Quinn spends her days in the palace sneaking and snooping around while making friends with the servant and guards that frequent its corridors, their wariness quickly melts away at small gifts and favors Quinn would’ve done for them; and the fact that Quinn remembers their name and gossips certainly helps along the way.

The crown prince no longer bothers her with bothersome meeting after their initial one, leaving her to her own devices with only one standing order as he discusses the next step the kingdom must take with the Matriarch now on their possession.

Such an order would pull Quinn away from the comfort of the guest room and the artificial warmth of the castle alongside all their splendor as she dives deeper underground, to the place enchanted no to entrap and recycle warm air; but mortals instead.

Under any other circumstances, she would deny the order, but this was no ordinary situation. For as soon as she enters the heavily guarded holding cell, complex emotions begin playing on Quinn’s heart as her eyes meet Ana’s own.

She gazes at her not with hatred or anger, but a tired sadness, as if she has spent her night crying. A thought that almost prompts Quinn to reach out before she stops herself, fully recognizing the fact that she was the cause of all of her suffering.

With that thought in mind, the guilt only grew deeper for the happiness she feels just to be near her again. The cheer that helps her falsify the energy of her greeting. “Ana!” Loud and defiant against the cold wind that seeps through the thick walls.

Quinn has made sure Ana was taken care of to the best of her ability, but a prisoner was always a prisoner in the end. While her food is a warm stew, the bed she sleeps in are damp still from the air.

Quinn can’t imagine such a thing would help with her health, even when she just sits on them much like she does now, deigning Quinn no reply.

Ignoring her lack of cooperation. “How do you find the locale, Ana?” Quinn continues the pleasantries, as if they’re still partners and not enemies. “I personally find them most enjoyable.” The banter flows easily from her. “Marcel from the kitchen just recommend me a small pond in the middle of a nearby forest.” A habit she got from the many lunches and dinners they spent together. “She says it was the most beautiful at a late winter night such as this, do you care to join me this evening?”

When her question escapes her, it took her—and everyone else that hears it—a moment to understand the implication. But as they do, as it echoes, a silent anticipation for violence permeates the room.

The guards held their weapons tighter, the spellcaster that accompanies them down here for a routine inspection on Ana’s chains cradles an invocation in hand, ready to throw it should Quinn stir.

Quinn herself studies the three with a challenging smirk, edging them to attack first as she quietly feeds magical energy to her prosthetic arms, willing it to a function far crueler and arcane.

Yet, before any of the four could move. “Quinn.” Ana cuts them all off in a voice monotone, her head rose to swallow Quinn’s whole, drowning her, filling her lungs with all of Ana.

As she begins struggling for breath. “Do you hate me?” Ana asked, with a tone strong enough to drag Quinn back to reality’s shore. Despite being half-conscious, she has no need for Ana to reiterate her question.

After all, it immediately reverberates through the entirety of Quinn’s body, sowing pain with every step they take before rooting deep in her ill-begotten beating heart, fertilizing the already growing guilt.

She ignores them for a moment, unwilling to let Ana believe there’s a speck of doubt about her feeling for the woman. Planting her feet firm in the ground. “I could never hate you, Ana,” she answers with conviction, shocking everyone in the cell but them.

Quinn expected her response to cause some genuine cheer to return to Ana’s face, but her countenance speaks the opposite, it falls before she breaks their eye contact to once more gaze at the floor.

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She whispers something to them that Quinn can’t quite hear, a secret that she doesn’t wish to extract while all of these people are here.

With that in mind. “Well! After such a dramatic, I believe we are done for today!” Quinn retreated, her sentence light but was obviously an order. The guards, who are on friendly enough terms with her, follow without question.

But the spellcaster looks at her with suspicion instead. “Done?” He asked with indignity. “You’ve gotten nothing from her! Done nothing to her but what? Flirt with her? What do you mean, done! We are not done, it was impossible for us to be done without filling the Crown Prince’s wishes!”

