Chapter 2-

Iris sat on the bed, watching. Who? Grand Duchess of Gracia, as she paced around the room, trying and failing to understand—who? What? Where? Frowning, muttering under her breath, sighing, and her appearance slowly becoming haggard. She was tired, more so mentally than physically. But not by much if she kept walking like that.

The mission to destroy Laurent’s Hert Factory was a complete disaster. Shadow, the unassuming boy, knew of it. Knights met no resistance as they went in, and then the shadow came out from nowhere, and Knights failed to maintain any semblance of formation. Now, Diantha was trying to know who leaked the information.

“There’s a traitor,” she said, not for the first time and certainly not for the last time. She loved everyone. A traitor meant someone was dissatisfied with her. It was a stretch for her to fathom that. “Not Jasper,” Diantha said. “He is too loyal… then... Viktor? No, he has lived in this house for five years, and he has only shown care for his dog. Clara? Why would she? The boy she fancies is still loyal to Lancaster House. Unless he is not... Who else? Jeremiah? No. He’s useless as is. He will not further dig his own grave,” Diantha sighed.

Iris chanted Diantha’s words under her breath. For the sixth time, she heard that script. Why was she in Diantha’s room? If Iris had to guess—to get close to Diantha—why else would there be no other room to sleep in this giant mansion? She was happy to be here. The bed was cozy. And it was all for her. Diantha never slept.

“Your feet will ache in the morning,” Iris said slowly. She was sleepy, but the anxious Diantha parade impeded her sleep. Everything had met its closure. Hecate was sleeping in her room, and so was Ianthe. Jasper was safe. Knights still breathed, at least, those who could yet be saved.

“I am greatly distressed about the incident. It was a disaster… It could’ve been an even bigger disaster." Diantha looked at her, a smile on her face, warm and gentle, directed at her. Iris felt her face getting hot. “If not for you, thank you, Iris.”

Iris nodded and rubbed her cat gently. It was a disaster. “Worrying will not do anything. It is over. You should rest and think about what you want to do tomorrow. Attempting at the Hert Factory will be a foolish decision.”

“I am aware,” Diantha sat on the edge of the bed as if she were intruding on her space. “I will take everyone back to my city. Next week, I will place Sangfroid under heavy monitoring to control Hert’s issue. The Imperial knights dispatched from the capital will look over it for the time being.”

“I see,” Iris whispered and yawned. They will leave. Diantha offered her to stay in the mansion if she decided against going to Lancaster’s estate. She was not sure anymore. She wanted to look after Ianthe and Hecate. “Is Jeremiah your strongest fighter?” Iris saw how badly he matched Slithery. If he was all Diantha had, then it was concerning. No. It was Slithery that was the anomaly, just like Iris herself.

“He is,” Diantha confirmed. He was—Iris heard. He was in bed, struggling to breathe as they spoke. He was not strong, for now.

“I will come along with you,” Iris admitted. She flopped on the bed. She would regret this decision. And, if the pain in her heart were any indication, she would regret it dearly. “I want to stay with Ianthe and Hecate a little longer.”

“Only with them?” Diantha asked. Iris looked away. She would not fall for the trap. The glowing-eyed lady was grim for her already aching heart.

She would have an episode tomorrow at the earliest.

“Yes, you’re bad for my heart,” Iris muttered. Diantha froze in her spot.

“Iris,” she said softly, “is my presence escalating your condition?”

“No. Why would it?” Iris looked at Diantha—a worry etched on her countenance.

Iris was unsure. Her estimated lifespan was approximately four years when she left the labyrinth. Now, it was one year. She calculated her remaining life span by the number of episodes before her heart went boom. And it is four right now. She would have one tomorrow. Her initial assessment was a sixteen-month gap between each episode. Now, it was four months. She prayed it would not further lessen. She knew it would. The lack of corrosion and malice in the outside world abhorred the filth she was.

“You just said I was bad for your heart,” Diantha stared at her. Iris so wanted to look away. She should’ve. Yet the glow pinned her to stillness.

“Why do your eyes glow?” Iris whined, awkwardly, half curious and half afraid. Eyes do not glow without magic. What sort of esoteric was it?

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Diantha turned her gaze to the mirror beside her desk. “I see no glow in my eyes, Iris. Please pardon me, but I thought it was a joke. Do you see my eyes glowing?”

“They are glowing, which means you’re using some form of magic. But it makes no sense you have no mana,” Iris sighed. And she felt no difference in her mental state—no paranoia, no subservience, or lack of self-control.

“They do not glow, Iris. I am not graced by mana. Even if I am born with a soul that coerces people into curtsy, dominance is no magic,” Diantha was still looking in the mirror. “See if my eyes glow in the mirror.”

They didn’t. Only redness and fatigue—demanding sleep.

“They don’t. You should sleep. I see them begging for a rest,” Iris said as she returned to her comfy pillow.

“I will not find any sleep tonight,” Diantha let out another weary sign, “I’m still worried about Knights and what I will say to their family.”

“Sleeping shall help.”

“Yet—”

“LALALA… Lullaby would help you sleep,” Iris said. “Laa laa laa...”

