Clythia was perched on a settee, with her legs tucked under her and covered by a white cotton dress. Her chin was supported by her arm, and she was wearing bangles and a sapphire circlet on her head. Her hair was swept up into a braid woven with gold strings.

Afia was glancing every now and then at Clythia, her vibrant red hair swaying with the cool breeze that breached through the window, smoothing the edges of the spring sun.

“So, we didn’t get to finish our last conversation,” Clythia said, her gaze fixed on the artist’s golden eyes. “Where did you say you learned it all?”

The first time, Clythia was in such a panic that she hadn’t heard Afia’s response, as a myriad of emotions flooded her. Her mind had wandered to Tiyus’s coercive request, drowning out Afia’s husky voice. Thus, she had dismissed her afterward, half aware when she did so.

“My mom is a Clutsweed,” Afia said. Clythia didn’t hide her scowl at the mention of the family name. “My father was from the Hatara tribe—”

“Hatara tribe...” Clythia chipped in. “Isn’t that around south of Hypercas?”

“No, you are talking about the Hadana tribe, my queen.” Afia resumed her stroking. “The Hatara are found in the southwest of Hypercas and are known for bringing paintings to life.”

Clythia grunted in surprise at the revelation of new information. There were so many ways that magic was wielded; it was hard to keep track of all the unique gifts across families and tribes, thanks to Bead Magic. “Those two have such confusing names.”

Afia gave her an unflinching grin, something Clythia wasn’t accustomed to. The servant seemed at ease in her presence, while even Arkansov maintained professional alertness around Clythia.

“Then how did you end up in my palace?” Clythia tilted her chin, her eyes darting out the wide-open window and to the green hedge maze.

“My father sold me,” Afia said, as if she were talking about the type of wine she would serve at dinner.

“After my parents divorced, my mom took all the fortune with her, cursing my father that if he ever came for it, he would die. That left us to live on the streets. We had enough to eat, but finding shelter was hard. So, I applied for servitude at the palace.”

She snorted, as if lost in memory. “My father said I was mad to consider the palace before applying to rich merchants’ houses, at the very least, or to mage teachers, even the lord and ladies. But fortunately, my winery skills passed with flying colors, and here I am.”

“Interesting,” Clythia said. “You truly are something. How long have you been here?”

Before Afia could respond, a guard appeared at the door, wearing silver armor. He was one of the guards stationed at the gate. Clythia had made a point of noting the identity of the guards stationed in and around the palace after Tiyus’s intrusion.

“What is it, Dinka?” Clythia asked.

The guard gave her a bow. “Casarda is at the gate, requesting an audience, my queen.”

“Let her in.”

It had been a month since she had sent the letter through Casarda. Clythia lowered her hand from her chin and sat with anticipation, fretting over what response she would receive from the King of werewolves.

If Glythia had already set off for Stormia, her son wouldn’t have recovered, right? She hoped that was true because if Glythia rejected her partnership for the journey, she wouldn’t be able to escape Tiyus’s wrath.

In due time, Tiyus would be the one to worry about her wrath.

Clythia had scoured every book she could find on the era before the Sovereign, looking for any clue of Tiyus-related incidences.

But the only thing she could find was what she already knew—about the masters who enslaved the seven species, the Shadow that charged Zyvern, and the seers prophesying about the First Zyvern War that would end the era of slavers.

A sparkling grey at the edge of her vision dragged her out of her thoughts.

Casarda approached her, extending the scroll she held to Clythia. The thin grey fabric of her attire was as sheer as usual, her nipples and nether part covered with a patch of black.

It must have been the first time Afia had seen the Lady of Melop; her jaw had dropped, her honey eyes flicking up and down Casarda, her brush frozen between her fingers.

Clythia broke the brown seal of a viscous wolf snarling, and the scroll fanned open.

From Glythia Amandaw,

The Prime of the werewolves, the King of MakeFort, the Lycan Lord, the Lupine Sovereign, Protector of the Pack, the Alpha Sentinel, King of Makefort.

Clythia rolled her eyes, already regretting her plea to the werewolf. This was but a subtle way of reminding her how one should address themselves in a noble form, unlike her rushed scribble. Dickhead.

To Clythia Hoverlow,

The Queen of Sorcerers, Witches, Wizards, Mages—

"Filthy dog." Clythia muttered.

