ANNA

Anna swiftly passed the fountain with the sculpture of Princess Phoebe. She eyed the numerous gardeners watering the plants. Some of the lemon trees in the royal garden had already grown bright yellow fruits in the past few days. Anna had always adored those lemon trees and could never await their yearly harvest, going hand in hand with the Golden Heart Festival, the great celebration of Princess Phoebe’s arrival in and foundation of Windschild.

But an unripe lemon had been plucked without her notice last night. That she had heard it only through rumours from the other servants first was a little insulting. Between the shouting and moving of the guards, they had been ordered to move to their chambers and lock the doors. Later that night Chiara had informed her that the trap Lady Josiane had set for Lord Jason had been sprung.

She scanned the gardens for her lady and hastily tread the gravel path between gorgeous red roses and purple bright lilacs. She found them in one of the gardens' many gazebos, their favourite place.

“No way he did that!” she almost shrieked and closed the distance. The sword leaning against the marble table briefly took an astonished glimpse from her.

“Would you keep it down?! I can’t concentrate!” Chiara growled at her.

Anna was chastised, before she even had a chance to register what they were doing. Why, of course, they were in the middle of their typical morning routine, but as of late they stopped bringing a board with pieces altogether. Everytime with this game Chiara seemed to become a wholly different person, so unpleasant. She would rely on her masterful ability to poison Anna’s cheery chakra with nothing but a few wind up words, sometimes solely with a frown.

“King f5,” she made her next move.

“Now, now, have you forgotten about the elephant? Tower f4…” Josiane closed her eyes and smiled.

“King e5,” was Chiara’s response.

“Tower e7, checkmate,” Josiane finished the game. Chiara gazed up to the air, perplexed.

“Ohh… Josie won again… what a surprise,” Anna gasped with feigned shock.

Chiara gave her a scolding look. Anna was just glad they had already finished their tedious game, usually taking quite longer than this. She couldn’t fathom how anyone could possibly have the patience for it, let alone to play it in their heads like two lunatics.

“I don’t get it!” Chiara despaired. “I had a queen!” she put forth.

Lady Josiane sipped from her tea before she placed the cup back on porcelain. “Yes, you had a queen…” She smirked at her. “... a useless one tucked in a corner,” she berated her opponent. “Meanwhile I had two active towers,” she took pride in and finally turned towards her with a smile. “Now, you have my full attention, dear Anna,” she spoke gently.

Anna couldn’t muster the words at first. She had heard about Lord Jason’s imprisonment, but among other things; outrageous things. “I heard-… What-… did you-… What happened last night, m’Lady?” she decided to ask in broad terms, scared she might draw her ire otherwise.

Lady Josiane straightened her back on where she sat and stretched her arms. “A lot of things happened last night…” she ventured with a half-yawn. “You have to be a little more specific.” She grabbed her tea cup again and gestured for Anna to sit down with her hand.

She sat down beside her on the marble bank and nervously stroked her hair, a little hesitant. “Lord Jason…” Anna began. “I heard… that he had-… he did… something to you!”

Josiane chuckled. “Well, what did you hear precisely? Describe it!” She grinned at her and then sipped from her tea.

Anna leaned forward. “I heard that he…” Anna gulped and remembered how the other servant had put it. “...he violated… you?” she high-pitched, the word almost stuck in her throat.

Her lady put her cup down and suddenly formed a scowl. “You want some tea, dear Anna?” she asked her evenly and pointed towards the white porcelain teapot with blue ornaments. “Go ahead… Suit yourself…”

Anna tensed at her diversion, the coldness of her voice, and eyed the teapot and started shuddering, disturbed.

Josiane cackled. “Of course I wasn’t violated!” She disclosed, amused, and laid a hand on her chest. “Oh, Anna… what’s wrong? You’re so tense!” she pointed out. “Usually, you’re not one too shy to pry!” She grinned at her.

And Anna exhaled sharply at her gruesome joke and was relieved. She put her elbows on the table, buried her face in her hands and sighed deeply. “I really thought-… I was so scared for you, m’Lady!” she put forth.

“I’m flattered! But your concern is wasted on me,” Josiane said and crossed her arms. “You should worry more about Jayjay’s fate.” She smiled sardonically.

Anna and Chiara exchanged a glimpse before Chiara asked, “What do you intend to do with him?”

Josiane leaned forward. “Right now, nothing,” she responded. “My mother shall execute the appropriate punishment for him in time.”

Chiara blinked at her. “Don’t you always complain about how Lady Béatrice is too lenient?” she pointed out.

“Only she has the legislation to officially disown him,” Josie responded. “Any punishment I would exact now would only lessen my mother’s sentence,” she continued. “Although, admittedly… It would be quite funny seeing him beg to keep his balls!” And there was her smile again.

“Eww... please don’t!” Anna made herself small and jerked her hands around her head and winced, remembering quite vividly the last time Josiane made her attend the ordered castration of a convict, who drunkenly had ruined the life of one of the town girls on a fateful night. Her lady snickered at her, amused by her squeamishness.

Anna turned her head to the sound of crunching gravel and saw the court physician Sir Kostas approaching accompanied by the captain of the house guards. They bowed down respectfully.

“There you are, Sir Kostas!” Josiane addressed him. “Let us not waste further time on this matter!” She folded her hands. “In the eastern dungeons you will find a humanoid steelwalker corpse locked away in one of the cells,” she described. “It’s an odd example to say the least and I need you to dissect it and study its anatomy.”

Sir Kostas eyed her curiously, then nervously gave a brief glimpse to the captain of the guards. “Uhh… M’lady… steelwalker corpses…” he hesitated. ”...are known to spontaneously come back to life, to combust or even to explode,” he worried, a plea in his face.

“I have a feeling this one won’t explode, you’ll see it for yourself,” Josiane answered. “Besides, Captain Timur will accompany you with aid and monitor the corpse at all times.” She gestured to the captain with her hand. “You may take the corpse wherever you feel comfortable as long as it’s hidden from plain sight.” She smiled at him. “You’re dismissed!”

Sir Kostas merely stared at her and a couple heartbeats passed before he and Captain Timur bowed down respectfully and turned around.

