1

Christina and Amy sat back down on that bench. Desmond followed. There was room for all three of them, albeit barely.

Okay. He had passed the first hurdle, so to speak. But this had only just begun, really. What to say now? How to continue?

Maybe the problem was that he was looking for "something special" to say.

When there was nothing he could say. And he refused to accept it. Christina... A while back, Christina had told him something like this. That when a person came to tell me about your problems, they weren't putting the responsibility on your shoulders.

They weren't necessarily looking for a solution.

They were simply looking to be heard.

Would that be what she wanted from him now?

No.

He concluded that it wasn't possible. That what she wanted could be anything but to talk about it.

He could see the shadow of the terrible terror that had almost driven her to suicide in those eyes. He'd always found them beautiful.

And they still were. They still were, but...

Their beauty was tarnished.

I'm sorry, he said to himself. You deserve better.

That had always been the problem, he reflected. They deserved better, both of them. Something he couldn't give them.

But... he wanted to be a part of it. He wanted to be the one to give it to them, anyway.

In the end.

There was no turning back now. They were trapped. So it didn't matter.

"How are you?" Christina asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. It was a shame that she, of all people, had to be the one to break the silence.

But it was... It was difficult.

Desmond was always second-guessing himself, maybe too much, but here it was natural.

He was walking on very slippery ground. He had thought about asking her that, simply. How are you? But he had considered how she might react to that.

I mean, it might be a show of concern, with no deep meaning....

But in her state, it might sound like mockery.

Because how could she be okay? How could he even think of asking that? It was easy to imagine Christina reacting that way.

Venting her anger.

And if that would make her feel better, that would be something. But surely she would only end up feeling worse.

The relief of taking it out on a person who had done nothing to deserve it didn't last long. Desmond knew that from experience. And then the guilt would come, eating away inside.

"Good. Good." Talk about second guessing himself too much, but why the fuck had he said it twice?

"Please. You think I don't have eyes? You're breathing badly and it's almost like you can't move. No, you're not well. And it's no use lying to me." There was a hint of anger in Christina's tone... No, offended. She was offended. Or so he thought."

Maybe it was pure anger.

Rightly so, in any case. One or the other.

"It's true. I'm kind of... fucked up. I haven't told Abigail, so as not to worry her, but I'm using physical reinforcement only so I can move like this. Otherwise I wouldn't even be able to move without help."

"Oh, so you don't mind worrying us?" Amy asked sardonically.

Knowing it was a joke, he apologized regardless.

"I'm sorry. The truth is... I felt like telling someone. And, well, I don't have much choice. You know that. But I have no right to complain too much. I'll be fine, it's just that I'm taking a little longer than usual to recover."

He wouldn't tell them what Abigail had told him, her warnings. They didn't need to hear that. Worrying unnecessarily.

"And I'm not going to pretend that....

"What? "Christina asked, looking into his eyes as if defiantly. As if she'd read his mind. Maybe she was. She couldn't literally do that. But the truth was close enough.

"I'm not going to pretend... that I'm the one who got the worst of it. It was my mistake, but... you paid for it more than anyone else. I...

Desmond got up, only to go down again.

Dropping to his knees in front of her, his forehead touching the floor.

"I'm sorry."

He'd told himself a lot of nonsense about how he shouldn't apologize, when that wasn't the problem, Christina didn't blame him and it only meant adding more pressure to her shoulders.

But how could he not apologize?

He'd screwed up. He'd screwed up all the way, allowing himself to be captured. And if only he had suffered the consequences, that would have been fair.

But it was Christina who had suffered the most, not him.

Desmond had a power that allowed him to make virtually any mistake and come out unscathed. Christina had no such safety net, or anything like it. Still, she had risked herself for him.

She had given her all. More than anyone could ask of her.

"Lift your head," Christina said. Well, it was more like an order.

Desmond did.

"Did I ask you to apologize? If I could go back, I'd do the same thing. That was never the problem."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You don't change, Desmond. You're completely incapable of change. All you do is go around in circles."

Desmond said nothing.

He deserved those harsh words, but, even if he didn't, he had no right to argue with her. He just had to accept her anger. That wouldn't help her feel better, as he'd said.

True.

But, now that he'd already started, stopping it himself, starting an argument... That would be worse. No doubt about it.

As he had said, he had no intention of stopping anything.

He deserved it.

Christina was right. While he had changed a lot since he had met her, while he had become more human, at the same time it was true that he was just going around in circles.

Unfortunately for him. And for everyone who knew him. And loved him.

"Fuck, I envy you...!" Christina let that out in a choked cry, on the verge of tears.

What came to his lips was another "I'm sorry," but Christina had again made him aware of how meaningless those words were. So Desmond swallowed them.

This garden was a beautiful place. The beauty of nature was not spoiled, but very carefully tended and groomed, until it shone.

The sun was blazing brightly overhead.

In the distance, he could hear the birds singing. It was a good day, yes, and it promised to stay that way.

Too bad none of the three of them could enjoy it.

2

Abigail left the paper on the table. Quietly, as if it had nothing to do with her, she walked out after Charlotte. And it really had nothing to do with her.

Actually, she could, maybe she should, ignore her and go about her business.

Because Charlotte was nothing to her.

But it cost her nothing to make a token effort. It would be irritating if she threw a tantrum and got in her way. Not to mention that if Desmond found out about this and that she hadn't done anything, he wouldn't be happy.

Desmond had begun to view the girl with more affection than she was comfortable with.

He wasn't a depraved man who would go after a child. She wasn't talking about that kind of feeling. If she had to guess, she'd say he saw her as a little sister, rather than a friend.

Maybe he was subconsciously looking for a replacement for the sister he had lost so many years ago.

Just as I am a replacement for his mother, Abigail thought. The thought generated no inner pain or conflict in her. She'd come to terms with it so long ago.

And she didn't care.

Because that had only been at the beginning. Now, Desmond's real mother was a shadow of a memory.

She was his reality now. His everything.

That was what mattered.

Contrary to her expectations, Charlotte hadn't even left the office yet and was on her way to god knows where, hurt and confused. Precisely because of her pain and confusion, in fact, she was still standing in front of the door.

Trying to unlock it. But her hands weren't responding well, they were shaking too much.

The key slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor. At this Charlotte gasped as if something big had happened.

Abigail stepped forward, bending down and grabbing the key before the girl could even make a motion to do the same. She didn't give it back. She stood with the key in one hand, staring at it.

Charlotte looked back at her through her bangs, which covered her eyes. Her hands were on the doorknob as if she needed to hold on to it to keep herself upright, and her teeth were clenched like those of a wild animal.