“Oh?” Quinn raises her eyebrow as she steps forward in challenge. “What’s this? You’re questioning my judgment, then?” Her smile playful, but her eye glint dangerously as she hides both of her hands behind her back.

Failed to notice it. “I dare say, I do, good Madame!” The man stood his ground, his noble intention to be a good little soldier for his sovereign crystal clear from his body language alone.

Quinn knew then that this man will do anything for his prince, including touching Ana with or without supervision if he believes it to be for the betterment of his kingdom. And just the idea of it happening, triggers something in Quinn.

In a flash, she closes their distance, catching the man’s neck in her left hand as it glows in a sinister purple, whirring violently. On her right, a dagger finely crafted, pressed against the man’s cheek.

“Admit that you’re a cravenly and dishonorable man.”

“Wha—what?”

“Admit that you’re foul and cowardly, sir,” she insists, drawing blood with her dagger while her enchanted fingers cause absolute fear to travel down his spine.

Still, the man holds his position, through gritted teeth and shaking legs. “I… I am… I am not—!” And Quinn cuts him off by slamming his head against the wall before she once more repeats herself, each word accentuated by the sound of flesh against stone

“Admit!” He tries to fight back, certainly. “That!” But Quinn wields her dagger to slash him every time. “You!” Surprising him with her ferocity. “Are!” With the strength she forces his head against the wall. “A!” Until he ultimately surrender. “Milksop!” Allowing Quinn full control over his head. “And!” Something she uses to just continue ramming it into the hard stone. “Repugnant!”

She only pause to give the man a chance to finally sing a tune she orders him to. “I… I am… a repugnant milksop.” And releases him when he does, letting him drop heavily to the cold floor.

Swiftly. “Eh! Good enough.” Her attitude changes back to the false cheer she usually exhibits. With a mocking smile, she pats the man’s head. “She’s mine, good sir. Mine. So please! Be kinder to yourself and learn your place, okay?”

Her question was voiced sweetly. However, after such a display, it was impossible to hear it as nothing but a threat. The man nods and Quinn claps her head. “Good!” Waking up the guards from their stupefied amazement at the violence she just showcased.

Seeing the two of them eyes her with hesitance between attacking or obeying her, Quinn makes the choice for them. “Do bring our good man here to the infirmary, will you? He has repeatedly hit himself against the wall, a tragic accident, yes?” By delivering them an order.

When they don’t respond quick enough, Quinn adds: “Something that can surely be avoided, especially by two guards far wiser than him?” The sarcasm was obvious from her grin, forcing them both to answer with a resounding, “Yes!”

As they go, Quinn makes to follow, but not before she stops to take a look at Ana to discover that she was also gazing at her. Finding their orbs locked together once more, Quinn offers her a smaller and more sincere smile alongside a wink. “I will see you tomorrow, Matriarch,” she promises.

And she fulfills them every day until the crown prince calls her to a meeting again, where she suspects they will discuss Quinn’s action towards the spellcaster. Prepared for such a conversation, Quinn enters the room with a confident gait. “My king!” she greets as she sits down without waiting for permission.

“Snake,” he replied. “We have decided to engage earlier, before the winter ends.”

“Engage? Engage with what? Unless you already proposed to me and I forgot—!”

“Engage with the enemy’s army, Snake. We will bring the Ana Monte, the Matriarch, with us, for you to kill in front of their largest battlement before we storm it. Are we understood?”

He’s understood, Quinn hears every word he says and her head whirrs to give him reasons not to do such a thing yet. However, all the logic that came to her brain is flimsy at best and an outright lie at worst.

She realizes then that there’s no way nor point in stalling this attack. For Ana will always die in the end unless—“Snake?”

“Oh? You’re one hundred percent understood, my king!” she answers, hiding the scheme of betrayal deep in her mind. “Is that all, then?”

“No, there’s also the matter of your… fit of passion as you describe it to the nurses.”

Quinn snorts as their conversation continues easily, her brain working hard to facilitate and plans for Ana’s escape.