Anna watched them leave, feeling like Sir Kostas was understandably anxious about the whole assignment. She liked him. He was maybe a little reserved but always kind and respectful to her. Never looking at her chest except for a medical inspection. And he was handsome for his old age.

The sword leaning on the table got Anna’s attention again. “What is that?” she had to wonder. It wasn’t like any blade she ever saw. A matt silver with a prominent rainbow hue and a golden shaft crested with a polished ruby that eerily resembled an eye. “It looks gorgeous!” she adored the sword and stood up to reach for it.

“Don’t touch the sword!” Chiara warned her. “It bites!”

Anna gave her a sneer. “Ha-ha! Funny!” she said wryly. But when she laid hands on it, she felt the painful shock. “Ahrgh!” she elicited a shriek. The ache in her hands forced her to fold them and bend in place, her eyes tearing up. Josiane barked a harsh laugh.

Chiara sighed. “Told you!” she spoke to Anna, disappointed.

It was the sort of shock one might occasionally get from touching scratchy wool or metallic door knobs but vastly more painful.

“Aww… poor thing is furious, for it got separated from its master,” Josiane pitied with a smirk.

Anna had to stare at her, brows raised in question before she realised she was talking to the sword. Anna eyed it again. “It’s-... It’s not really alive, is it?” she had to wonder.

“It’s a trophy I earned from last night,” Josiane proudly mentioned, whilst studying her nails. And Anna remembered overhearing the guards talking about how she had defeated an army of over thousand men in the dead of the night, all by herself. She had thought it to be absurd… but here leaning against the table was the proof. Anna side-eyed her awfully.

“You seem to be in an exalted mood this morning,” Chiara pointed out. “What circumstance owes us this pleasure precisely?” she surveyed evenly.

Josiane scrutinised her. “You mean other than the joy I feel from completely and utterly destroying my enemies?” Josiane leaned back on the marble gazebo’s sims and closed her eyes. “Nothing in particular,” she smiled and played with a ring on her finger.

Upon realising it Anna sharply inhaled. “Wait… a new ring!” she shouted eagerly and grabbed her lady’s hand. Chiara leaned forward in order to give it a closer look as well.

Anna mustered the symmetrical stone with its unique shape. “That’s such a delightful green!” she cutesied.

“That’s an interesting shape!” Chiara put forth. “It’s a dodecahedron!” she observed.

Anna gave Chiara a brief churning look, scorn on how someone could be such a know-it-all, before she asked Josiane, “Where’d you get it from, m’Lady?” Anna smiled at her.

“You know, dear Anna…” her lady began. “...you always boast to us with your various lovers and how they make you gifts and so forth…” Josiane side-eyed her with a sly look. “What shall I say… other than that I got a little jealous!” She grinned at her.

Anna gasped. “Oh my gods! My lady has an admirer?!” she shrilly whispered and exuberantly clapped her hands on the table. “Who is he? Who is he?! Whoishe?!” she asked in quick succession.

Josiane smiled at Chiara, who neutrally glimpsed back. “Try to guess, dear Anna,” her lady prompted her.

“Oooh… okay!” she grinned. Anna would love to play this game! “Uhhm…” she pondered. “Is it that one young guard with curly dark brown hair?” she guessed. “What was his name again? Jon?”

Josiane chuckled. “It’s none of the guards, no,” she narrowed it down.

“Aha!” she realised. “So it’s the new apprentice cook! Felix! He’s such a charming boy!” she swarmed and pulled both arms on her chest.

Chiara pinched the bridge of her nose. “For the love of the gods, Anna, just put one and one together, already!” she said, so early quite annoyed by her guessing.

Anna furrowed her brows. “What?” she was confused. “Who else could it be?” she wondered.

Josiane laughed. “It’s Jayjay, you little dummy!” she revealed and Anna was dumbstruck. She stared at the ring again and sobered, vividly sensing the thought Lord Jason must have put into it. Suddenly she started feeling a little bad for him.

“Honestly, I can’t comprehend what the fuss is all about!” Josiane spoke. Anna thought her lady must have picked up on her before she remarked, “It hurt like hell!”

And Anna merely eyed her for a whole breath, and as realisation suddenly dawned, she sharply inhaled. “No!” she breathed with wide eyes.

“There were certainly other ways to make things seem authentic…” Josiane continued. “But oh well, Anna… you made me… very… curious!” She winked at her with a grin.

She couldn’t really mean… “But you said-... I-... eh-...” Anna stammered and searched for Chiara’s eyes, who gravely stared back at her. “But m’Lady!” she shrieked at Josiane. “You’re still underage!” She frowned at her pitifully.

Josiane shut her eyes. “You should have thought of that earlier,” she admonished her. “And again… your concern is flattering… but wasted on me!” she reiterated her previous disposition.

Anna wanted to inquire, but was put off by an unnerving glance her lady gave her. Rather she was no longer assured of the contents of her lady’s heart. “Why would you imprison him at all?” she had to reflect on it. “What did he even… do?” If he didn’t…

And Josiane gave her a measured look before she said, “He’s a traitor! A treacherous spy!” and looked away. This wasn’t the first time she called him that. But Anna noticed the missing smile on her face as she said it now, and her sombre voice. So subtle that if she didn’t know her so well, she would have missed it. It was probably best not to question her further about it… “But-...”

“Enough banter!” Josiane cut her off harshly, making Anna wince. “Rather tell me about any intelligence you two have gathered from the day before,” she spoke sternly. “Begin!” she ordered them.

Chiara began immediately. “I must probably not start on how the steelwalker you killed had the highest authority in Jason’s crew after himself, as I have obvious reasons to believe you already knew that,” she reported as if she already had practised what she would say in advance. “They haven’t talked about anything noteworthy, pointless anecdotes at best,” she put forth. “The nobleman from Wasserturm appears to be a physician and has a concubine.”

Anna felt the need to add: “I found that out!” She couldn’t bear the thought of her lady jesting her useless.

“What about the guard?” Josiane queried.

Chiara's gaze fell down and she brooded a little. “If I had to guess…” she answered. “From what we know about Lord Jason’s journey, he probably has a background as a mercenary,” she argued.

Lady Josiane thoughtfully frowned and slanted her eyes. “He certainly fits the profile,” she said in a solemn tone.