As if her instincts to flee or fight had gone wild.

But she had nothing to fight with. In this sense, perhaps, handling the emotional damage, the little princess resembled Desmond. Maybe it made more sense that they were becoming close than she was willing to admit.

In any case...

"Let's see, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Could she have put it more delicately? Yes. Did she care? No. Obviously.

"That letter is a forgery. It has to be a forgery," Charlotte said, instead of answering the question, because that wasn't what interested her.

She couldn't deny reality. So she would try to replace it.

See it in the way that was most convenient for her.

She couldn't be blamed for that. All human beings did it, to a greater or lesser extent. Consciously or unconsciously. Of course that's where half of the problems that plagued humanity came from, unfortunately. Or more.

Anyway, she was just a child. She couldn't rise above human nature. No one could ask that of her.

Which didn't make the whole thing any less irritating, of course.

"For what?"

"To... throw dirt on my parents' relationship. To defame the royal family. We have as many enemies as friends."

Abigail nodded her head. That almost made sense. There was one problem that spoiled everything, though, and she should have seen it without needing to think about it.

"And that's why the letter in question was in his own office?"

Charlotte frowned, bit her lip, and didn't answer.

What a child. She really was a child, at heart, despite the great responsibility on her shoulders and the kind of education she had received over the years.

Someone more experienced and intelligent would have been able to keep trying to fool herself instead of giving up here.

Saying, for example, that the king's men had managed to intercept such a forged letter and that Jordan had it in his study to look into it in order to find out who had done this.

One thing that very stupid and very smart people had in common was the ability to convince themselves of almost anything.

For better or worse.

"It can't be true."

Just as she had thought, the girl had given up. And now it was "can't" instead of "it's definitely false," eh? It said a lot.

"Why?"

Her position was so fragile that simple questions like that would be enough to make her collapse.

Demanding that she explain herself, because Charlotte would want to find an explanation and utter it out loud, convince herself that she was right. And she wouldn't be able to.

That's how easy it would be to make it all come crashing down. Like a house of cards.

Abigail almost felt sorry for that idea.

"If they didn't love each other... then who am I?"

She'd be a little more... gentle with her, Abigail decided.

"Just because he didn't love your mother as a woman doesn't mean they didn't love each other at all. Or that they didn't love you."

It was time to get down to business.

That was the point, she knew, not that Charlotte had found out.

That was the point, she knew, not that Charlotte had discovered that her father preferred the company of men.

"I know! Don't treat me like a child."

Abigail smiled. It was such a ridiculous protest that she had to swallow the urge to laugh.

"How else? That's what you are."

Her offended expression was also to be laughed at. Abigail had merely told the truth. And, at the same time, she'd promised herself that she'd be nice to her. As much as possible. She had to remember that and not let it get out of hand.

"Charlotte, please. Surely you've learned about this. Do kings and queens marry for love? No. They marry to continue the lineage, secure the dynasty. They marry for politics, power changing hands. For many things. But not love. Your father would never have been allowed to do what he wanted with his seed, simply because he was born into the royal family. Did you think your parents would be an exception? There are, for sure. But it turns out they weren't one. That's all."

Charlotte dropped her hands from the doorknob. Then she moved away from the door, and from her, slowly and carefully. Without looking away. As if she was going to throw herself at her.

"It's very easy for you to say," the girl sputtered. "Extremely easy, when you're so... so... sure of yourself. And when you only care about one person in this world."

"That's true. That makes things easier."

She'd promised herself she'd be nicer, if only so Desmond wouldn't get angry, or so they could get this task over with sooner; they'd wasted too much time already.

But things didn't always go as one planned.

For some reason she was managing to get on her nerves.

No, maybe that was giving the girl too much credit. Surely she was doing it to herself, she couldn't blame anyone. What was irritating her so much?

Was it just that this was a complete waste of time? Just that?

Was she just... jealous?

She knew that Desmond and Charlotte spent a lot of time together now, because of the mission. Not more time than with her, but more than with Amy and Christina, whose relationship was still in the process of being repaired. In a manner of speaking.

That they were getting closer and Desmond had begun to see her in a different light.

Not someone they could use for their purposes, but someone he cared about. Like a little sister.

So it would be easy for Charlotte to get in the way.

To fill... the emotional hole left by his current complicated relationship with Christina and Amy.

Yeah, it wouldn't be hard. But what did it matter to her?

There was nothing the little princess could do to her. She had no way of taking him away from her side. Abigail was too important to Desmond. If Charlotte could cover the emotional hole of his friends, who now looked at him differently and whose conversations were full of thorns, Abigail could cover everything else.

Literally.

She could and would gladly be anything Desmond needed.

She could be everything Desmond wanted in a woman. His mother, his friend, his lover. She could offer him everything and more.

Charlotte had nothing to offer him. So she couldn't take Desmond away from her.

No one could take him away from her.

It was a ridiculous idea, her being jealous of that brat. The truth was much simpler, what she had thought all along: that she was wasting her time with this nonsense.

That was why she was so irritated. No more, no less.

There was no mystery to it.

"But what about you, huh? Who are you to decide that someone has things easy?" Trying to be nice had clearly gone to shit.

Abigail recognized that was bad, but he couldn't stop. For some reason, she couldn't stop.

Charlotte reached out, trying to take the key from her. Abigail pulled it away from her grasp, moving only her arm.

It was easy, because of the height difference. The girl would have to stand on her tiptoes to reach the key, now that Abigail was holding it above her head, off to the side.

"Okay, you lost your parents at a very young age. There are many like you." Like Desmond, she added to herself. "There are many who have parents... and wish they didn't have them. Children who live in hell. You only found out your father was homosexual. Does that shatter the perfect image you have of your family? Was it so fragile? Why don't you answer?"

"You don't understand. If it's true that my father... Then I wasn't born out of love."

"I wasn't either. And my father wasn't a homosexual, no, he was very fond of women. All kinds of women. I mean, I wasn't wanted. Many are not. They just come along and the parents accept them. If they accept them."

"That's different," the girl protested.

"The problem here is that you don't understand how privileged you are," Abigail replied, pointing a finger at her for emphasis. "No matter how many times you repeat it to yourself, that doesn't make it real. You haven't figured out that your father is, I don't know," she threw her arms up, "a serial killer. A sadist. Or a rapist." Abigail dropped her arms, again, clenching her fists. “He just didn't like the opposite sex. That's all. Is that reason enough to feel you've lost something? I don't think so.”

Charlotte was staring back at her, defiantly, rather than flinching at his harsh words. She supposed that was commendable. In a sense.

