[https://imgur.com/NhCzuqS]The ninth day of the fourth month; a moonless night.

           Darkness descended on black wings. It's nest, a castle high above the clouds on the peaks of a lone snow-capped mountain carved with the icy visage of a long dead king of old.

        Alscorn's Ascension; home to the kings and queens who had ruled the land known as Paritheum.

        The realm's current queen: Queen Mara Vilareyne, the Beggar Queen, was dead. She had been found dead in a wake of her own bed, baptized with blood and birth.

        And where was her king? Where was Queen Mara's vagabond king while she laid cold and dead, her head severed clean from her creamy white neck– a bloody rose pruned too soon from its stem.

        King Argus Vilareyne was gone.

        While handmaidens and family to the poor queen wailed in anguish over her pretty head, Mara's beggar king had disappeared into the belly of the mountain, deep below the castle.

        A sinister shadow chased his heels as he navigated through the winding catacombs; his two children weighed him down as he fled. In one arm, the king carried Prince Dandelion Vilareyne, barely six years old. And in the other arm, King Argus cradled the newborn princess, swaddled tight in bloody bed sheets and her small pink face splotched with birth.

           Prince Dandelion wailed more than his newborn sister; chubby freckled cheeks tomato red and fists curled tight around the king's dark cloak. A naked bastard sword swung on Argus' belt, rose-red blood trickled down– scarlet bread crumbs dripping through the pitch black passageway.

           "Mama!" the little prince cried. "I want mama!!"

        King Argus offered no answers to his boy, no comfort. Instead he focused on the light bathing the jagged walls ahead, driving back the intense darkness that festered at his heels.

        But just as the light burned away the pursuing blackness, it collected within Argus' shadow, stronger and colder. It whispered cruelly at the man and his children in soft velvety voices.

        Turn back now and you will see your queen again.

        The queen was dead and in her chambers.

        Cold spectral hands clawed at his clothes and an icy breath whispered at his neck. Turn back. You will die. Your children will die.

           Dandelion blubbered weakly.

           "Hush Lon." The king breathed to his son. His strong voice wavered, but he managed to keep his hard grey eyes on the light ahead. The source of this warm light pulsed just beyond his sight, always ducking around every twist and turn just before Argus could catch a glimpse of it, but the walls remained bathed in its golden glow.

        The voices returned, this time hollow and sneering.

        Murderer.

        Argus almost stumbled to a dead stop as a chill ran all the way down to his legs, but the little baby cradled against his chest pealed sharply and he forced himself forward. She needed milk soon.

        Murderer, the voices whispered, Regicide!

        Ice lined the inside of the king's belly, and the bloodied sword grew heavy against his hip.

        The light ahead was shining closer, an end was in sight, but as Argus stepped closer the stronger the darkness behind him grew. It clung heavily to the air, riddled with despair, fear, greed...

        A miasma of pure madness.

        The voices cried louder, more desperate. The baby is cursed! Leave her!

        Cold breath prickled the king's skin with goosebumps. Argus dared not to look back to see who or what spoke to him so fervently. He tried to focus on what his mother had told him long ago; the words of a wise old witch:

        Never look back. Lest you wish to die.

        The child is cursed! She will kill you all! Leave her!! Words laced with concern, but Argus could catch the breathy whispers behind it, laced with a greedy mania. Give her to me, give her to me–give me the baby!! She is mine now!!

        Argus kept his eyes forward. He was so close now, his face tingled with warmth as the light lapped at the cavern walls like soft waves rolling along golden shores. Even the discarded bones that littered the pathway almost looked beautiful basking in the warm light.

        With a few more quick strides, Argus finally rounded out of the narrow passageway to greet the source he had desperately been chasing, but only to have his sight immediately assaulted by a blinding hot light. Quickly he shut his eyes and made sure to cover Dandelion's face as the heat of it blistered their skin; it was almost as if he was standing before the very sun.

        Argus dared another glimpse into the inferno and carefully squinted his eyes tight.

        The swirling light pulsed intensely and in the center of it all he could make out a figure– a man, golden and tall.

        The man's eyes met Argus for a brief moment and then in a flicker, the light disappeared and they were plunged into darkness.