Anna thought back on the way he smiled at her and sighed dreamily. “He was so kind and charming!” she swarmed.

Chiara responded with an annoyed sigh. “He was ribald and obnoxious!” she rebutted.

Anna looked at her scornfully. “Maybe if you weren't so stuck up, you’d have a lover yourself one day!” She smirked at her and searched for an affirming glance from her lady she didn’t receive.

“I have little to no interest in coquetry or what poorly tries to resemble it,” Chiara quickly responded with her monotone voice.

Anna knew her well enough to not miss her hidden offence. “Oh really?!” she rebutted. “You certainly looked your part, when that blonde bear with the mop charmed you!” she put forth with a satisfied smirk.

“Is that so?” Josiane wondered at length, side-eying Chiara slyly. “Will we be able to infiltrate the Von Hossenfelds’ court after all?“ she entertained a bane idea.

Chiara’s eyes widened with what would pass as perturbation for her and Anna immediately regretted telling Josiane this part. “Actually… it looked more like… he was just making friendly conversation,” Anna tried to smooth it over, smiling at her lady nervously.

Despite being at odds with her most of the time, the thought of losing Chiara felt like losing a sister.

“Speaking of which…” Chiara carried on, earning a curious look from Josiane. “...there was a moment when the steelwalker and the heir of Hossenfeld were inquiring confidentially. And the steelwalker handed him something dark in colour, but I couldn’t make out what it was precisely,” she mentioned.

Lady Josiane crossed her arms and thoughtfully rested her index finger on her lip. She then leaned forward to grab a hidden bag from underneath the marble bank. “Did it look like something akin to this?” she asked while pulling out a black rectangular plate.

NILS

It was bad. It was downright awful. He had seen the redness around the wound growing since the first day of their shared imprisonment, an early telltale sign of an infection. But when he had gripped the iron bars and repeatedly called out for the guards, they would not answer, only appearing in the hallways when they brought them food and provisions and would change the bucket toilet.

Indeed, they had to discharge in front of each other and the disgusting smell emanating was renewed every time they did, not at all aiding in a sanitary environment for any wound to heal conducively.

After the first night, the guards had also been searching the cell on multiple occasions. Jason had had the foresight to hide the light stone from the guards behind a loose brick on the wall, rightfully convinced that Josiane would have eventually found out and let the guards try to confiscate it.

Nils had pleaded with them for antiseptic ointment, or even wine or liquor but to no avail, they ignored him. The hole in Henry’s foot had a noxious green colour now, after three days without proper cleansing.

He poured water on linen and carefully washed the skin around the wound. Nils stood up and nervously eyed Henry’s face, who had his eyes closed and was covered in sweat. He put his hand on his temple, noticing how his fever became worse with every passing hour and his breathing increasingly hoarse.

Elias stood up from where he sat on the bed across the cell. “He doesn’t look so good!” he finally noticed.

That’s putting it mildly, Nils thought and pulled himself back from Henry.

“Will he be okay?” Elias asked with clear worry.

Nils rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, dejected. He turned towards Elias. “I don’t think so,” he remarked. “If we don’t rely on drastic measures soon, he might perish,” he disclosed in a whisper to confide from Henry.

Elias just stared at him, at a loss of words. Nils reciprocated a grave look. “W-What drastic measures?” Elias quietly queried, with a tremble conveying he had already well understood the connotation.

Nils frowned. He had to bite his lower lip, and his throat became suddenly dry. “We have to cut off the limb in order to fend off the infection,” he explained.

Elias just stared at him, disturbed, and then gulped. “Cut off how?!” he raised a fair point in a whisper.

Nils hopelessly shook his head. They had been disarmed during their incarceration and the guards would certainly not lend them any blade. Yet they might still help, given the dire situation. They had to communicate the gravity of Henry’s condition by any means.

Elias gave a hoarse sigh in exasperation, and seemed to have had the same train of thought as he turned around and walked up to the iron bars and grabbed them. “Hey!” he yelled in the hallway. “HEEEY!” he shouted even louder and repeatedly hit the iron bars with might.

That’s one way of trying, I suppose… Nils thought.

Jason, who occasionally slept during the day now, awoke to the tumult and sleepily lifted his head. Nils exchanged a look with him, and pointed towards Henry with nervous eyes. Jason immediately became animate and stood up from the bed to examine Henry, laying a hand on his forehead.

“Our friend is sick!” Elias yelled. “He needs help!” he shouted. “HEEEY!” He slapped and kicked the iron door.

Jason moved back to the corner of the cell and mustered three handfuls of slate from the ground, one of which he pressed into Nils’ hand as he walked up to Elias and gave him one as well. Jason started hitting the bar of iron with the stone, Elias and Nils joined him in hitting the bars as mightily as they could, resulting in a great deal of noise. “HEEEY!” they started to yell and shout repeatedly in unison as the stones slowly cracked in their hands.

And surely enough, their efforts would not go to waste as after a while, finally, two guards showed up. “Quiet the noise!” one of them barked. And they ceased hitting the bars with stones upon their arrival.

“This is an emergency!” Elias hastily spoke. “Our friend’s foot is horrendously infected!” he said and pointed towards Henry. “If he doesn’t get treatment now, he will die!” he pronounced.

The guards exchanged a look. “You jest us for fools?” one of them jumped at Elias.

“No!” Elias gave the exasperated response and shook his head, perplexed.

“Sir Kostas!” Jason pointed out. “He will be able to tell you from a distance that the foot is infected!” Jason pleaded.

The other guard gave Jason a strange vindicated look. “Sir Kostas…” he began. “...has been notoriously busy these last two days.” The guard smiled at him.

Jason just silently stared back, frozen, and then seemed to make sense of the guard’s beam, widening his eyes.

Lord Jason had already weighed up with Nils how things might not be hale and hearty for General Arved, given his absent response to Lord Jason’s messaging through the light stone.

Henry gave a minute uneven cough. Nils felt the urgency to act increased. “I’m a physician as well!” he put forth. “I am well capable of amputating his foot but I will be in need of the necessary paraphernalia!” he explained.

The guards exchanged a glimpse before they laughed. “Why should we give you this para-thing?” one of them spoke and poked the other with his elbow.