"What I think is... " Abigail shook her head, finally. She was getting overheated, unnecessarily. "I've wasted enough time on you. You go and do what you want. I'll keep checking the room, see if I can find anything useful."

Abigail turned away, heading for the secret room. Her chest was heaving. So was her heart.

"Wait," Charlotte said, and her first thought was that she would ask for the key back. As confused as she was, Abigail had taken it by accident. It turned out she was wrong, though. "I'm coming, too."

That surprised her. That Charlotte would offer to go, to put up with being in the same room with her, after all that.

But it was none of her business.

"As you wish."

3

Desmond was still on his knees, arms limp in the grass. It was as if he was waiting for permission to stand up. Well, that wasn't too far from the truth.

He didn't dare stand up. He hardly dared to even breathe.

Things had gotten out of his control, if he had ever had anything resembling control over the situation.

In any case, everything had turned out much worse than he had imagined.

Was turning out.

It wasn't over yet. But... It definitely didn't look good.

"You said you saw the future, right? A great destruction. The end of the Empire. " Desmond, though he was glad she'd spoken to him, was surprised by the sudden change of topic. Then it turned out it wasn't a change of topic at all. "What about me? Did you see me?"

Yes. He had seen Christina.

Very well. And he'd never forget that image. He would never forget how he had seen the two of them. That's why he couldn't tell her the truth. Maybe in the future, perhaps, but at a time like this, when she still hadn't recovered from 'that experience'... Impossible.

More than that, immoral.

Desmond had to lie. Too bad lying wasn't as simple as uttering the words. He had a feeling that Christina would catch on the fly, that maybe she had already realized he was getting ready to blurt out a lie.

But he had to do it, anyway. He had to at least try.

"No. I... I was alone."

Christina frowned. Had she noticed? His heart almost leapt out of his throat.

"Okay." That was all she finally said.

But it wasn't conclusive.

For that alone Desmond couldn't say she hadn't caught him in a lie. Though even her believing that he had seen her suffering under the side effects of her magic was better than the truth.

Better than her knowing he'd seen her dead.

Though perhaps to her the two things weren't so very different.

Desmond had a flash of inspiration, which came out of his mouth before he could think about whether it was a good idea.

"But Abigail said... Well, she hinted that, if there was nothing to be done, she could save you by taking your magic away from you."

Amy's whole face suddenly lit up and she broke into a big smile. He wasn't sure if he had ever seen her so happy. Her relief was palpable.

And Desmond ached for that, because he wasn't sure. Hence his choice of words.

If magic wasn't innate, then it stood to reason that something or someone could take it away from you. But he hadn't confirmed that with Abigail. Just because it was possible didn't mean Abigail was capable of it.

On the other hand, if Abigail wasn't capable, then who was?

"Is that true?" Amy asked.

"I swear." He wasn't lying, but he wasn't telling the truth either. It was something in between. It was heartbreaking.

Christina realized. Of course she did. She had expected it, and here it was.

"And it's true, but not a very reliable truth. You said, after all, that she hinted at it. What exactly does that mean?"

She'd realized, but she couldn't tell him everything Abigail had told her. That magic wasn't innate. Or at least it hadn't been since the beginning of time.

Right?

But then, how to make her believe him?

Maybe he had no other choice.

"What's wrong?" Christina continued, when she saw that he didn't respond. "Was it a lie? I'm not desperate enough to believe anything, you know."

"It's not that. She..." Desmond replied. "She let slip that when she was born, there was no magic. That's why she was burned at the stake. Not for her immortality."

"That's hard to believe," Amy said, though you could tell she didn't like to admit it, it was her honest feelings.

"But I've heard it from her own lips. She has no reason to lie to me. She was, and still is, worried that... that poison has permanently damaged me. Then it should be possible to deprive you of your magic. It made sense, but I haven't asked her yet."

There was silence.

It sounded stupid, put like that. But he believed it. Even though he hadn't received confirmation, he was sure there was a good chance. Thanks to his faith in Abigail.

He was being sincere.

Can you feel that, Christina? My sincerity?

One way or another, he looked as if she was going to protest. But then Amy intervened. She put a hand on her shoulder, startling her, making her stop. Though surely not with that intention.

"We can go ask her," There was faith in her voice, too. "There's a chance."

Christina looked back at her.

Slowly and after a while, she whispered:

"Okay."

4

"Yes, I could," Abigail cut to the chase. "In theory, anyway."

"What does that mean?" Christina asked.

"That I've never put it to practice. I've never seen the need to, believe it or not. Not to mention that it's too long and complicated a process to do in the middle of a battle," Abigail said, crossing her arms. "But I think I could do it. It would be dangerous... it's very possible that it would kill you. But it can be done."

"If things get that desperate, I wouldn't care if I died."

"Yeah. I figured you'd say that."

"But we would," Amy said, and Christina's expression filled with sympathy. Desmond was reasonably sure, however, that if he had said the same thing she would have taken it the wrong way.

Whatever he said, he couldn't win.

He wasn't telling himself that as an excuse to not even try. He really meant it. For better or worse.

Maybe he was even right for a change.

"Anyway. I'm glad you came," Abigail said. "So I didn't have to come looking for you."

"Anything special?" Desmond asked.

"Yes. I've discovered information about the leader of the golden masks. I'm going to finish this."

"I'm going with..."

"Desmond," she cut him off abruptly, "Lie to me, but don't lie to yourself. You're in no position to go anywhere. Not yet."

Yes. Desmond had to admit he was in no condition to fight. He'd just be a liability, at best.

At worst, he'd get them all killed.

"You could wait for me to recover."

"If you recover," Abigail replied, then grimaced at the mere thought. "But you know as well as I do that we can't afford to wait. They're sneaky rats. If we give them a chance, they'll get away from us. Again. I came looking for you to make sure you take care of each other, nothing more."

They might try to finish the job. One more time. Two golden masks had slipped through easily last night, after all.

And no wonder. After all, they could be anyone they wanted.

Everyone and no one in particular.

Slipping through any cracks, like... Yes, like rats. Abigail couldn't have described them any better. As much as their masks shone, they were nothing more than shadowy rats.

"I want us to stick together while I'm gone," Abigail said. "Keep an eye on them. Oh, and don't eat."

"Why?" Amy asked. Well, all three of them, actually. Almost at the same time.

"It's possible Desmond was poisoned at that charity dinner. Possible. But not likely. I think they were doing it for a long time, day in and day out, someone at the palace. So it's a danger. Don't take a bite. And the water... You'd better get it from Amy directly, when you need to drink."

"All right," Christina said, nodding her head. "That's reasonable."