        Argus blinked the spots away as his eyes adjusted to the dark, and for a moment he was seized by fear. What of the voices that called to him desperately from the shadows?

           Surely the entity that had chased him would be upon the king and his children now that the light could no longer protect them.

        But nothing came. There was only silence.

        A strangled chuff called out to the king and a small wisp of light sparked into existence, illuminating a dim ring of light. Beneath it, Argus could see the shape of a large hunched tiger. It was a sad old thing, with milky white eyes and striped fur sagging off tired bones.

           Behind the withered beast, the faint glow of gold could be seen. A slick set of stairs, gilded and tarnished with neglect, spiraled down into a great chasm– deeper into the darkness.

        The old tiger chuffed once again, training its pale eyes on the king. Despite the lack of light, the tiger's image grew unimaginably clear. Its form shifted and blurred with its every move, as if it was casting its own light, but it all stayed contained to the beast's form as it hoisted itself up and turned to descend down the golden steps.

           Uncertainty bubbled in King Argus' gut, but what choice did he have? To turn back meant death. He remembered the golden man, and the feeling of uncertainty persisted terribly. The creature was magic, possibly even beyond that...but it had led him and his children thus far...

           Carefully, he followed after the tiger. With each step he took down, the smooth golden surface flowed with life. The small wisp of light bobbed along above the tiger's head. In his arms, the little princess whimpered weakly and Argus cradled her closer to his chest as fear gripped him.

        The image of the queen holding their newborn daughter in her arms burned vividly in the king's mind. Her sweet smile had quickly turned cruel as smoke curled off her tongue while she cooed at the little princess in a velvety voice that was not her own.

        Happy birthday, Cari. Words that were whisper soft and cold.

        He had watched helplessly as dark hands reached out of nothingness to smother the baby's tiny lungs.

        And then...

        He could see the sword cut through his wife's neck; the invasive memory seared red hot as her blood splattered across his hands, his robes, his daughter...

        What have you done? A voice sighed in the dark.                 

        The tiger grumbled loudly and his ears flicked back in alarm, shaking Argus back into the present. In his arms, Dandelion hiccupped frightfully. Argus planted cracked fevered lips to his son's forehead to hush his cries and to help the king ground himself.

        His two children were all the old king had left.

           Argus' boot struck the bottom step and a resounding thud echoed far across the catacombs. The slick gold they stood upon stretched out into the blackness, a bridge reaching across the bottomless chasm.

           Darkness churned quietly below, hanging like a heavy fog. It beckoned to the king. Come find out how deep I fall.

        Nothing held the bridge aloft, nothing that Argus could see, it merely stretched out, a starched golden filament reaching to thread its needle–a blackened glass gate chained to the walls of the pit.

        No.

        Not a gate.

        A mirror.

           Immense pitch black wings sculpted from glass furled around the smooth reflective disc in the center. The entire frame was a terrifying winged beast with neither a head nor tail. Instead, a twisting pointed sun crowned from its thick neck and a crescent moon coiled at the base from the tip of its tail.

        It was absolutely terrifying how wrong such a creature looked.

        With the strange glass monster that loomed over him, Argus carefully edged along the narrow bridge. The golden muddy glow from the wisp distorted the king's view greatly, melding with the shadows and giving them unnatural form–

        Was that a person before the mirror?

        Argus faltered, fear gripping him once again. He blinked back the looming darkness and strained his eyes to see.

        Yes, there! A cloaked form stood before the mirror, its silhouette disrupting the dark reflection the glass held of them.

           "Where have you led me, tiger?" Argus demanded. Despite being suspended over a cavernous maw, his voice sounded alarmingly thin and carried no echo. It was as if the air had been filled with something that could not be seen– a heavy unbearable thing.

           Madness.

        The tiger padded to the figure before them and rubbed its head roughly against it in a way that Argus sensed as affection. The frayed fabric immediately crumpled to dust, revealing a smooth alabaster form hidden beneath.

        Argus dared himself to inch closer, Dandelion gasped and cowered at the great black mirror that loomed quietly over them; perhaps the young boy was capable of sensing the malevolence that blanketed the air around it.