Nils gave them a neutral stare. “Because if you don’t, his death will be your fault,” he made the argument. The guards eyed him incredulously at this. He gestured towards Henry. “Your lady has imprisoned him, and not killed him… for a reason,” he furtherly explained. “If one of her precious hostages would perish because of your lacklustre supervision…” he pointed out. “...I just wonder what she might do…” He gave them their vindicated smile right back.

The guards exchanged a look with their brows raised. One of them rubbed the back of his head before he said, “Alright! But try anything vacuous and you bunch will lose more than just one foot!”

It took them a while, but better overdue than regretful. Piece by piece the guards brought them anything Nils could bargain for: Five fresh linen cords, two clean knife blades and a bone saw, two copper pots filled with heated water, and even antiseptic ointment. As well as summoning two additional guards aiding in keeping Henry fixed in place and a flaming torch in order to heat the blades. They ordered them to form a line along the back wall of the cell as they brought the utilities in, closing the iron door behind them.

It was now his turn to act… Alright! Come on… don’t waste further time! Nils had to incite himself, a single bead of sweat running along his face. Everything was ready; set in place. Things now depended on him… “I will need your help as well!” he requested from Jason and Elias.

The two additional guards moved to fixate Henry’s torso, while Jason and Elias would lift and fix his leg upon Nils’ request. Nils dipped the knife blades and the bone saw in the left copper pot with hot water and repeatedly cleansed them with a linen cord. He handed the guard, who held the torch, one of the blades. “Please hold the knife within the flame,” he instructed him. He then grabbed three of the cords and handed two to Jason and Elias one each. “Tie it around his lower leg as tight as you’re able to!”

Nils took it to himself to tie the third linen just above his ankle. Luckily the circular spread of the gangrene hasn’t reached the lower leg yet. Disarticulation from the ankle should be relatively risk free.

Henry, who was asleep up to this point, started grunting, certainly feeling the blood slowly leaving his foot. Even though he was delirious from the fever, he might still react volatilely. And given his tall and muscular stature, Nils would rather have that to be avoided. “Make sure to hold him in place with all might,” he urged everyone. Elias repositioned himself over the end of the bed.

Nils took the other blade knife. The first incision should be through the achilles heel… he turned around to face the foot… the most painful incision. A sharp blade met hardy skin… Hopefully the lack of blood was sufficiently paralysing… He exchanged a nervous glimpse with Jason and Elias, sweat running through their brows.

Nils took a deep breath. Here goes nothing! And with a sweep pull he cut through the-...

“AAARGHH!” the scream echoed through even in the small hallway. He almost lifted two heavy men, who had to jump on him with all their weight in order to hold him in place. He gasped for air and coughed repeatedly and grunted with pain.

“It’s fine! It’s good! Everythings alright!” Nils shouted back, partially to calm down Henry, partially to convince himself that the incision had been indeed without complication. “Let him breathe!” Nils ordered the guards, who slowly relieved Henry from their weight, still holding him in place.

Blood leaked from his ankle, not a small amount. Nils glimpsed into Elias' face, who grimaced with a horrified grin. He turned around and put the blood soaked knife into the right copper pot.

He gave Henry a measuring look. He was still gasping for air and was now covered in even more sweat. But the most difficult part was still lying ahead of them…

Nils grabbed the last linen cord and wiped some of the blood on his ankle away with it and then repeatedly rinsed the cord with water from the right copper pot. He searched for Jason’s eyes, who was fixing Henry’s knee and frowned regretfully. “Make sure the cords are tied tightly, m’Lord!” Nils drew his attention only marginally, but Jason eventually fastened the knots.

The next incision… would sever the saphenous vein.

Nils turned towards the guard, who held a blade above a flame… “Sir… May I?” he asked with an open hand for the seething knife.

The guard handed him the slightly rose glowing piece of metal only steadily over, in reverence of it. Nils took it with the same reverence and moved it into position… He took a deep breath and counted internally up to three… and then…

The seething knife gave flesh and blood a kiss eliciting a sharp hiss. “YEARGHHH!” Yet another scream echoed through the dungeon. This time he struck one of the guards in the face and Jason had to jump on Henry in his place. He fell this time quicker on his back, the fever must have exhausted him quite much already. His breathing was still fast and his face even more feverish.

The vein has been successfully severed yet burned shut. He circumcised the ankle further then put the second blade into the right copper pot. Much blood was still running its course, which Nils patiently wiped away. Bone was now laid bare. He rinsed the cord he held again with water from the right copper pot, the bone saw waiting its turn in the left.

Elias, who was lifting Henry’s leg, started quivering. “I’m not sure how much of this I can take further…” he exhaled through gritted teeth and shook his head.

Nils eyed him solemnly. “Almost done,” he tried to reassure not only Elias but also himself. All that was left were four or five vigorous thrusts with the bone saw. “Grab his foot and ankle with both hands… hold them tightly in place…” he ordered Elias, while he pulled out and cleansed the most coarse of the blades with water.

“He fell unconscious!” Jason pointed out.

Nils put the bone saw back into the pot and swiftly walked up to Henry to examine him. The guards were now clapping him on his cheeks.

“Please seize that!” he warned the guards sharply, making them stop. He put two fingers on Henry’s neck to gauge his pulse and waited... His pulse appeared to be steady and regular... after half a minute… “He’s fine,” he observed.

He proceeded in rinsing the bone saw with water, wishing Henry had fallen unconscious much earlier than this.

He turned around with the saw in his hand and put himself into position. Nils searched for Elias' eyes, who stared back with not a little agitation. He waited for him to nod confirmation. Elias decided to stare away at the wall before he nodded his approval. Nils attached the bone saw with a sweep. It sounded like cutting a small piece of wood. And finally after six consecutive thrusts the infected foot was cut off. “Alright…” he heaved a sigh of relief and closed his eyes. “It’s done!”

Elias dropped the freshly cut off foot convulsively. Removing his blood soaked hands immediately, he staggered backwards until his back pressed on a black slate wall. He slid down to a cower, exhausted from the endeavour.

Jason pulled himself back from Henry and started slowly pacing the cell with utter dejection, one hand covering his face.