Glythia had the audacity to remind her on how she should address herself as well? Tiyus would pay for this with blood. If it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t have stooped so low.

—and of Davinsaw,

I am pleased to hear you had a change of heart to join me on the journey to Stormia. The faster route would be through Nadir, and I have contacted King Modyr to let us pass through his territory. He has complied, though he won’t be joining us unless you changed his mind—

“Me? Why on Zyvern would he think I can do that?” Clythia scoffed.

From her peripheral vision, she saw Casarda shifting her stance, trying to get a better peek of the parchment. Clythia lifted it up, hindering her view. The Lady of Spies retreated; instead of hovering around Clythia, she approached Afia, admiring her painting with a sultry tone.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

I also have contacted the remaining rulers. Surprisingly, King Morven was more than willing, claiming he had a change of heart after the disastrous volcano. There was no response from Queen Hypaxia, King Kay, and Queen Zahar thus far.

Hence, within the coming week, prepare yourself before we meet at Island Neut, as you had suggested, and head to Nadir.

Sincerely,

The Prime of the Werewolves, the King of MakeFort, the Lycan Lord, the Lupine Sovereign, Protector of the Pack, the Alpha Sentinel, King of Makefort,

Glythia Amandaw

“This man is so full of himself,” Clythia scrunched the letter, snorting. “Who fooled him into thinking repeating his title every time he was addressed was formal?”

“Next week, we are going to Stormia. Put your affairs in order,” Clythia said, glaring at Casarda and making her jaw drop. Afia didn’t stop sketching; only a twitch of her eyebrows betrayed her surprise. “That includes you too, Afia.” The servant stopped brushing; when her gaze met Clythia’s, she made an effort to tamp down her excitement, puckering her face into nonchalance.

“This is not a vacation, girl.” Clythia leaped to her feet, stretching her muscles. “Besides your compelling aptitudes, I have a feeling you have keen observation and a thirst for knowledge; it might come in handy in a hostile environment.”

The presence of Afia had made Clythia’s choice easier when picking an erudite companion, as she had been mulling over whom she should take with her to Stormia for the past month.

Lord Masai would be a short-sighted choice because the land needed him and his innovators to discover efficient methods for DavinSaw to cope with the new stranger, the Shadow. True, she would take some of them with her. However, she would not pluck someone from the top of the pyramid.

“Yes, my queen,” Afia dipped her chin.

“Do you know your way around weapons?” Clythia asked.

Afia shook her head. “Not really. But I can be creative enough when my survival is in jeopardy—I mean your survival, apologies.”

Observing the witty tongue and the devastating beauty of Afia, Clythia felt a sudden relief that her son hadn’t discovered her yet. At the very least, Afia was capable of making Clen crave a visit that extended beyond one night.

“But Stormia is not a safe place,” Casarda winced.

“That’s why I said ‘get your affairs in order’,” Clythia tapped her temple, as if explaining to a thick-headed child, “Use your ears, Lady of Spies. I need your nosiness when the other rulers join me. You will be a tipper on their ulterior motives,” her stare scanned Casarda from head to toe. “Also, you could put your... exotic tendency to some use.”

Casarda blanched, her jaw ticking. “I am courting, my lady. I will do no such thing.”

Clythia’s palms landed on her hips. “Dionays, the chief guard?”

“No, we ended our courtship two months ago. I have been courting the mage teacher Lon’s cousin and the Hadana tribe leader, Abin, since then.”

“In two months?” Afia’s amused voice came.

Casarda’s gaze bounced from Clythia to Afia, startled by Afia’s audacity before she collected herself in a sneer. “Know your place, girl! Just because you are a servant who had a chance to paint for the queen doesn’t give you the right to address me with disrespect.”

Afia didn’t cower an inch; instead, she grinned.

“You are the expert on parting ways; I’m sure you will find a way to dump Adin in a gutter,” Clythia shrugged. “You don’t want me to go into the whole threatening speech now, do you?”

----------------------------------------

Twenty guards, twelve scholars and innovators, five servants including Afia, the lady of Melop, and Clythia gathered in the Grand Hall, readying to depart.

Arkansov and Clen were in one corner as Clythia approached them. Fixing her gaze on the General, she gave him a subtle flick of her chin. With the cue, he strolled away to a spot where the two won't be heard.

“I hope I would find DavinSaw in one piece when I return, Ark,” she said.