        Frost collected over their yellowed reflections and the stone statue stared dutifully ahead into her own reflection. Her frozen visage bared an uneasy likeness to queen Mara.

        The late queen.

        The words sucked into the pit of Argus' stomach and tears stung his eyes.

        But unlike his Mara, a hard expression rested on the statue's brow. Her hands were extended out to the inky black glass, fingers cupped in offering.

        The words slithered into the king's mind as it dawned on him what he truly stood before.

           "A Night Gate." He croaked.

        He had seen many gates in his lifetime, all of different shapes and makes, but this one...

        And it had been nestled right below their feet for years—centuries even.

        The tiger gave a wheezy rumble and turned its milky eyes on Argus. The sightless gaze caused every hair, from beard to toe, to raise on the king's body.

        Slowly, the beast's jaws began to open and close, its whiskered lips stretched and fell in a rhythmic pattern.

           Slowly, opening and closing.

           Slowly, stretching and relaxing.

        The tiger was speaking, but no sound was drawn from its undulating jaws.

           Instead, within the king's mind, voiceless words began to take form;  camouflaged within his own thoughts and his own voice as he heard himself.

           "You want me to activate the gate."

        Yes.

        Argus nodded, understanding. "I see then. We can escape to Sanctuary, to seek refuge. My mother she can–

        No. Clear as a bell.

        Argus fumbled in confusion. From within the bundle his baby girl stirred and whimpered weakly. A small tuft of fiery red hair curled up from her small head.

        Fear was circling him like a nightmarish predator as he thought of the fates that loomed over his children. He just wanted them safe.

           "My children will be safe there," he pleaded. "My family will take care of them."

        The tiger stared silently.

           "They should be around their own kind–other mages! They will be protected!"

        The girl is cursed and they will die. I have foreseen this.

        Anger swelled in Argus' chest. "Then where are we to go? Have I followed you this far only to die?!"

        The gate will show you. Those that watch over it, know where you must be.

        Fuck the gate! Argust almost howled at the tiger's shifting image, but then a whisper slithered into his mind and snuffed the king's fury. This voice wasn't his own but the tiger's jaws still moved hypnotically as it spoke.

        The king's scalp prickled and burned as the whisper trailed across his mind as light as a fingernail tracing skin.

        Away with you, King Argus, away...your reign has ended.

        The sheer weight of the voice almost caused Argus to buck and fall, but its volume remained just a whisper. An indescribable feeling chased the fear out of his mind and consumed all thought–it shook his very soul.

        The girl is cursed. Her name and crown is cursed. Shed your crown. Shed your name.

        Argus' lungs burned as he struggled to breathe. He clutched his children tight as the words burned away at his entire being, ripping through flesh and spirit to expose the man underneath the crown.

        The Vilareynes are dead. Only Vilareynes shall die tonight.

        The tiger's form shifted again, an unnatural ghastly glow. As it moved its head to the side a faint afterimage remained burned into the air before fading into darkness.

        The dark mirror hung above them, a dark and hungry menace.

        Away Talworth.

        A cold gust passed through the king as his old surname was pulled forth from the depths of his mind. It felt as if a piece of him was ripped away forever.

        He was a king no longer.

        Argus Talworth steeled himself, and gently he slid Dandelion from his grasp in order to free his arm.

        As soon as the boy's bare feet touched gold, he whimpered and clung tightly to his father's robes.

           "Papa," the boy warbled. "I'm scared. I want to go home!"

           "This is not our home." Argus said with finality. He closed his eyes and tried to not focus on his son's pitiful cries of confusion. The rest came naturally to the man.

        A spark of energy bloomed in his chest, and Argus concentrated on the swell of magic forming. He dipped into it, allowing the electric energy to feel its way through his limbs and spread through his whole body. Thorny sigils burned into the exposed flesh of his arms at the intensity of his power.

        Argus approached the woman in alabaster with his hand extended and stood just over her shoulder.

        The dark air began to teem with life as it reacted hungrily to the sensation of magic and a euphoric sigh rolled through the great black chasm.

        From the stone maiden's hands, inky black water pooled and spilled over the brim of her cupped fingers.

        The tiny infant cradled against Argus' breast stirred and whimpered in fright.

