Dusk of the Realm

6

The woman's plan was being executed flawlessly. Wulf had destroyed a large portion of her host, yes, but she had expected large casualties in the first place. She had not expected so many from a single warrior, that was true, but the fate of the men she had enlisted in her rebel army was of little import to her. They were the chew toys she tossed onto the playing field to distract the actual players: the important, powerful people that built the game board and moved the pieces around at their own hedonistic leisure.

She stuck the tip of her pinky through one of the silver rings that made up the princess' circlet and began to twirl it around, staring at the unconscious girl as she did so. She was not entirely sure why Serena had not woken up yet. Her best guess was that after the girl unwittingly gave up her magic to the Mistress and then, ultimately, to her, Serena's body was having trouble remaining stable in the Realm. It was, after all, not naturally suited to beings without magic woven in their cores, and now that Serena had released the knots that had kept her existence as a Fae tied to her very being, the princess was supremely, blessedly mortal.

If she and the Mistress had attempted a plan with such high stakes with anybody but a seven-year-old in her custody, she knew it would not have worked. Anybody but a child would have realized that something with monstrous potential was occurring when a voice in their dream told them to let go of who they were, to give up the very substance that allowed for their existence.

But they had been dealing with a child. Granted, the girl had fought near the end, when some part of her had finally realized what was happening, but the women had still succeeded. Once the Mistress had enabled the magic to surge through her, she directed all of the princess' memories into the gem inlaid in her circlet. She knew she could not just make seven years worth of thoughts and memories vanish into thin air – that was not the way magic worked – and so she stored them in the opal, knowing that gems like that were often used for magic storage and various other enchantments, in the hopes that it would work. And it did, much to her satisfaction.

A thump on the door made her jump, and she glared in its direction.

"What?" she snapped, sparing another glance for the prone form of Serena, lying on a table near the fire. She realized that a small part of her was expecting the girl to jerk awake at the sound, but the events that had occurred while she had been in the neurotic, semiconscious state seemed to have taken more of a toll on her than the woman expected.

"Queen Eris, I have a report that could put us in jeopardy," the male voice announced. She imagined the rebel on the other side of the door, shifting impatiently from foot to foot, and allowed herself a smirk.

"Then by all means, come in," she replied, though she had hardly completed the sentence before her door frame was filled up by a man with a head of tiny blonde curls, broad shoulders that were out of proportion with his thin waist, eyes the color of dirt, and arms that seemed to be twice the size of his legs. His appearance, when added to the way he was nearly dancing in place as if the information his mind contained could not wait any longer to come out, made a comical sight. Eris had to try very hard to fight back a smile; clearly, this was a time to be serious.

The man dropped to one knee before looking her in the eye. "Your Highness, there has been an attack on one of our companies." He spoke in a rush, and she saw the fear in his eyes. Was there not a single brave soldier amidst all of the rebel rabble the Mistress had gathered off the streets?

He probably expected her to ask which company, not realizing that their deaths meant nothing to her beyond a potential threat to her security here at her base of operations. So, instead, she asked: "By whom?" By all the fidgeting the man was doing, she guessed that there had been no survivors from the company. If there had been, this would not be a problem, and the man would not look as though he were about to wet himself.