Nils still had to ask the guards for additional fresh linen cords, which he would soak with antiseptic ointment and tie around the stump. The coming days he must make sure to exchange them frequently and keep the guards on their toes with that in mind.

This was his first amputation… not the first he had witnessed in his schooling, but the first he had to carry out alone...

Although successful… he already would contemplate a different line of work. And fate would have it, he wouldn’t be the only one…

Nils glimpsed up to Henry’s sweat covered face, who was soundly asleep now like the whole ordeal didn’t happen.

Poor bastard… he thought.

SINA

Under the scorching noon sun most of the bedouins of their tribe were holding their qailulah in their tents, even the most diligent amongst them did sleep at this hour. It was seemingly the only way to stay cool and escape the thick flickering air.

But a keen eye would always spot the gaping entryways on grande rocks erected throughout the desert. These caves seldom saw a ray of the sun penetrating them deeply enough and were a refuge for the more delicate creations of The Great. Amongst them were spiders building eloquent webs, gorgeous caterpillars, centipedes with golden furs and hatchlings nourishing on them.

Sina and her sister, Raqiya, preferred their own solitary company in these cool caves over their fellow tribesmen. Even with the spreading rumours, having reached them through the coursing wind, the men’s hostility had only declined marginally. Reduced to more glaring eyes rather than sharp tongues.

They had heard word about their lost brother returning. There was only one thing that would benefit her and her sister from their kinship: the fear and respect he would instil upon their fellow tribesmen, leading them to leave them mostly alone as long as Sina didn’t go out of her way to provoke them unnecessarily, which she was tempted to do often.

Sina had been waiting for her brother for seven years. She couldn’t even remember his face. The only association she had with him… was the colour red… a red fountain, actually. The sun shining on sand, red with human gore… from a sliced throat… a woman with the same brown skin as hers, forcefully held in place by his hand grabbing her curly dark brown hair. The same hair as hers, shining a brilliant orange through the setting sun’s rays. Her golden eyes affectless, as if she already had died long before.

That woman had been their oldest sister… and with Sina then being four years old, her death by their own brother’s hand had been engraved in her eyes as her first memory of this world.

Sina understood exactly why The Great had shown her that horrific event when she was young and innocent; when her mind hadn’t been sullied by the abhorrent superstitions of the worshippers of Hajjal.

A deep hatred had been instilled into her for the enemies of The Great, by The Great himself! How grateful was she for it! She would rather spend the entirety of her living days rotting away in this cave, than participate a second in their ill ways! She was the only sane person among them, even her sister was more sane than them!

So it seemed a murder had yielded a greater purpose for it benefitted her with wisdom and knowledge, albeit something that must be avenged sooner rather than later… for the damage done… had been permanent…

“Isn’t the cool air great, Raqiya?” Sina asked her with affection in her eyes from where she cowered.

“Bleargh! Aueghhhee!” Raqiya confirmed with an enthusiastic shrill, smiling.

Sina grabbed her bag and searched through it. “Look what I found the other day!” she teased melodically.

Raqiya became animated immediately and jumped over to her. “Ihaaahhh!” she jolted, when Sina pulled them out. She then watched her with pleading eyes.

Sina gave her a beam. “You don’t have to ask every time, just take them!” she put her hand closer to her and Raqiya understood.

Sina had to laugh at her greedily snatching the dates away and eating them up one by one. Her sister loved dates and she had no doubt she would die if that would mean a lifetime supply. At last there was one thing those filthy worshippers of Hajjal couldn’t take away from her.

As long as the desert would be occasionally blessed by rain, flowers would briefly bloom even on the most barren earth. As long as there were fruits like dates in this world, her sister would occasionally smile and jolt with happiness. For those rare moments alone, she promised The Great she would stay alive.

For that… and of course… She couldn’t die as long as he roamed this world alive…

Justice needed to be served!

She pulled the knife out of her bag and gripped the blade by its hilt and eyed its reflection bitterly. Soon! she promised to herself.

Suddenly a loud horn blew in the distance. Sina needed no time to realise that it wasn’t the one her tribe used for the alarm of raids. No… rather this horn was foreign! Which meant… which meant strangers were blowing it… He has arrived!

“Nah!” Raqiya exclaimed. “Ngahhh!” she worried with big eyes. She then suddenly stood up, shouted and rotated in place convulsively. And Sina had to wonder whether or not her sister could feel their brother's presence slowly creeping up to them.

Sina stood up and hid the knife underneath her robe. Justice… she determined. Justice must be served! She moved to leave the cave. “You stay here!” she sternly warned Raqiya with a finger, who initially started following her.

Raqiya moaned with protest and worried glances, but ultimately ceased following her. Her exclamations echoing behind Sina, as she left the caves and steadily walked towards their tribe's encampment.

The scorching sun in its zenith burned on her shoulders and forehead even through her robe. Inhumane was anyone, who would travel at this hour, but that was quite fitting for the monster he was.

The horn sounded again. Her blood was slowly boiling up. Sina didn’t notice how she started running. Her face grimaced with hatred. You are as good as dead!

She arrived at their encampment and swiftly ran between the tents in the direction of the horn’s origin. She found the whole tribe gathered; gathered around and muttering amongst themselves. She forcefully squeezed herself to the front… but as much as she scanned with her eyes for the big bulky man he was described as… in his place instead… were two women.

Two women in long black robes. One who blew the horn and the other… the other was the tallest woman Sina had ever seen. She was tall but strangely slander with sheer white skin and long oily black hair. Her eyes were glowing red. A looming ghostly shadow seemed to be accompanying her, despite the sun at its highest point. She held a long staff ending with a sickle in her left hand.

One glance at her was enough to tell that she was a demon in disguise. Sina’s disappointment quickly made way for fear.

Then the woman started talking. “Worshippers of Hajjal!” the raspy voice spoke up betraying an old age, silencing all mutterance. “I’ve come to announce… the arrival of… a new goddess!” And the swing of her staff summoned ghostly blue flames roaring high towards the sky, leaving the men and women of Sina’s tribe screaming and shouting in awe; leaving no doubt on whom she pronounced as the new deity.

Sina nervously looked around, sweat running through her face, as she found her fellow tribesmen trembling and slowly bowing down, prostrating one after the other.