"Yes, speaking of which... Desmond?" She locked her eyes on him. You'll listen to the voice of reason and stay still this time. Promise."

Desmond looked back at her.

He couldn't wait to stomp those sons of bitches. But that was far out of his reach, at least for the moment. So he had no choice.

"I promise," Desmond said.

5

At the top of the hill was an old and decrepit house, like a tree bending under the pressure of the wind. That was her destination. The house where Richard, the leader of the golden masks and lover of the late king, had been born and raised.

It had been abandoned for a long time. Years. But she hoped to find something.

Another clue.

Abigail hoped not to find herself empty"handed again, a trail that went cold, a seemingly insurmountable wall.

She needed a victory.

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And she needed to get it as soon as possible.

After what those sons of bitches had done last night, after what they had almost accomplished, she couldn't afford to let them stay in this world a second longer.

She was convinced she would find something in this place. But, at the same time, she had to admit that there was a possibility of the opposite. Frustrating.

Maddening.

Unbearable.

But this was her best starting point, anyway... Which showed just how screwed up the situation was.

I shouldn't have let them get away, she thought as she approached the house at the top of the hill. Which was no longer home to more than shadows, dust. And rats, surely.

I should have hunted them down and killed them, but....

That night, deep in her heart, she had been convinced that Desmond wouldn't make it. Part of her had. So...

She had wanted to go back, to pass her curse if things went wrong. To spend her last moments with him.

It had been a mistake. But in hindsight.

Hindsight was a bitch.

There was nothing in her way anymore, though. Desmond was as safe as he could be. Christina might be in an unstable position, mentally speaking, but her magic was enough to crush any intruder who tried to harm them.

She didn't have to worry about Desmond. Or about anyone. She had come alone, refusing the help Charlotte had offered.

"What do you mean, why? I shouldn't need to explain it to you. Because I can't be sure that there won't be one or more golden masks infiltrating the group you send with me. Or are you going to tell me that there are men you trust one hundred percent, that you know so well?"

And Charlotte was forced to admit she was right.

"Not so long ago, I would have said yes. But now... no. Not really."

That's why Abigail was approaching the house alone. Which was no problem for her. She had worked alone for many years, and had done well.

She didn't need anyone's help or company.

Not for little worms like those golden masks, anyway.

She reached the front door, tried the knob. Locked, of course. Abigail stepped back, she was going to get a little momentum and then kick the damn door down, it would be so easy.

But she thought better of it. She thought, to be more accurate, that there might be a trap.

Even if there was, and even if said trap killed her, she'd be good as new soon after, of course. She was a person who could take any risk.

Well, at least when it came to herself.

And the truth was, she didn't see it as very likely, that he'd set a trap, that is.

But, still, she decided it would be better not to take the risk.

Instead, she smashed a window into a thousand pieces and entered through the hole she had just created.

Straight into the kitchen, to be exact.

There was no trap that she could see. Physical or magical.

For the moment at least.

Oh well.

Abigail walked out of the kitchen. Then she'd check again, there might be something there, after all. But first she'd look in other places. Places where she was more likely to find something.

This was going to get frustrating soon. She wasn't looking for "something" specific, but... anything. Literally anything to find her target so she could finally get her hands on his neck. On the neck of each and every one of those sons of bitches.

She searched every millimeter of the bottom floor with great care. Every drawer, every corner, literally anything, anywhere.

She found nothing useful.

She found nothing but shadows and dust. And, just as she'd expected, even a rat. Which she trampled.

It was easy and convenient, since she didn't have to worry about wiping off the blood and guts of the critter that had stained her. They disappeared quickly, like any other wound or simple dirt.

Abigail thought about going around downstairs again, just in case she had missed something.

She quickly decided that would only make her even more frustrated. She could search there again, but only if searching upstairs also left her emptyhanded.

Abigail climbed the stairs.

I thought maybe they'd be waiting for me here. Apparently not.

She had a clear path.

She continued her search.

Finding more of the same, that is, nothing.

Until she opened a drawer like any other, expecting to also find nothing, really. Part of her had already given up.

But she found it.

Abigail found more than she had intended, though that could hardly be called good fortune.

For when she opened the drawer an explosion went off directly in her face.

6

He was assaulted by a pain in the center of his chest, suddenly, for no apparent reason. Desmond collapsed, falling headfirst to the floor.

"Desmond!"

He heard Amy and Christina getting up behind him. The girls had been on the only bed in the room, hanging out talking about this and that.

He too, occasionally, would join in the conversation.

But mostly he had been moving around the room. Getting some exercise, with the idea of easing his recovery.

There was also the fact that he couldn't sit still because of how nervous he was, of course.

Wondering where Abigail would be, if she was okay.

He hadn't asked her anything, for fear of distracting her at the worst possible moment. He'd just been...going round and round. Caught in a maze of his own thoughts.

Until now.

"Are you alright? Do you need help?"

Now he was more nervous than ever, no, not nervous, scared shitless, but it didn't make him restless.

Fear made him freeze like a statue.

Made everything else move away from him, all the sounds and sights around him, even the worried voices of Charlotte and Amy seemed to come from another world.

Slowly, very slowly, as if he feared alerting something that would descend upon him, Desmond put a hand to his heart.

It didn't stop, did it?

He closed his eyes, concentrating on the sound. The sounds.

It hadn't stopped. Abigail's heart was still pumping. Just not very fast, as if in shock.

Something happened. Something must have happened, damn it.

He regretted letting her go alone, even though he would have done her no good. And even though Abigail had been in countless bad situations and had managed perfectly well on her own.

As she herself had told him, scolding him for that way of thinking.

But he couldn't help it, of course.

That was just the way love was.

Love. Christina and Amy crouched down, one to his left, the other to his right. Together they helped him up, seeing that he said nothing had worried them more... Evidently.

Ah, his ears were ringing, for some reason. How annoying.

He grimaced.

He grimaced and tried to focus on this, rather than something that had happened far, far out of his reach.

"What's the matter?" Christina asked.

"Not me. Abigail. Something happened to her."

"What?"

Neither of them asked how he was so sure. Desmond had talked enough times about the special connection between Abigail and him for them to not remember even in a situation like this, a sudden shock that left no time to think.

"I don't... I don't know. Something." Desmond put a hand to his chest, squeezed hard, balling the fabric of his shirt between his trembling fingers. "Her heart is beating slowly. It feels as if it could stop at any moment."

"Even if it does, it will start up again soon after," Amy said. Of course she was aware of that, but that wasn't the point. "And... It doesn't matter what situation she's in. She can handle herself."