        The tiger stood rigid, dirty old fur bristling at the crackle of magic that filled the air. With solemn white eyes it watched silently as Argus dipped his fingers into the small pool. Ice spiked against the man’s fingers until they found purchase around a fat black candle. And with a surprising amount of effort, Argus pulled the slick wax stump above the water's surface; it was a feat that felt more like unsheathing a great sword.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

        The wick, bone dry, instantly sparked to life as soon as it touched air and burned with a ghostly white flame.

        A terrible howling wind then swept through the catacombs and almost ripped Argus and his children from the thread of bridge they stood upon. The frost on the mirror melted away as the dark glass greedily drank in the stark candlelight.

        Over the angry tempest, the sharp hollow click of a lock being turned thundered through the air, and down through Argus' soul.

        The gate was open.

        Quickly, he grabbed hold of Dandelion's hand and pulled the trembling boy back into his arms. The swirling vines and sigils still burned brightly against his skin. It was the only light being offered to the darkness other than the ghostly candle. The baby wailed weakly, her blood splotched cheeks drained of color.

        The chasm grew darker and more sinister. It hungered for their lives.

        The churning howls of wind whipped at them mercilessly and soon the roar in Argus' ears shifted into a chorus of voices– desperate and chilling. They were the voices of souls that had crossed into the void long ago, never meant to return.

        And they were angry.

           Across the gaping black maw, the mirror rippled with life. Argus looked to the blind old tiger, but the creature was simply gone.

        The dead haunting voices howled louder and ice cold hands seized at Argus' robes. Shadowy figures moved beyond the black glass, frantically swiveling their heads and undulating their bodies at the sight of the former king before them. One particular shadow’s eyes burned red like hot coals, a twisting horn crowned its brow as its pitch dark hands gripped Argus by his neck.

Give me the child! Give her to me! Give me what is mine! Spilt blood is owed spilt blood! 

Dandelion screamed in terror and even the infant let out a weak wail at the cold clawing hands that now held them aloft over a chasm of darkness. A velvet voice then drawled in Argus’ ear, whisper soft words that tumbled and lilted through the old king’s mind.

Darkest by day, your heart will grow cold.

Darkest by night, your bones will never rest.

I am the first, and will be the last.

May my hatred curdle your blood, and reveal the darkness in your heart.

This curse shall end on Winter’s Daybreak.

Blood of the everlasting will be spilt.

Crown laid by Sun and Moon.

When the King takes his seat once again, all will end.

 A weightless feeling rose into Argus’ stomach as he and his children were then released by the shadowy hands. Dandelion and the little princess screamed as all three of them pitched forward into the chasm. 

Then the darkness took them.

                                                           ◊      ◊      ◊

        Cold rain spattered frigidly against the vagabond's face as his senses returned to him. Faint lamplight flickered weakly out of the darkness, nestled high on tall skinny street lamps.  Then the sound of crashing waves reached his numb ears. His legs moved him forward stiffly on their own accord, carrying him and his children down a slick cobblestone street.

        Bit by bit, his senses resurfaced. His surroundings lashed out stark against the light of lightning jolting through fat black clouds. A terrible storm churned around them. The sea rolled and crashed in rhythm to the storm, huge waves slapped high against the concrete sea wall. Fishing boats docked out in the dark cresting waves bobbed at their mercy silently.

        The scents of sea and fish, spices and oiled woods filled the man's lungs as he walked. Argus knew this place.

           Maidensport, a prosperous port-town filled with skinny bricked buildings that crawled upwards to the sky– neat and uniformed. It was a town of hardworking friendly souls that could sleep soundly through such a terrible storm.

        Argus understood why the Night Gate had brought him to the town.

        With a tremendous crash, an icy wave crested the top of the sea wall and swallowed the vagabond and his children. Dandelion screamed and Argus felt his own body go rigid with shock as the cold twisted at his skin like a thousand tiny daggers. His calves cramped tight as he braced himself against the watery pull. His arms were alight with swirling thorns and sigils once again as he quickly summoned his magic to part the freezing waters and keep him and his children from joining the icy sea below.