If she returned, that was. To be honest, she didn’t believe it, but if it would give Clen a chance of surviving...

“I have done this before; you don’t have to worry, my lady,” Arkansov said with a confident tone.

The General had been regent when her parents and she journeyed to Surial for a meeting with the gods—she still had no idea what it was about.

But it was the time when she first met Hypaxia, when she fell in love with her, and during their stay, when she had her heart broken.

That did make her a hypocrite, of course, meting out judgment on those who eloped against kingdoms when she was no better. But, well, she was a queen after all. Above the rule of law.

Why was she thinking about this, least of all at this moment when she was a lamb heading for slaughter? Clythia shook her head, annoyed at herself.

“Take good care of Clen. Before school starts, take him to the military camp, involve him in meetings,” Clythia lowered her voice. “He has to know what’s at stake; he has to learn to carry responsibility.”

“It’s better if you say that in front of him,” Arkansov said skeptically. He was right; Clen was the rebellious sort, even for her, and no one would convince him to drag himself to camps and meetings if Clythia didn’t.

Clythia called Clen and repeated the instructions; as expected, he pouted.

“What’s the point of taking a break if I am not taking a break?” Clen protested.

“Welcome to realizing you are not like other boys or girls,” Clythia gave him a sarcastic smirk. “Crown Prince.”

Clen glowered. “There’s something that I don’t understand though,” he bunched his brows. “Why are world leaders putting their eggs in one bag? The eggs being you all, by the way. Can’t you send someone to the Sovereign? I mean, what if something happens to you?”

“That’s a risk I am willing to take,” Clythia said. “I can’t speak for the other rulers. Besides, the Sovereign will definitely see sending someone else as belittlement of their authority. We are already risking their wrath by barging into Stormia before the due time; it wouldn’t be wise to irk them more.”

“But isn’t the Sovereign omniscient? Wouldn’t they know you are coming? How can they stay silent about the blight or your new alliance with the Shadow? Also, what if you don’t find them? You said you have never seen them before.” Clen shook his head. “There is something fishy about this.”

Clythia glanced at the General, who was scanning Clen intently, then her gaze landed back on her son. “Those are important questions, I will give you that. I’ve asked them myself, but I don’t have the answers.”

Clen opened his mouth, supposedly for another round of drilling questions, but Clythia closed his lips with a finger.

“Patience, son,” she said, staring into his hazel eyes and lowering her finger. “You can’t have all the answers you want immediately. Sometimes you have to work to get them. That’s what I’ll be doing. In the meantime, use your curious brain on your education. If I see a horrendous score like your Advanced J.H.S., you will be digging your grave.”

“I expect no less,” Clen muttered, his hazel eyes twinkling.

Clythia wrapped her arms around Clen. “Goodbye, son, until next spring.” He hugged her back.

Clythia didn’t want to settle on the thought that this could be the last time she would see Clen, so she turned on her heels, giving General Arkansov a final nod of dispensing the load of the kingdom and Clen on his shoulders. He nodded back, eyes lingering on her with a tinge of sorrow, the prospect of her not returning visibly glistening on his features.

Then she prompted everyone to form a link, like holding hands or clothes, or resting a hand on the other person’s shoulder. It was through her that they could Eventuate to Island Nyat, a privilege accessed by Zyvern rulers.

A slender figure with sharp features waltzed in at her side. Clythia’s eyes rested on the intruder, taken aback. “What do you think you are doing, Lady Vina?”

“I’m coming with you,” Vina gave her a chilling smile that didn’t reach her brown eyes.

“I don’t remember inviting you.”

“The precious stones will still be here when I return, and don’t you miss our adventures like old times?” Vina’s jab was caked with mockery.

But instead of being annoyed, as Vina expected, Clythia smirked in satisfaction. “Indeed, I won’t pass up the opportunity for good riddance.”

Vina’s face was hollering the message, 'Not if you are gotten rid of first.' But she held her tongue; threatening the queen would at least release the blades from the guards’ scabbards before Clythia lifted a finger.

Holding the hem of Casarda’s cloth on the right—if one could call it cloth—and squeezing Vina’s arm with unnecessary force, Clythia blew out a sigh. She gave each and every face, whether scared, neutral, or apprehensive, a look in one go.

“Here goes nothing,” Clythia whispered as darkness enveloped her whole.