And the irony… simply became too much to bear.

Sina snapped at them. “Will you bow down and take a woman as your god, after raping and sacrificing your own daughters and sisters?!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “How do you reason?!” She fell on her knees, despairing at their idiocracy.

“I’ve come to detain a maiden from your ranks, unsullied and chaste!” the tall woman rasped. “That is my decree!”

And Sina had to widen her eyes with perturbation. Oh no… she was disturbed. The piercing gaze of her tribesmen searing on her back, even more depressing now than the scorching sun.

Then she heard the familiar voice. “Sina is the only virgin amongst us! Take her!” Chachiya, a girl roughly her same age, spoke avidly and pointed at her.

The man beside her got up. “We left her untouched, for her brother is the feared Ibn Kan!” he explained, gesturing towards Sina with an open palm.

And suddenly the demon was in front of her. Sina jolted with horror, looked up to meet the red eyes of a serpent and started shivering. “Is it true, child?” the serpent asked, as her big slender white hand cupped her chin. “Are you chaste?”

She couldn’t answer; only quiver under the predatory gleam, frozen in place. Yet the self-proclaimed deity smirked confirmation.

She then released her. “Tie her up!” she ordered her newly acquired followers.

And the spell of fear was broken when Sina felt the heavy hand on her back. “Don’t touch me!” she hissed as she reflexively pulled out her knife and stabbed the intruding hand on her shoulder.

“Argh!” the man exclaimed painfully and fell back, holding his now blood soaked hand.

A group of men of her tribe slowly creeped up upon her from all sides. Sina desperately swung the knife around to keep them away, but they quickly got hold of her wrists from behind and twisted them around her back, forcing her to the ground, pressing her right cheek on the hot searing desert sand. She dropped her knife.

“Let me go!” she demanded and grimaced, while struggling against the weight of the man pinning her down. She felt the knot painfully tying her wrists together.

“Now, now, we’ve got ourselves a feisty one!” the other woman in the black robe spoke.

The men of her tribe forced Sina on her feet. The serpent approached her again and removed her headscarf with her free hand and started combing her short hair and swept the sand off of her cheek. She cupped her chin again and pulled her face closer to her. “Now you belong to me!” she rasped in her deep voice. “I shall grant you one wish!” she whispered.

Sina glared daggers back at her, then she had to avert her eyes towards the way she came, the wind seemed to blow that way.

She had to carefully examine the situation. If she would leave her behind then Ibn Kan would eventually return and… The Great alone knows what he would do with her. The demonic figure in front of her was in all likelihood more preferable to the company of their brother.

“My sister…” she began “I wish you to never separate me from her!” Sina proclaimed hoarsely.

And a shiver ran through her spine when she saw her new master snicker with a cruel smirk. “So be it!” The Black Witch decreed.

BÉATRICE

She had been furious when she had heard. She was still furious. She knew she shouldn’t have entrusted Windschild in her supervision. Two months hadn’t passed and Josie was already out for trouble, with inspiring events already impending disastrous consequence and scandal. Lady Béatrice had no choice and had been forced to leave Qat al Ahmar earlier than planned.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

A whole lot earlier than planned, thanks to her daughter. Josie always found new ways in going astray. That girl never learned what the word shame meant.

She slowed her mount, when she reached the courtyard, noticing the construction work and scaffolding that lined it and which hadn’t been there two months ago. Windschild never needed walls or big ugly castles, but one could never deter that stubborn Josie from the idea, little megalomaniac she was.

Béatrice halted and dismounted her horse and handed her to the farrier, who led the mare to the closest stall. Two guards approached her and bent the knee. “We are elated by your safe return, m’Lady!” one of them spoke. She wished she could say the same.

“Bring me to my daughter!” she ordered.

“Your Grace! Lady Josiane already expects you in the great hall, m’Lady!” The guards stood up and stanced way for her to lead.

And Béatrice knew a moment of pause. She hadn’t sent a pigeon in advance, that could have informed Josie about her early departure. She shouldn’t suspect her daughter of espionage, but the same suspicion fueled her anger, especially now when the element of surprise was taken from her. She hastily moved forward and entered the villa followed by the guards, walking the corridor to the great hall.

Josiane was sitting in the large chair in the middle, Béatrice’ chair, hands folded and a big smile on her face. The great hall had been mostly emptied. “Mother! How lovely, you're back!” she spoke, all fake honey.

“What is the meaning of this?! How dare you imprison your cousin?!” she could finally demand after a week of edged travel over sea then land.

“I’ve missed you so dearly as well, Mother!” Josie honeyed.

“Spare me your pretence!” Béatrice hissed at her daughter, and felt a moment of satisfaction, when that fake smile finally fell flat.

“From where I come from…” Josie studied her nails. “...we greet each other formally before launching into blind accusations, especially when we are family!” she said and looked defiantly up to her.

What was this? Some sort of game for her?! “From where I come from, we do not unjustly imprison anyone… especially when they are family!” Béatrice retorted.

“Unjustly?” Josie asked, incensed. “Are we talking about the same family? The same cousin?” she asked and had the audacity to look appalled. “The same cousin, who banded with a bunch of peasants and dastard mercenaries and violently overtook the whole land?”

“Your aunt will-...” Béatrice tried.

“The same cousin…” Josie continued. “...who took the aforementioned army of peasants and mercenaries and put them on standby just over the horizon?” she spoke and gestured with her hand out the window to her left.

And Béatrice admittedly recognized that her daughter had at least a reason. Jason would never hurt her of course, but maybe she thought he could. Béatrice was inclined to doubt it, but maybe she was just scared.

“The same cousin… who tried to coerce his underage cousin into marrying him?” Josie finished her rhetoric.

And Béatrice froze.

“What?” she asked.

And Josiane’s smile returned. It wasn’t a nice smile. “It’s true!” she chuckled. “Said he wanted to make me his queen! Look!” she said, and demonstrated the ring on her middle finger.

“You’re lying…” Béatrice could only bring out.

“Oh, I’m finally engaged, dear Mother! It is truly sublime! He loved me so passionately on our honeymoon!” Josie high-pitched in a mocking imitation of a girl in love.