           Immediately Argus' attention was on his children. Dandelion shivered and blubbered, but the baby was cold and still in the man's arms. She barely made a peep. Argus' heart wrenched horribly in his chest and he stole down the slick cobblestone streets as quickly as he could. He skirted away from the sea wall out of fear of the ocean trying to claim them once again. He barely noticed the absence of the bloody sword that should have been against his hip.

        But the flickering lights, hidden away in bulbous glass domes and standing tall on swirling dark metal, beckoned Argus along, but the vagabond's feet knew its path well–twenty years too well.

        Argus went left, deeper into the town.

        Then right.

           Another quick left down a narrow alleyway.

        After one final left turn, a wrought metal fence barred their path, twisting black teeth stretched ten feet high. Beyond the barrier, was a manicured lawn lined with rose bushes and budding wisteria trees.

        Argus would not allow a simple fence to slow him down. He strode towards it confidently. The vines on his arms glowed as he pulled his magic forth once more. Three of the posts hummed in response and then fell silent.

        Argus dug his heel into the dirt and frowned.

        Iron.

        Since when had there been iron fences? Argus pulled again, his whole body straining as he worked to summon his magic. After a moment of effort, the earth stirred to life beneath his feet–the vagabond's own element.

           Through the mud and wet earth, roots serpentined up to grab hold of the infernal iron barrier. With a heavy groan, the fence was ripped aside and dragged down into the earth, allowing for Argus to step over onto the soft green.

        The pristine white panes of a window practically glowed like a beacon against the dark bricked manor around it. Lightning knifed white hot through the black storm clouds, and thunder rolled lazily behind it.

        With arms tired and cramped from holding onto everything he had left in his world, Argus stole silently across the lawn. The manicured grass hushed heavy footsteps.

        Limbs of wisteria hung tired over painted wooden trellises. Small buds swayed in the torrential rain, determined to bloom in the coming weeks.

        Argus focused on the window ahead and willed it to open under his power.

           "Where are we?" Dandelion chattered through his teeth. He looked around wide eyed at the surrounding gardens, and his tiny body quaked terribly from the cold.

           "Somewhere safe." Argus replied in a hushed tone.

           "Where is mama?"

           "Get inside."

        Argus pushed the boy up to the window. He couldn't bear to answer that question just yet. He was too afraid of allowing that word to touch his lips. He was too afraid to face the reality of it. How could he tell that child that his mother was...

        But his boy leered at him, a sharp perception behind matching grey eyes teary with defiance. For a moment, Argus was afraid Dandelion would utter the truth, but instead the little boy obeyed his father and hoisted himself up through the window. Argus followed after him, carefully minding the infant cradled in his arms.

        The window proved to be a tight fit for Argus, but of course he had been a younger, and much thinner man when he had last crawled through that very window seeking sanctuary from the elements. Age and royalty had made Argus a bit too soft.

        And in his younger days, he would have seen the faint glint of the knife before it was pressed against his scruffy throat. He should have seen the rough dark hand that wielded it.

           Lightning pulsed through the sky and flooded the room with a brief second of light. The familiar kitchen walls of the old manor greeted him for that second, along with the frame of a tall woman holding that knife.

        Argus sat balanced on a hard stone countertop while Dandelion cowered on the floor whimpering at the islander woman holding his father hostage. Bright sea green eyes glared warily at Argus as she clenched her strong jaw tightly. Full lips were pressed into a flat line as the woman dug the knife under Argus' beard. Ink black waves tumbled loosely over her shoulder, barely held together by a slash of yellow ribbon.

        Argus remained perfectly still, one hand struggling to brace his weight against the lip of the counter top, and the other cradled the dripping wet bundle of blankets.

           "I always thought of my husband to be too trusting," the woman drawled smokily. Her heavy accent hinted that the common Parithean tongue she spoke was not her first language. She prowled closer, leering through the darkness– an unnaturally beautiful predator. "My husband...he is an important man, and a foolish one." A heavy chuckle rumbled in her throat. "He is adorable. Dismissing his guards because of a little storm. Such compassion...it invites trouble, no?"

           "Trista!" Argus wheezed weakly. His body was finally beginning to register its own exhaustion now that he was forced to remain still. Argus looked up at the hard woman, grey eyes pleading. "Trista it's me!"

