, but I remained, joined by the five coven leaders.

"What's the plan, Regent?" one of them asked.

I glanced at the door as it creaked open. Ms. Devereaux entered, a folder in her hands.

"Here is the information you requested," she said, placing it on the table.

I skimmed through the six sheets of details and folded my legs, tossing the folder down. "Klaus is marrying the witch within the week," I announced grimly. "We have seven days to prepare."

"A week?" one of them echoed in disbelief.

"Yes," I confirmed. "We'll place witches undercover as waitstaff at the wedding. The poison-makers will craft wolfsbane and vervain bombs—just enough to incapacitate, not kill. We don't want a war. Our levitators will train to scale the Mikaelson estate and provide aerial support."

"And the witch?" someone asked.

"She'll die by knife, aimed for an artery," I replied coldly. "Make it quick and difficult to reverse. We'll ensure Prima's team conceals everyone's identities. Now go and assign tasks."

I stood, a chilling smile playing on my lips. "I'm sorry, witch sister," I muttered. "But you'll die on your wedding day."

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What will happen to Tara with these new enemies who want to kill her?
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