The Scepter of Arándelis and The Lost Kingdom

8. Reunion

"I'm sorry, my Queen... We didn't expect the Guardian to wield so much power upon his awakening, and..."

"Zelltya."

The witch fell silent, bowing her head again. Her body tensed as the figure lounging elegantly on the throne rose and approached her. She closed her eyes, feeling her heart race.

"I failed her. I deserve this," she thought. She was well aware of the punishment awaited those who failed to carry out orders. Frustrated, she bit the inside of her cheek. When she sensed the presence right in front of her, she dared lift her gaze.

The Queen always wore a black mask with seven points, one for each realm, adorned with sparkling gems. It covered her pale face from just above the forehead to the bridge of her nose, leaving the lower part of her nose and her lips exposed.

Her hair was always tied back and concealed under a black cloth that flowed down to the floor. Zelltya realised she'd never actually seen it, not even the colour.

She wore a black strapless dress with a rounded neckline and a sharp cut down to the middle of her sternum. The sleeves were layered and bell-shaped, and the dress was long enough to trail on the ground as she walked. Golden embroidery began at her chest, expanding into a harmonious design that extended to the centre of her gown.

No one had ever seen the Queen without that mask; her face was a mystery. Zelltya had the unsettling impression that something glowed where her eyes should be, sending a chill through her. She lowered her head again, fearing she had been too bold.

Her heart froze as the woman placed a cold hand on her cheek, caressing it slowly with her fingers. Then, she moved her hand to her chin, forcing her to look up.

Although she couldn't see her face, Zelltya knew she was beautiful. She didn't need to verify it. Her presence radiated lethal grace. Her commanding voice, her assured and graceful steps, her touch... Zelltya remembered the first time she'd had the honour of touching her. Kissing her hand had been the recognition Zelltya had longed for, the day she swore loyalty. Her skin hadn't changed since then: it retained that soft, elusive scent. A blend of freshness, as though her essence had been sifted by the wind; and a faintly mineral, briny trace. Under those perfect hands, beneath that perfect presence, she ruled the world... and Zelltya.

"Zelltya," the Queen repeated.

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Well done," she praised, gently brushing her nails over Zelltya's lips before withdrawing her hand. Then she turned away.

Zelltya felt a faint blush rising to her cheeks, biting her lower lip at the unexpected compliment.

"How-How come...? But I-"

"You did exactly what I asked."

"But they..."

"They're here, aren't they? Then, you have fulfilled your mission."

Zelltya was perplexed, unsure of how to respond.

"You knew they'd escape from me?"

The Queen, now seated on her throne again, crossed one leg over the other. She leaned an elbow on the armrest, resting her cheek on her fist, and gave a subtle smile.

"It was all planned. And thanks to it, I've gathered some... interesting information." As the corners of the Queen's mouth lifted even more, Zelltya felt a shiver. "The Guardians of the Oraklos have such peculiar magic, don't you think? Each has a different core and a unique resonance with the elements of this land... and the sky. Fascinating. As fascinating as the path our dear adventurers are following."