           "I do not know of anyone called Me," she whispered coyly, sea colored eyes dangerously playful. "But everyone knows of Trista."

           "But you know of Argus!" he quickly croaked. His arm burned, ready to give out at any moment.

           Thankfully, the knife was withdrawn from his throat and Trista chuckled, tossing her head to the side and regarded him with a chuckle. "You have gotten fat."

        The wind left Argus' lungs with an audible wheeze as he climbed off of the counter and settled on his feet. Even at his full height, Trista stood just as tall as the large man. She still smiled at him as if their dangerous encounter had been a game.

           "Trista!" a thin proper voice snapped with panic. A small lanky man emerged from the dark, lighting a brass oil lamp and clutching a brown-skinned babe to his chest. Disheveled raven locks framed the man's pale thin face.

           "Leon, my darling. A vagabond enters our abode," Trista drawled. She eyed Dandelion cowering on the floor still. "And he brings little ones."

        Leon Lockefur, the lord of the manor looked to Argus for an answer, obviously too tired for his wife's teasing behavior.

           "I need a healer!" Argus bleated. He unwrapped the soaked bundle to reveal the infant swaddled beneath.

           Leon's breath hitched in his throat. The babe was so small, so still– barely shivering. "How old is she?"

           "A mere few hours."

        The lord's pale green eyes flicked up to Argus' face. There were a thousand questions in those eyes, and Argus knew he would have to answer them in time, but not yet. There was no time.

        From where he stood, Leon put his hand against the wall and slid a hidden panel aside. A simple corded rope dangled inside the empty space and the lord tugged on it firmly. A sharp bell sounded off far into the quiet manor, and Leon beckoned for Argus to follow him.

           Taking his son Dandelion by the hand, the vagabond hurried after his old friend.

           Trista fell into step with him. "Do you not know magic? I thought you could just," the knife still in hand, she twirled it to emphasize her thought, "magically fix stuff."

        Argus gave the woman a weary glance. "This is beyond my skill."

           Trista hummed thoughtfully and tossed her black curls.

           Silently, a young handmaiden appeared from around the corner and waited dutifully for them by a wooden door at the end of the hallway. She could not have been older than sixteen. As Leon approached she flourished her hand and the door swung open with barely a squeak.

           Another mage. Argus was hardly surprised. His friend Leon was notorious for taking in wayward mages and caring for them. It was how they had become friends.

        The handmaiden bowed her head, pale blonde hair fanning her cheeks as they stepped through the threshold.

           Argus' heavy boots sunk into the plush carpet upon entering the small study. It was a cozy little room, and modest– a trait many lords greatly lacked. Overstuffed bookshelves stood from floor to ceiling, caging the pink papered walls. Maps and various blueprints were tacked on haphazardly to what little empty wall-space was left.

        It was a room far too small for five  people to stand comfortably. An ornate wooden desk ate up a good majority of the floor-space, and Argus found the corner of it stabbing uncomfortably into his side as the handmaiden followed them inside and closed the door.

           "Get the children by the fire." Leon instructed, his wheedly voice deepening with the command of a lord.

        In the blink of an eye, a fire bloomed to life in the marble white fireplace. Above the swirling floral mantle, a pair of ornate swords glinted in the flickering light– twin mermaids swimming along on silver hilts.

        As the fire grew warmer, Argus found himself sagging in relief, his skin starved for the blessed heat. He quickly ushered Dandelion closer, squeezing past the Lockefur's so that they could stand by the crackling hearth. The small boy gave a shuddering gasp of relief.

        The maiden was instantly by their side as Argus took a knee to bring the baby closer to the fire to warm her frail little body.

           "I will take your wet clothes, my lord."

           "I would hardly call myself a lord," Argus corrected with a tired gentleness. "Just merely another mage like yourself."

        The maiden regarded him coolly. "Forgive me if I've never seen a mage strut about in such fancy attire. Usually we don't pretend to be something we're not."

           "Shaiya!" Leon sputtered, his ears turning red.

           Trista snorted loudly and slapped her knee with great amusement.

        Argus waved Leon off before the poor man was stirred into a panic over proper etiquette.