"But she shouldn't have to," Desmond said, his head down. "She's been on her own too long. Too long."

Desmond broke away from them, abruptly.

His head spun. He thought he would end up on the floor, and he almost did, but he broke his fall, leaning against the wall with both hands. Just barely.

Fuck. How his legs trembled.

But it wasn't because of his physical condition. Not for the most part, at least.

It felt like his legs couldn't support his own weight because he was scared shitless. They couldn't kill her, but that didn't mean they couldn't hurt her. It didn't mean he had nothing to worry about. Of course.

"You can't do anything for her, one way or the other," Christina said. "I know what you're thinking. Stop doing it. Okay?"

Desmond closed his eyes.

Slowly, he leaned his forehead against the wall.

"Okay," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Please. I need you to be okay.

7

When Abigail regained consciousness, she discovered that her world was tinged with red. Everywhere.

She remembered... opening a drawer.

She remembered a sudden... flash of light.

And that was it. She didn't remember ending up on the floor, she had lost consciousness before she touched it. She must not have been unconscious for long. A few seconds, or not much longer.

Because otherwise she wouldn't be in one piece.

The red in the room was, of course, the red of the flames. The fire was consuming everything. The table. Its drawers and whatever it contained.

It spread through the curtains, the sheets. Soon it would reach her too.

But that wasn't the important thing, of course.

Abigail shook her head. She got to her feet as quickly as she could, which was quite a bit, practically in one leap. That took its toll on her. She got dizzy, wobbled, losing her balance.

She almost fell into the flames.

Flames. Flames consuming everything.

And this had started when she'd opened the drawer. So... It was a trap. A trap that had been triggered... as soon as she opened the drawer.

It could only mean one thing. That there was something he didn't want anyone to see inside.

Or had been.

Papers, which were smoldering like everything else, inside the table that was being consumed, turning to black.

Abigail shoved her hands into the drawer, through the flames.

Enduring the searing pain. The kiss of fire.

She used her magic, sprinkling the papers with water. The water should save them, even if most of them had already been consumed by the flames. Especially after all this mess.

Irrefutable proof that she'd stumbled upon something important, something worth killing for, just to hide.

Whatever it was.

Abigail saved a few pieces, but it would have to be enough. The papers weren't the only thing in the drawer. Underneath them she found an iron key. She took it, put it in her pocket. With the rest of the papers.

Okay, the drawer was empty. Judging by what she could see thanks to the damage caused by the flames, there was no false bottom, on top of that trap. He was good to go.

Maybe there was more stuff in the house. But she didn't have time to look.

This would have to be enough.

Frustrating, but true.

Walls of fire surrounded her on all sides, restricting her freedom of movement. Abigail could run through the fire. Endure the pain, endure the burns.

But she had a trick up her sleeve. Besides, she didn't want to risk the pieces of paper inside her pocket ending up burning away.

Abigail called the knife back to her hand.

She didn't know where she'd left it, really. Nor did it matter. Anyway, she threw it at the wall on the other side of the door.

She used her power to teleport to where the knife was.

Good. Abigail could get out of here before the flames spread too far. Coughing, she raced down the stairs, past the living room.

There something stood in his way.

Something, not someone. It wasn't a human being.

It appeared from the shadows of the hallway in the blink of an eye. Huge, about six feet, wrapped entirely in white armor with scales.

In one hand it held a shield larger than itself.

In the other a war hammer of similar proportions. Just what she was missing.

"Who the hell are you?"

He moved too fast for her to follow him with her eyes, despite his enormous size. She avoided being crushed by the warhammer, but then he kicked her in the chest.

Abigail went flying over the table, grazing it on the way.

She fell to the ground with the table on top of her, bruised, seeing stars. In the distance, but not far away, she could hear the roar of flames.

Getting closer. Consuming everything in its path.

"Fuck," she gasped, almost breathless.

The giant and his warhammer moved in to finish the job.

8

Abigail could barely breathe, and that was because the giant hadn't even hit her with all the force his huge body could muster. Of course.

If he had, the blow would have blown a hole in his chest.

And she'd have much more trouble breathing. Among other things.

The white-armored giant approached her, each step making the ground tremble, brandishing his equally huge war hammer. It was a bit intimidating, she had to admit. Despite the fact that she couldn't die.

To top it off, she'd been wrong about his size " six feet?

More like double.

Abigail gritted her teeth.

It didn't matter, she couldn't let it stop her, here and now. She would finish this thing off. No matter how many times she had to die to accomplish it.

She grabbed the table above her and threw it at him, for starters.

The giant didn't move.

It didn't need to, either. The table shattered against his shield, exploding into thousands of tiny splinters that scattered across the room.

The giant stopped. Then he swung his war hammer easily, onehanded. And with the same speed he had demonstrated earlier. A speed beyond her own, impossible to keep up with.

But this time she was ready.

Abigail rolled. The hammer, like thunder striking the earth, landed on the patch of ground she had been on less than a second ago.

The blow caused the ground to cave in. It caused more wood to fly everywhere.

It would have caused her head to explode like a piñata.

Okay. This giant, the golem or whatever it was, was powerful. But it also had weaknesses. A very obvious one. And potentially the key to her victory.

While his attacks came with blinding speed, he wasn't capable of moving with that same speed. It was the only explanation for why he had approached her so slowly. He was unbalanced, the son of a bitch.

I can use this, Abigail thought.

It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Now—

Abigail found herself sprawled on the floor, again. The giant was grabbing her by the ankle and dragging her across the floor, toward the door. She had a feeling a good chunk of her face was gone. For the moment.

It was a worse feeling, horrible and nauseating, than a hole in her chest.

It was one of the few things she thought she would never get used to, no matter how many times she had to go through this. If it was just that feeling, if it was just the pain, well. It wouldn't be that big of a deal.

Also a chunk of the brain.

And the effect... it had on her thoughts, on the sensations in her body, her way of perceiving the world....

Too much. It was too much to get used to.

Abigail thought about why she was struggling, or tried to. She was able to remember the face of that person, the most important person to her, but not his name. Not his name.

That opened a black hole in her heart. She felt like she was adrift. Which was easy, being unable to move a muscle.

Abigail felt like she was dying, simply because of the damage that not remembering had caused her.

Fortunately, that didn't last long.

The rest of her head, along with her brain, regenerated. Abigail regained full faculties.

Full freedom of movement.

She hadn't noticed until now, hadn't been able to notice, but the knife remained in her hand, being dragged with her. The grip of a dead person could be stronger than that of someone alive, putting all their strength into it. That was the thing about the rigidity of death.

Abigail threw the knife back, without looking. Far away.

