The Mage Wars

Tressa Normanaian

18 Neso of the year 13006

3rd Pov

Alone in the bowels of Caelora's Castle in the capital of Vespera is a female. Her pale blonde hair has since lost its shine. Three days in the dungeon will do that to a person.

The cell Tressa Normanaian sits in is the same one her late husband used to occupy. If she inhales deeply and forgets about the reek of shit and piss, the former queen can just about smell him. Almost sense him beside her.

Tressa opens her eyes. How did her life become this? From a lady in a high court to a queen. Now she sits among filth—low lives of the continent.

The once bright and promising young female is reduced to a speck in history—an avoidable situation.

The former queen of Gaerwn has nothing left to save herself with. She knows her trial will be bloody. Her only hope, to the female's dismay, is her niece's word. To make sure Tressa has a fair trial. Even if they all know Tressa is going to die.

Tressa closes her eyes, intending to sleep, but an oh-so-familiar voice wakes her.

"Hello, Tressa,"

The former queen of Gaerwn sharply looks up. Her electric blue eyes meet a pair of dark blue ones. Standing in front of her at the very edge of the cell is Wyn—the male grins at the former queen.

"Wyn,"

"My master expected big things out of you," The male flicks his luscious dark hair over his shoulder. He leans his shoulder and hip on the bars, separating him and the female. "A damn waste of his talents,"

"I can explain," Tressa rushes to say. Her upbringing on the island was competitive and cutthroat. She was lucky to get her position in life. To reach the age of majority. 

"No, you can't," Wyn chuckles—a deep soul-wrenching laugh. The male crookedly smiles. "At least there is still the boy,"

Tressa growls at the male to leave her son out of his master's plans. She will not subject her son to what she was subjected to when she was his age. 

"He's a subject of Delsaran, not Seraphina," The male grins as Tressa's frown deepens. He knows he's hit a nerve. "I don't suppose you told him that. No, why would you,"

"Why are you here?" The former queen asks. She knows that out of all the kings and all the brothers, Avalon is the one who is most weary of the male standing before her. Rightfully so. "Avalon loathes you,"

"He's weary. That male has not a bone in his body that is capable of hatred. You, on the other hand, have many," Wyn flicks his eyes over the female. A disappointment in his eyes. Oh, how far she has fallen. "You have a choice, Tressa,"

"And they are?"

The male pulls out a dagger. The spindly blade turns in his hand—a relic from a long-passed age. "Or we take your son,"

Tressa growls. She knew this day was to be the day she died. She thought it would come after hours of debate between the ruling kings and her niece. Encountering Wyn in the dungeons was unexpected. 

"Make your mind up swiftly, Tressa. My brother can only hold back for so long,"

Tressa glowers at the tall male. She reaches her palm for the dagger. "Hand it over,"

"Good choice," Wyn grins. He passes her the blade, and when it touches her palm, the male disappears in a puff of purple smoke. 

'My master thanks you for your service.'

Tressa stares at the blade in her hand. She was trained for this. If her marriage to Korbin never happened. Her skills with a blade would have served their purpose. Tressa Normanaian turns the blade over in her hand. She seizes the blade tightly--enough to make her knuckles turn white and slides the sharp blade through her corroded vein.