“You’re lying!” Béatrice exclaimed. It must be a cruel joke!

“It’s the truth!” Josie relaxed in her chair, folded her hands again and crossed her legs.

You don’t know what the truth is! she thought. Josie’s satisfaction of Béatrice’ mortification was misplaced. It wasn’t disappointment in Jason’s actions, for she knew Josie never shied away from painting him in a bad light. Rather it was disgust that Béatrice felt.

“Did you-... did you-... did you lay with him?!” she trembled. Béatrice could feel the blood in her neck and dreaded her daughter's answer.

“If you’re asking, whether we had luscious sex…” her daughter grinned and studied her nails. “....yes!” she purred.

And Béatrice’ hand itched to slap her. Just what was wrong with her?!

She gritted her teeth. She doesn’t know, she reminded herself instead, and practised patience. You have to tell her!

Béatrice clenched her fists. “He is your brother…” she hissed through gritted teeth.

“Excuse me?” Josiane chuckled with raised brows, taunting.

“You imbecile! He’s your brother!” Béatrice yelled at her.

And Josie’s grin froze in place. “What?” she blinked and was struck dumbfounded.

Béatrice was suddenly very aware of the two guards’ presence and side-eyed them before she lowered her voice accordingly. “Aunt Michelle isn’t really his mother…” she whispered. “...I am!”

And Josiane’s confusion made way for her surprise, and as realisation dawned, surprise made way for a slowly impending wave of disgust. And with her own disgust reflected upon her daughter’s face, Béatrice now realised that she had told the truth.

Her children… had laid together. Béatrice shuddered. She wondered if this was the gods’ way of punishing her for disregarding the oath of marriage.

“Who’s his father?” Josiane asked in a sobered whisper.

“Still the azimian King,” Béatrice answered in a low voice.

“Were you engaged before or after Aunt Michelle married him?” she slowly asked. And Béatrice knew exactly what she was trying to do.

“Quit changing the subject matter!” she hissed at her daughter. “I hereby decree…” she commanded loud enough for the guards to hear. “...that you will release your cousin Lord Jason from his imprisonment. You must apologise to him, and you will disband this unholy engagement in an instant!”

“I will most certainly not!” Josiane retorted equally loudly. “He was invading my homeland! Our homeland! And I defended it!” she gestured to herself with a hand to her chest. “I did it! I, and I alone!” she shouted. “They were in the thousands… thousands! But no match for a true child of wind!” she boasted.

“You’re forgetting yourself!” Béatrice sternly remarked.

“I am forgetting myself?!” she asked, all offended dignity. ”Not the crazed conqueror, who was groomed by your azimian overlords?”

Béatrice furrowed her brows. “What are you talking about?” she sweated at her daughter's implications.

“I suppose it’s easy to feign oblivion, when the subject matter is your precious son!” Josie smirked a poisonous smile as Béatrice side-eyed the guards. “I heard the way he talked! ‘God’, he said. Not ‘gods’!”

And Béatrice paused a heartbeat or two before she defended him, “He may believe in whatever he wants!”

Josie looked defiantly up to her. “If you believe… that I will set that foreigner’s bastard on free foot for him to exact his misguided jihad, then you’re wrong!” she punctuated.

“I will no longer listen to this!” Béatrice declared. “If you do not intend on freeing him, I will do it myself.” She turned to both of the guards. “Bring me to Lord Jason’s cell!”

“Your Order!” the guards affirmed and waited for her at the other end of the great hall.

Béatrice moved to leave, but her daughter stood up from her chair and wouldn’t leave matters simply be.

“Yes, walk away! Go and hug your little boy!”

Béatrice ignored her.

“You know, until now I never actually believed Father when he would tell me that you were a whore.”

Béatrice ignored her.

“But I suppose… you are the kind of woman who enjoys getting insulted, beaten… choked…”

Béatrice stopped.

Something inside her broke.

She slowly turned around, trembling, and glared hatefully at the face that smirked back at her.

“Guard… Bring me a whip!” she quietly quivered.

She didn’t see how they exchanged a short glimpse, and one of them moved to fulfil her order. She didn’t hear the next words the girl in front of her uttered, only saw her taunting face. She didn’t register it at first, when the guard returned and pressed the heavy whip in her hand. She wordlessly moved towards the girl, and the guards understood the assignment.

Two heavy men dwarfed the little girl, when they grabbed her and tore apart her dress, revealing her naked torso. She fought them, but they lifted her, turned her around and violently shoved her to the ground. They held her in place, on her knees, her back facing a whip.

Béatrice did not think twice. She didn’t think at all. Her arm moved on her own.

It was only when she heard her loud and painfully screech, echoing throughout the great hall, that she suddenly was her daughter again.

Béatrice looked at the big gash on her daughter’s back. T-that… that deep…!?

She dropped the whip. Stifled a gasp with her hand, her eyes teary.

“I-Is… is that a-all?” Josie trembled, her voice intensely waving. And as brave as a facade she put on, she was shaking violently. Breathing heavily. A fine film of sweat on her bare skin. And an ugly and thick red line along her whole back.

“Bring her to her room! See that she gets the proper care from the physician!” she urged the guards, her voice shook.

As they carried her away, Béatrice didn’t dare to look into her face, but she could peripherally make out the redness in it and that she was crying.

In the sixteen years of her daughter’s life, she never saw her cry once before.

A sudden vertigo overcame Béatrice, forcing her hand to grip her head. She needed to sit down, and tottered to her chair where Josie was sitting a couple moments ago.

She shouldn’t have lost patience! But that was impossible with a daughter like Josie, who knew exactly how to push her buttons. Béatrice thought about what she said and knew exactly who fed her these venomous words. Four years dead and that man was still haunting her through her own daughter.

A maid appeared in front of her. “M’lady… shall I bring you wine to ease your mind?” she offered.

“You shall bring me my nephew!” Béatrice quietly demanded without looking up, her voice betraying the impending tears. “And yes, wine as well, please.”

JASON

Hungry stray dogs roaming the streets and drunken men clad in dirty linen emulating them. Women of the night in their pursuit of exchanging sickness for bread. Children with arms thin as branches of young trees, leaning against the elegant gilded stones of tall buildings, juxtaposing a far richer past.