She heard it plunge somewhere. It didn't matter where.

Abigail teleported to the knife and ripped it out of the wooden crate where it was buried so that only the pommel was visible. The giant, realizing this, turned awkwardly to face her.

For a moment she thought it would fall off on its own, being so clumsy.

But of course she wasn't so lucky.

Abigail raised the knife, assuming a fighting stance, planting her feet firmly on the ground.

"Come and get me, you son of a bitch."

The giant took off running. Not as fast as he was capable of attacking, true, but... he still ran. Hey, so I was wrong? Why did he only walk before?

She could worry about that later.

Abigail didn't run. She stayed where she was, waiting for the right moment. Waiting until the last second.

Then she darted to the side.

The giant didn't stop, but neither did he correct his trajectory to go after her. That had to be because he wasn't capable, really.

He slammed into the wall behind the one she had positioned herself against, punching through as if it were paper. Debris flew. Before her eyes a cloud of dust grew.

Abigail could see a bathroom through the dust and the hole in the wall.

She also saw that the giant had opened a hole in the ceiling. Too big. A human being's house was like an ant's nest for a creature of that size.

That was an obstacle for the creature, as he checked with his own eyes.

That was a hindrance to the creature, as she verified with her own eyes when she saw him on his knees in the bathroom he had wrecked, struggling to get up after the blow and the momentum that had knocked him off balance.

That was why Abigail hadn't left the burning house yet. Because on open ground it might be easier to escape the giant, in theory.

But he would have more freedom of movement.

She had judged this to be the most suitable battlefield for her.

Abigail took a deep breath.

Abigail steeled herself. Yes, it was necessary to do that. She couldn't die, but that thing could crush her. Causing the necessary regeneration to be long enough to take her somewhere else, capture her.

That creature was probably a golem, although there were some alternatives worth considering.

Well, one way or another, she had to get close enough to hurt it.

Before the creature could get up, Abigail was on him, climbing up his back, the scales digging into her skin as she passed. She threw her legs around his neck, as the giant scrambled and struggled, trying to get her off him.

And almost succeeding. She was barely able to hold on, even though her enemy had only just begun.

Abigail plunged the knife through the eyehole in the helmet. More than hurting him, she was hoping to get some extra hold, with this; the golem's core couldn't be in such an obvious and easy"to"reach place.

However, she didn't even get that.

The sound of iron clashing against iron echoed in her ears.

Void. The fucking helmet was empty.

In what way was he seeing, then? Through what sense? Or was it a completely empty suit of armor, being controlled remotely? Unlikely.

Abigail ripped the helmet off.

She wanted to throw it away, but she could barely hold it. So it rolled down near the giant's feet.

An empty helmet, indeed.

But inside, beyond the neck hole, deep down, shrouded in darkness....

There was something. The core, it had to be.

But she couldn't do more than that. See it. The giant managed to shake her off, at last. Abigail was thrown backwards. She nearly broke her neck as she hit the corner of the tub.

Abigail put a hand to her head, blood flowing between her fingers. It was nothing to worry about. The wound was no big deal.

She scrambled to her feet and, in less than a second, was back on the floor, trusting her instincts. And a good thing she did. The giant's war hammer passed around her, with great force, knocking off the mirror, the hinges, ripping the door from its frame.

Shattering the walls. Violence that surpassed humans.

Abigail crawled out of the bathroom, stepping over the debris.

He hadn't hit her with the hammer, but she wasn't sure if that had been luck or because removing his helmet had blocked or at least hindered the enemy's vision.

Not until she saw him coming for her.

Abigail caught him ducking, reaching out for the fallen helmet. With a blast of water. She thought it would be powerful enough to knock him off balance, even to the ground.

But no. It only made him stagger.

He picked up the helmet and put it back on.

Suddenly, Abigail found it harder to breathe. Not because of fear. Nor because she had been hit by surprise.

Because of the smoke.

The fire had already spread to the floor below. It seemed to have taken a long time to do so, that time had stretched infinitely.

But at the same time it gave her the impression that it had taken no time at all.

That it was going too fast.

One way or another...

Fuck.

Abigail was running out of time.

But the giant clearly didn't give a shit about the flames. He ran at her with great vigor. Abigail was able to dodge the swing with the hammer, again.

But she didn't see it coming that he used his shield as a weapon.

He rammed her with the shield. The force of the impact ripped her off the floor and carried her to the other side of the room. Pain was pain, she could bear it, put it aside, forget it even. Driven by adrenaline and her murderous intent.

The three or four ribs the blow had broken, similarly, were unimportant.

They would heal in time. Sooner rather than later.

But one of the broken ribs had stabbed a lung. As a consequence, her throat was filling with blood.

As a consequence, her breath was coming out of her throat like wind flowing through a cavern. Thin, but deep. Abigail supposed she should be glad the blow hadn't killed her.

It was also possible that it had killed her and she hadn't noticed, recovering too quickly.

It was obviously hard to keep track when she was dead.

Abigail got to her feet, slowly, with effort. Fuck. Fuck. The giant approached her slowly, step by step, illuminated by the flames.

He could walk through the middle and they would do nothing to him. Nothing at all.

Abigail extended both hands forward, shooting a stream of water from each palm.

The water hit the giant, but it barely had any effect.

He planted his feet firmly on the ground, bracing himself, withstanding the blast. Then he began to walk against it. The jet of water split in two, flying in all directions.

Suddenly, the flames roared with more intensity, rose to the ceiling, the smoke grew thicker and blacker. Just as she had expected. That was why she had not tried to put out the fire with her magic, only the papers.

Richard had made sure as best he could that no one discovered anything.

It wasn't an ordinary fire. That was why it had absorbed the magical energy of the water, feeding itself with it. Trying to put out the fire with water magic would be as futile as trying to wipe out the ocean by setting it on fire.

Abigail had been able to salvage a few pieces of the papers. But he could do no more.

What little effect her magic might have against the fire wouldn't be worth feeding it in the process. It would be counterproductive.

So she couldn't use her water magic. At least not inside the house.

Well, it didn't matter. She had plenty of other tricks up her sleeve.

The giant was slowly advancing towards her, again. So she hadn't been wrong before, not quite. It seemed to be a limited resource, that speed.

And will it recharge, so to speak, in a little while?

Stupid question. It was clear this was what was happening, by whatever method it was. It wasn't a major weakness. But it existed, and she could use it.

Abigail stood still, waiting for the giant to reach her.

The attacks should be easy, if she focused. She couldn't follow them with the naked eye, but she could watch his stance to see if he was coming and move before he launched the attack.