           Trista cooed teasingly at her husband while she took their own babe to cradle, and gave Leon a sympathetic pat on the cheek.

        Argus turned his attention back to the maiden, Shaiya. Fierce grey eyes locked with dark hazel, and for a moment they gauged each other silently. Tapping into his innate ability as a mage, Argus was able to listen in on every unspoken feeling locked behind her pursed lips. To an empath like Argus, everyone was an open book; words and notions that would otherwise remain muted to the world, were spoken as clear as day to him physically through body language and expressions. It was just a matter of listening close enough.

        He could tell Shaiya was a solemn soul– youthful light long extinguished. She was a cold and wary girl, a kind of person that carried a heavy burden upon such young shoulders.

           Wordlessly, she reached out with open palms to ask for the baby girl tucked against Argus' chest. He almost didn't want to hand his daughter over. But Argus listened closer. There was a crack in the maiden's hard exterior. It was tender– motherly.

        The babe would be in good hands.

        With Argus' silent permission, Shaiya took the still infant from him and her eyes widened in shock as soon as she touched the baby's cold skin.

        "What has touched this child?" she gasped sharply.

           Argus' tone was riddled with guilt. "I have carried her as safe as I could from her birth. We trekked through caverns and this storm–

           Shaiya shook her head stiffly. Dark eyes still locked with the vagabond's. Fear laced her words. "What has touched this child?"

        A sinister cold settled into Argus' bones– the warm fireplace a distant memory. His mind returned to the queen’s chambers, soaked in blood and shadowy hands clawing for his newborn daughter.

        Murderer.

        There was no running now.

        He could feel everyone in the room leering at him. Leon, Trista, his son, and Shaiya all assaulted his senses with their silent questions. Anticipation thickened the air and Argus' lungs constricted tight. They all deserved answers.

           "Something evil." Argus breathed. He was terrified that even the mere mention of the evil would draw it to them. He was even more terrified to meet anyone's gaze.

        The room was now unbearably cold to him. His lips twitched and he dared a quick glance to his son's trembling frame. Fear and confusion poured off the boy in waves as large tears ran down chubby freckled cheeks.

        How was any of this fair to him?

        Words tied Argus' tongue down like a heavy weight. He could feel the rawness of his emotions clouding the air, it stunk of guilt.

           Thankfully, Leon was capable of finding his words faster. "Trista please take the boy to bed. It's much too late for him to be up at this hour."

           Trista frowned at her husband, sea green eyes scrutinizing as she gently rocked her own babe against her breast.

           Dandelion's gaze lingered on his father's bowed frame. The boy's eyes were red and puffy from crying, but he straightened wordlessly and padded over to Trista and small fingers found purchase in the skirt of her nightgown.

        Argus was now utterly frightened that his son may share more with him than their grey eyes and curly hair.

           "Do you like sweet milk, little one?" Trista asked quietly. Her hard features softened as she looked down at Dandelion and ran calloused fingers through his soaked red curls. "I can fix you a glass if you wish it."

        The boy nodded meekly and Trista smiled with motherly affection. She threw a careful glance back to her husband and then Argus before herding Dandelion out of the study. The door closed behind them softly.

           Shaiya immediately began her work. A shining white light pulsed softly from her hand and snowflakes burned in a flurry up exposed flesh.

        Argus and Leon watched silently as the maiden ran her hands from the babe's head and then down to her little toes. She repeated the motion with languid movements until–

           Shaiya's hand jerked to a stop over the infant's chest. Argus felt a twist of pain from his own as he watched his little girl twitch suddenly.

           Slowly, the maiden wrapped her fingers around the very air and tugged upwards hard, pulling on a thread only seen by her own eyes.

           Argus' heart leapt again as the infant jerked harder.

           Shaiya knit her brows together and pulled a second time, less resistance met her and she continued to pull her hand up from the baby's chest, to her throat, and then her mouth.

        After several agonizing seconds, the baby coughed. A cloud of black miasma twisted out of her mouth and hung in the air between the three. With her lungs cleared, the little girl stuttered out a few short breaths, her tiny chest rising and falling like a frightened rabbit; a little bit of color returned to her cheeks and immediately she pealed out an ear-piercing shriek.

