Evil has returned to the world. This there is no denying.
Three sisters, practical magic casters far from the great sorcerers of old, have set out with the completely realistic and attainable expectation of saving the known Realm. Fate sees them sum...
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Gia
The Lords shared little and less about themselves over dinner, but their personalities bled through in the otherwise meaningless small talk all the same.
Gia wondered which of the Lords would train her or if they'd take turns. She hoped it was Aleksander. She hoped it wasn't Aleksander.
Yet the matches were making themselves.
She felt half a fool in front of Lord Aleksander, the way he made her skin burn and her tongue feel awkward in her mouth. Her head swam (though perhaps the wine contributed in part to that), and she grasped for words. His silver hair to match his silver tongue, red eyes that followed her every move with mild amusement, and a mouthful of fangs that had smiled for her.
Blodwyn had eyed and even gone so far as to banter with Lucien; his wit, his silver tongue, the way there was so clearly more brewing beneath the surface—chaos and trickery and a razor-sharp edge. The sisters all had felt his magic, how it rippled and shifted, writhing and living like a snake.
Gia had never felt anything like it before and doubted she'd ever feel anything quite like it ever again. Shadow magic, she'd realised, the same as Blodwyn used, but much, much older...and then older still.
Another obvious match, then.
That left Novak. And Roslin. The middle sister's uncertainty and intrigue about him had not gone unnoticed by Gia. Aleksander and Lucien made no attempt to hide what they were: snakes in a garden. But Novak...whatever Novak was, he hid it deep down. A beast lurked beneath the surface, beneath a calm facade of control and command. Yes, it was well hidden beneath green eyes and golden hair, but it was there all the same. He sipped his wine carefully, listened well, and talked little.
He was a force to be reckoned with...and Roslin was always one for reckoning.
The moment dinner was over and the sisters were back in their room, Blodwyn tore her dress from her body. She cursed as she kicked it away. "Who do they think they are?" she demanded as she rifled through the room's wardrobe in search of pants. "Dressing us up, making us attend their fancy dinner, and then insulting us? I have half a mind to–" she stopped mid-sentence as she pulled a beautiful black tunic and pants out of the wardrobe's drawers, again perfectly tailored to her size and taste. "Of course it is," she muttered.
It was almost irritating that the presumptuous, lordly bastards were catering to their every whim.
Gia was seated at the vanity and running a glass-handled brush through her hair. She'd changed into a simple white nightgown, which, much like Blodwyn's outfit, was made exactly to her size and liking.
"What do you think, sisters?" she asked, studying her own reflection. "About the Lords' proposal, of course, not the wardrobe. It's not just about us; it's for the good of the Realm, as dramatic as it sounds."