Or this.

Abigail created a stone wall in front of her, stopping the first blow from that huge hammer.

With the second blow it exploded into a thousand pieces.

But by then she was out. Jumping out the window, rolling in the grass, recovering.

The giant joined her soon after, smashing through the wall straight through, rushing towards her, flames and sparks floating in the air enveloping him like a cloak.

Abigail didn't run away, this time.

Abigail ran to meet the giant. At the last moment, she changed direction. She stepped to the side of the golem and leapt at it, as she had not long ago, in the bathroom. Only this time, she hoped, she'd finish the job.

Abigail stood on its back, put her hands on the helmet, tugged hard. But not too hard. She was worried about pulling too hard and ending up unbalanced, falling to the floor with the helmet in her hands. She didn't want to waste time. Nor expose herself to any more risk. She was walking a fine line.

She let the helmet fall to the side.

Then she dropped her knife inside; she had dropped it so she could grab the helmet, now she had summoned it back to her hand.

Only to drop it immediately, yes. Her knife could cut magic " any kind of magic. A golem's core was no exception, of course. She'd missed her chance before, but now it was done.

When the giant knight collapsed in front of her, Abigail narrowly avoiding falling on him, she thought she had succeeded. But only a moment of relief and a false sense of security.

From inside the armor tentacles emerged and grabbed her ankles and legs. Abigail resisted futilely, the tentacles pierced her like countless swords, all over her body, again and again.

Even her neck was pierced. It had caught her by surprise. Because it wasn't exactly part of the standard package.

More than the pain, it was the suffocating, uncomfortable feeling that bothered her. She couldn't wait to get out of this one.

For which she could not use the knife.

The knife was stuck in the creature's core. If she teleported towards it, she would simply make things easier for her enemy. Her feet would sink into the mass of the core, becoming even more trapped.

It could summon the knife back, but, as if he knew what she could do, as if he was smart enough for that, he was squeezing her wrists so tightly that Abigail wouldn't be able to throw the knife far. At best she could put it down.

Which didn't fix anything either. Unfortunately.

But the attack hadn't killed her.

She was slowly bleeding out, but at least it hadn't killed her. Abigail thought the creature would withdraw some of the tentacles to stab her again with them, trying to kill her.

It didn't.

She began to feel the suction. Not physical, but to her magical energy.

I see.

Whoever had designed this golem had not only given it a defense system, but also a regeneration system. It was sucking her magical energy through the tentacles to recover, weakening the enemy at the same time.

Okay. Two can play at that game.

The absorption of magical energy had weakened the creature's grip. Not by much, but enough to move her hands, if she tried hard enough.

Despite this, Abigail didn't call the knife back to her hand.

She had no intention of escaping the creature that way. For she had realized that it was already right where it suited her best.

Slowly, with great effort, Abigail moved one hand to the tentacle across her neck.

She grabbed it.

Bent it and managed to snap it in half, causing it to spurt blood as black as squid ink.

And that the creature protested. It didn't have a mouth to scream. But, as it thrashed around violently, it wasn't hard to imagine it screeching in pain.

It wasn't a living thing, not really. So, even if it could feel pain, it couldn't understand pain. Not really.

So the satisfaction derived from its pain was a sterile pleasure. Hollow.

But she felt it anyway. He'd caused her too many headaches. Abigail lunged forward, after all. The tentacles tried to stop her, pulling her back.

Tried was the key word.

Abigail moved forward. One step at a time, but she advanced. And when she got close enough, she threw herself on top of the core and sunk her teeth into it. If it were a living thing, it would probably have been too shocked by that to react for a few seconds.

The creature reacted immediately. It tore off a good portion of the tentacles that pierced it, then lifted them above its head.

And plunging them into her back. Like a great shower of spears.

One of those spears, inevitably, pierced her heart.

As she died, Abigail kept sinking her teeth into the core and ripping off chunks of flesh. Devouring bit by bit.

As soon as she was revived, she continued her work. She was unstoppable.

She could have summoned the knife back to her hand, thrown it away and escaped just like that. Simpler still, she could have reduced the creature to ashes with her fire magic.

But instead she was doing this. Literally devouring it. Chunk by chunk.

Abigail...

She couldn't say she regretted this, and it made sense in her head. A kind of poetic justice. Paying it back for what it was doing to her.

But...

She was glad Desmond wasn't here to witness it. If Desmond had accompanied her, she wouldn't have done this.

Well. First of all, if Desmond had accompanied her the golem would be long dead by now. She would never have been put in this situation.

The creature would kill her, she would revive and keep eating. On and on and on. She met no significant resistance. Because there was nothing it could do.

In fact, with every bite she took, Abigail grew stronger. Charged with the magical energy of the golem's core.

A temporary thing, of course.

But it was making her revive faster and also take longer to die. Her victory had been sealed from the moment she had managed to get to the creature, no, from the moment when, following its programming, the golem had prioritized absorbing her magical energy to recover over killing her.

But this would make it happen faster. And so it was.

Sooner rather than later, there was nothing left of the creature, save for the tentacles that still pierced its body. And were still alive. There was nothing to command them anymore.

But they were still alive, writhing unconsciously, thanks to the magical energy still remaining in them.

Abigail tore them off. One by one. She didn't care, nor did she look at them, she didn't need to have them.

She left them lying on the floor, all around her.

Abigail tore them off. One by one. Without care or doubts, she didn't need to have them.

She left them lying on the ground, all around her.

Her mouth and throat would be full of the creature's blood. If not for the fact that, like any other stain on her body, it had long since disappeared.

The only evidence of the existence of the enemy she had fought here and now was the huge white armor discarded on the grass and the tentacles surrounding it.

Her enemy was already dead, though it had never really lived, so Abigail had no desire to finish her meal. There was no satisfaction to be found in that act anymore.

Besides, she felt satiated.

Brimming with the magical energy that had kept the golem going, a magical energy foreign to her own. It wasn't something that happened every day, certainly.

Not for her.

In ancient times it had been a relatively common practice. The beginning and end of countless feuds.

Many of the most important and influential mage families in the kingdom of Albion owed that not to centuries of collected knowledge, but to cannibalism.

She imagined learning that wouldn't make them very happy.

Abigail, smiling with the satisfaction of having a full stomach, so to speak, looked up at the burning house atop the hill. The flames that enveloped it like a shroud were not from normal fire.

It was fire that was fueled by magical energy.

Not wood, not grass, not oxygen, not anything that was found along the way. It was a trap designed to destroy what she had brought out, along with the house.

Not to create a forest fire.

When it ran out of energy, the flames would go out on their own, disappearing. Abigail didn't have to worry.