        Air rushed into Argus' own lungs as a tumultuous wave of emotion roiled through his body, and hot tears spilled from the large man's eyes.

        His baby girl was alive.

        Leon sagged against the desk in relief. "Thank god."

        Argus quickly reached out, his large rough hands pawing the air needily for his child, but the maiden pulled away and swaddled the baby in a dry blanket. Her tone firm. "She needs milk."

        Argus blinked away the tears gathering in his eyes and nodded dumbly. "Of course."

           "Trista is still nursing," Leon piped up. "She won't be happy about it, but please take the babe to her...at least until I can find a wet nurse."

           Shaiya nodded curtly, casting an icy gaze to the black smoke that still hung frozen before them, before whisking the screaming infant out of the study.

        Argus watched the cloud, suspended weightless by his own magic now as it slowly turned and curled smoky tongues through the air and pulsing slow– breathing. The darkness moved in time with the echoing rise and falls of his daughter's cries and rage swelled from the pit of Argus' gut.

        Leon remained unmoving against his desk, arms crossed and pale green eyes fixated on the smoke. His voice was low and cautious when he spoke. "What happened?"

        Murderer.

        Argus slashed his hand through the air furiously, and sent the plume of darkness into the fiery bed of the fireplace. A high pitched shriek could be heard over the crackling embers as the velvet black shroud was quickly burned away into nothing.

        Argus sagged back down to his knees, still soaking wet and miserably cold. Grief quickly seized at his throat like a coiling serpent as he stared down at his own hands. The rain and sea had washed away most of it, but blood and grit still clung to his hands and under his nails.

           Mara's blood.

        A warm hand brushed against his back and Argus felt like a fool for hoping it was her, but it was Leon who quietly knelt beside him. His voice a whisper when he spoke, and Argus almost couldn't hear it over his heartbeat hammering loudly against his ears.

           "We can discuss this later, when you're more rested."

        The coil in Argus' throat eased a little. "But–

        Leon held up a hand to silence him. "I don't know how, but you have traveled all the way from the Capital with two very young children. You need rest, my friend." He paused, his expression thoughtful. "Perhaps, even stay...for a few days at least. Stay as long as you need to. My home has always been open to you."

           Argus' entire body quaked as he fell into a fit of mournful sobs. His lungs burned with each breath he took. "How could this be happening? Oh...oh my Mara. I-I'm so sorry...why did this happen to us. Why can't it be you here with your children?"

           Leon's face grew even more pale, but he cleared his throat and rubbed small circles against the larger man's back.

           "Argus," he continued softly. His timid voice helped quell the ache in Argus' chest. "Your family will be safe here. You will be safe, I promise. Shaiya, she has a niece who is about your son's age, she has been caring for her on her own. And...it would be wonderful to have my Arani grow up alongside your daughter. I can even find you appropriate housing away from prying eyes and–

           "Cari." Argus managed to croak out. Tiger be damned, he would not take away the name his late wife so lovingly chose. "Mara...wanted to name her Cari."

        A small smile tugged at the corner of Leon's lips. "After the first queen, eh?"

        Argus nodded. "Out of all her studies, history was her favorite."

        The old vagabond sighed and his body sagged with exhaustion, but his heart still remained raw.

           "You'll stay?"

        Argus nodded. "A few months. At least until the baby stops nursing."

        It was enough for Leon. For those few months turned into thirteen years later...

                                                           ◊      ◊      ◊

        It took thirteen long years for Argus Talworth's heart to heal. Thirteen years of watching his children grow and seeing Queen Mara's smile on their faces. Like her brother, Cari grew to have Argus' fiery hair and freckles, but she had her mother's warm brown eyes– oh those gentle loving eyes.

        All was well for Argus and his family in Maidensport. They lived happily alongside their friends, the Lockefur's.

           But...

        It was on Cari's thirteenth birthday when darkness found them again.

           Darkness descended on dark wings.

        The ninth day of the fourth month; a moonless night.

        The girl is cursed. Her name and crown is cursed.

           Argus Talworth died on that moonless night, and it was his daughter, Cari Talworth, that killed him.

                                                           ◊      ◊      ◊