“Lullaby? I’m not a child, and mind control magic will not work on me.”

Mind control could be resisted by strong mental fortitude, so even a non-mage can do that.

“As long as you don’t resist, It will,” Iris replied.

That night, for the first time in years, Diantha slept without a care of the state.

…

Hecate blinked. Her buddy-buddy ceiling greeted her. There was a painting of Mr. Chummy chasing little Pally. Hecate sat on her bed. Tears trickled down her face. Why? Hecate questioned. Her shoulder shook. Why would the tears keep falling? “I killed her,” admitting it made her feel even more guilty.

And Stella was happy that she did. It made her feel more guilty. She had no right to feel sad when she inflicted so much pain on her sister. Even after dying, it was her sister who endured for her sake. She was worthless and shoved misery on everyone who cared about her.

“I am worthless…” Even so, she needed to live and hoped she would not place more pain on her lady and master.

“Hella, it's not your fault,” Her master gently guided her head to her chest. “You’re as much a victim as your sister.” Her master said as she stroked her black hair.

“Pain my sister lived through... because I was ignorant of her misery,” Hecate did not need comforting words. She wanted to let out her guilt, burden, and sorrow. Ilona silently listened to it all. She would, for that’s what her master was. Hecate felt guilty, finding comfort in her. She should push her away and hide in a cave at the edge of the world, far away from all the warmth and light that she was undeserving of.

“Even if it's all true, even if you put your sister through misery, it will not change your pain and suffering. You are not wrong for being who you are, for loving your sister, or for turning away from killing her. It's not an easy choice. I cannot begin to fathom what you must’ve felt. Let your mind rest. Come with me—we shall watch your favourite show with some snacks,” Before Hecate could make an excuse to gloom in her room, Ilona picked her up like a child.

“Let me go!” Hecate whined.

"Today, I will shower you with affection until all the guilt and sorrow fade, and I am with my cherished disciple," Ilona whispered, amused.

“NOOOOO!”

….

Ianthe gulped. She shoved up, looking around. Her skin was frigid. Did she sleep late? Did Master wake up? Iantha turned left. There was no one. No. She was far away from her master. No. There was no master of her. Not anymore. Not here. She whispered it to herself one more time than she needed to.

Ianthe sucked in a sharp breath as she tried to move. Yeah, she was injured. Not the gravest injury of her life. The black thing was stronger than she had ever anticipated. She sighed—no, she was too weak. Iris was younger than her, and yet she single-handedly humiliated the shadow.

“Has your pain yet not subsided?” a soft, childlike voice asked.

Ianthe turned, and her eyes landed on Iris, sitting on a chair beside the bed. She was as impassive as ever. A strip of cloth hid her eyes. Her family on her head, sleeping. Ianthe couldn't make sense of her inner thoughts. She was sure it would be something silly.

Ianthe couldn’t help but smile when she remembered Iris saying that she spat on Slithery, as she named it, so she was the winner. “I am fine. Good morning, Lightning Lord,” Ianthe’s smile widened when she saw Iris's face tighten at the title. As proud a mage as she was, outside of battle, she was shy, quiet, caring, and very polite.

“Good morning, Ianthe,” Iris said. Ianthe never expected Iris to bite back. Unless she stood in battle against her, Iris would always speak softly and gently, with politeness. She wanted her to let go of the courtesy. But every attempt failed. Ianthe was all she could get. It was not the most formal Iris addressed her. But it created a distance between them. Ianthe knew better than to push Iris.

“You’re here?”

“I was worried about you, so I came to check if you were doing all right,” Iris picked up her sleeping cat and passed it to her. Iantha gladly took her. Iantha found Winny’s soft fur calming. Iris never minded anyone touching Winny. Iantha always found that weird.

“How can you eagerly give her to me, especially when you’re extremely caring for her?” Ianthe caressed Winny's back. Winny spent most of the day sleeping.

“You’re warm. Your presence will soothe Winny’s cold soul,” Iris replied. Ianthe had heard Iris say things about people being warm. She understood that Iris meant positive emotions.

“Are you not afraid? What if I harm her?”

“She will be safe. I know better than to give her to people who would bring her harm,” Iris replied. Her voice was soft and slow. It was calming to hear her. Iantha felt tears well up in her eyes. Iris trusted her.

“Thank you…” Ianthe’s voice was thick with emotion. Iris saved her, never demanded anything to release her from the curse, and even showed trust. Iantha couldn’t help but feel blessed. “I am grateful.”

“...We should go out. I’m sure Hecate is awake, and I wish to talk to her.”

They would go to Lady Lancaster’s city. “Will you come with us? I mean Lancaster’s estate?”

“I will… I will stay there until the map arrives.”

“I'm glad,” Ianthe wanted to go with Iris, but she would be a burden, and an even bigger problem was her master. Iantha wished to get close to Iris. Not because Iris was her saviour—she would rather stay away than hurt Iris with a sentiment so shallow. She just wanted to be her friend like Hecate was. Hecate was much closer to Iris. She was not. For now, that was her life goal—to be closer to Iris and Hecate. She had nothing else to do anyway.