Even if it hadn't been like that, she could do nothing against a fire that was fueled by magical energy. Nothing except call for help. Of course.

That said, she didn't need to. Abigail watched as the former home of the leader of the golden masks burned to the ground, crumbling.

She felt satisfied. She had avoided capture and, on top of that, she had protected the pieces of paper and the key she had taken out of the drawer. Her only reward for all this mess.

She hoped the letter, or whatever was inside whatever the key opened, would be worth the effort.

Abigail sat down on the grass.

She pulled the pieces of paper out of her pocket. Carefully, she laid them on the ground, trying to tidy them up. Fortunately it wasn't windy. She didn't have to worry about the air blowing the papers away.

Nor did she have to wait until she got inside somewhere to check the contents of the letter.

It was only a few pieces. She was concerned, therefore, that the contents at her disposal might not have a complete meaning.

That there might only be hints of something important that she had let slip through her fingers, through carelessness.

It would be frustrating. But no. The bits and pieces of the letter she was able to salvage made sense. As usual, however, he wasn't having much luck.

They weren't what Abigail had expected.

It was more evidence of the affair he'd had with Jordan.

Richard was nobody important. He was a rat sneaking around in the shadows, so it's not like she could damage his reputation this way. It would only damage Jordan's.

And, given the circumstances, Celeste's image would also suffer damage as a result.

She didn't care. If it would be useful to Desmond, she'd reveal all this without a second thought. Then she would apologize to him.

But it wouldn't be useful in any way. It wouldn't help her get close to or harm Richard. And that was all that mattered to her. Damn it. She refused to accept that this was another dead end.

And it didn't have to be. The letter wasn't the only thing she'd rescued from the flames.

She pulled that other thing out of her pocket, turned it over in her hand, looking at it closely. A key. To open what? Where?

It had to be important, since she'd found it in the drawer whose opening triggered the trap. Abigail raised her head, again, toward the smoking ruins that rested atop the hill.

She stood up, leaving the broken pieces and blackened edges of the letter behind, to be blown away by the wind. Or some animal would eat them as it passed by. Didn't matter.

Abigail returned to what was left of the house. She walked through the ruins, through the rubble.

Looking for something. There had to be something.

Maybe it had been. Maybe it had burned along with everything else, and she had let it slip away. Just as she was beginning to really convince herself of that, to resign herself to it, she found a lock.

It wasn't a window lock or a lock on the smoldering remains of a door or a chest or something.

The lock was on the floor.

Abigail bent down. She brushed the dust and ashes aside with her hand. Yes. This could be it.

She turned the key in the lock and it opened. Slightly, a gap between the floor and the hatch.

Abigail slid the fingers of her hands underneath and pushed, opening it the rest of the way.

She found a small set of stairs. Beyond that there could be anything.

Once inside, she got a call. Of course. Her heart had stopped and beat again a dozen times, easily. The surprising thing was that he'd controlled himself so far. So as not to distract her at a critical moment, she imagined.

"I'm fine, sweetie. Don't worry." She answered him verbally, although she didn't need to. Just because, to tell the truth.

What happened?

"They had a golem ready. It gave me some trouble. But it's fixed now."

Okay. Thank you.

Thank you? For what? For being safe, is that what he meant? Abigail smiled. Now she felt she was being filled, not by magical energy but by the warmth of his pure love.

Pure was the key word.

How many times had she heard people professing their love for her? And how many times had that supposed love been anything but pure and selfless? How many times had it been nothing but a pile of lies?

All of them.

All but with him. Desmond loved her, and she loved Desmond sincerely. The interest, getting rid of her curse, was something still present in their relationship, of course. It hung over them like the executioner's axe.

But things were very different than they had been in the beginning. She had to remember that.

Have you found anything, Desmond asked.

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Abigail said, looking around the secret room. "More than I expected to find."

There were papers everywhere.

All over the floor, all over the walls, even stuck to the ceiling. Filled to the brim with words, notes and scratch marks, on which on many occasions he had written something in capital letters and a blood red; maybe it was real blood, it didn't just look like it.

Traces of an obsession that had lasted for years, easily.

Decades, perhaps.

And an obsession with what?

The answer was in this room, too.

There were large jars, inside them a green liquid, and in that liquid floated amorphous masses of flesh... at first. But it was hard to miss the progression.

That, jar by jar, such masses were becoming more humanoid.

Abigail felt a shudder as she realized what she had actually encountered.

"Desmond," she continued to talk to him aloud, just for the hell of it. It's not like she had to worry about anyone listening in. And even if someone was listening, they would only hear half the conversation, which wouldn't be particularly relevant. She could relax, let her guard down a bit. "Richard... the leader of the golden masks," she added hastily, not remembering if she'd told him that before she left; probably not "he is, or at least was, researching how to make children without the need for a woman."

I beg your pardon? Desmond asked. Even through the thought, his bewilderment was palpable.

"Richard and the former king, Jordan, were in love. It's only natural that it frustrated him. Not being able to have children with the person he loved. I'm not sure if he was trying to create children out of nothing, or create a way he could have one with Jordan, like a man and a woman. It didn't matter either. I got something better, thanks to his mad obsession."

What's it? The boy was still trying to come to grips with that, it seemed. But he was willing to focus on what really mattered.

Abigail put a finger on the map, pointing to someone who wasn't even there.

"The location of some research centers and other possible hideouts, now that they've left the sewers."

Desmond paused.

Great.

"I know you're frustrated that you couldn't help me," Abigail said. "You gave everything to save me from the Azure Empire. Let me return the favor now."

I have no choice but to do so. But I don't see it that way.

"What do you mean?"

You said return the favor. But you don't owe me anything. It's the other way around.

Abigail smiled. A happy smile, with a very faint trace of bitterness.

"You're wrong."

What do you owe me?

"Life."

9

Charlotte stood up, putting her hands on the table. Maybe there should be some sympathy inside her. Because this was the person her father had loved; it hadn't been a one-sided relationship.

But what rocked her heart were only waves of anger.

Toward Richard, for everything he had done, what he had taken from her and what he had been about to take from her.

But mostly anger at Jordan.

For the first time in her life.

She was at an age when it was normal to fight with her parents, but she had no one to fight with.

She only had memories, and now it turned out that all this time she had seen only a shadow of her real parents. Maybe she had suspected it, deep down. But it was still crushing.

"Men." Charlotte looked around, addressing her troops, who awaited her orders. Her troops. An army, no, the entire kingdom. If there was any nuisance, she could always crush it.

That was just what she intended to do.

"Let's get this over with once and for all."