He loathed this town. Unsanitary and poor. Not the first time he thought of a town this way and certainly not the last.

Jason observed children running through the alleys and had to smile at the sight, thinking they were playing, until he saw a man clad in a robe run after them. “Hold the thieves!” the man yelled. He only now saw the fruits the little ones were holding as they disappeared among the crowd of people.

Jason sobered. It wasn’t the town folks fault. They didn’t know better… they didn’t know about disease spreading and the error of indignation. They didn’t know about the trialled life of an orphaned child or the crooked foot of a beggar. Or perhaps more accurately… they had just become accustomed to all of it.

Whatever graceful kingdom the history books described, Jason saw none of it, a rotting shell of its former glory at best. Something had to drastically change…

His sword and black leather armour with the insignia of the Red Wolves relayed his involvement with mercenaries, a powerful deterrent against thieves and thugs. The profession was not only effective in the acquisition of gold and wealth, but also in keeping it.

Yet strangely Jason wished someone actually would muster the courage to rob him for a change. His bag felt heavy… with a weight that differed from a purely physical one.

He felt the sudden thrust on his shoulder and reflexively grabbed the hilt of his sword.

“And?” he heard Henry’s voice laughing, who pushed him along the road. “Found what you were looking for?” he asked.

Jason continued walking the road. “No,” he simply answered and looked ahead.

“Well…” Henry carried on. “I found a woman with the biggest bosom one could imagine. Too bad she was a prostitute…” he described.

Jason turned his head around and gave him a look of surprise, wondering if Lord Henry after three whole years picked up on some of Jason’s moral codex and finally had developed a sense for honour.

“Yeah...” said Henry. “I saw Lieutenant Kramer’s dick when we bathed in the river last week… Thing scared me shitless!”

Jason grimaced at him. “Say no more…” he shuddered the picture out of his head and walked ahead, only to stumble over something, having to catch his step.

Rather he stumbled over someone's leg. “Oh, excuse me!” he quickly apologised. Then his eyes fixed on the figure sitting on the ground and leaning against a wall.

“Oh, no worries!” the strange male voice answered, sounding almost like two people talking at once. Jason scrutinised the figure. He was clad in a brown robe and was bandaged over his arms, legs and face. Only his milky white eyes and the bridge of his nose weren’t covered, revealing a matt silver skin, the kind of which he couldn’t pinpoint exactly where he saw before, but eerily familiar.

Pity slowly crept upon Jason’s face, when he realised that this poor man was most likely suffering from a severe form of leprosy. Almost immediately he put his hand into his bag and retrieved one of his bundles filled with gold coins. He emptied half of it into his hands.

“Really?” Henry inquired. “You wanna give him that much?” He was amused. “You do realise, you risked yo’ weak ass for that butter?”

Jason knelt down in front of the sick man. “Please… I kindly beg you to humbly accept my alms.” He handed him the pile of gold. The bandaged figure eyed the golden coins in his hands, before he looked up to Jason. His pupils started dilating exceedingly, making Jason’s hair stand on end.

“You can use it to get to Wasserturm,” he suggested. “It’ll be a two week journey from here,” he described. “There you’ll find scholars, who profusely have studied various diseases and their cure.” Jason forced a smile on his face. “You might find your salvation there!”

“Ma boy, you’re wasting yo’ time and money!” Henry pointed out. “He will probably die before he even gets there!” Jason felt Henry shaking his head above him.

“This is a kind gesture, indeed… in light of a misunderstanding,” the bandaged figure spoke with a ghostly voice. “I just wonder… where in lies the motivation for this noble conduct precisely?”

Jason stood up and exchanged a brief glimpse with Henry. “Well… my tutor always told me, how nothing we own is really ours…” he explained, not noticing Henry rolling his eyes. “It is merely lended by God and therefore can be relinquished in an instant…” He opened his palms. “So we must find ourselves giving away graciously, to remind ourselves of this simple fact…”

Henry widened his eyes with a smirk. “Bunch of bullocks! You don’t see any of these faggot nobles sharing their cakes! And yo’ stupid god still keeps them fat and rich!”

“That reminds me a lot of azimian philosophy…” The bandaged figure stated, ignoring Henry. “What is your name? Where are you from?” he asked Jason in succession.

“Me?” Jason pointed at himself. “I’m Lord Jason Von Windschild,” he could not help but admit and put a hand on his chest. He could feel Henry side-eying him with raised eyebrows at his admission, for trusting this stranger with his true identity immediately, when he hadn't told Henry over their first whole year spent together as mercenaries.

“You’re a long way from home, m’Lord,” the bandaged figure spoke and slowly stood up.

Almost immediately Henry pulled Jason back behind him and grabbed the hilt of his sword. “Hold it!” he sternly ordered. “State who you are first!”

The bandaged man froze and seemed to consider his next words carefully. “I intend not the least bit of harm, especially not against a kind soul!” He lifted his hands and showed his bandaged palms. “I fear the punishment of a mighty God!”

He gazed up to the sky. “I am quite the relic, actually,” he began to introduce himself. “My mother named me Sophon.”

BÉATRICE

Sir Timur, captain of the house guards, and Madam Lusia, the housekeeper, were standing in front of her, arms folded, debriefing her about all the events that played out in her absence. Timur reported how crime rates had gone down with a prideful gleam; how the construction and resource acquisition for a planned fortress had begun, financed through strategic blackmail and ridiculously high taxes; how over hundreds of hostages were taken, eleven of them nobles.

How in a single night an army of over a thousand men were fend off, confirming Josie’s audacious claim.

Contrary to Timur, Lusia seemed to be finally relieved about her Lady’s return, after being kept over two months under Josiane’s relentless thumb. And Béatrice was determined in putting an end to this madness.

When the subject matter came to Jason, Béatrice became restless in her chair and covered her face behind stiff fingers, agitated. Madam Lusia gave an account of outrageous rumours that circled throughout the town. Captain Timur was swift to label him a rapist, while Madam Lusia’s eyes conveyed indignance. It became crystal clear to Béatrice that Josiane had the guards’ utmost respect and admiration on her side, if she could manipulate them so easily to become culprits of this unspeakable stunt. Something she had most definitely inherited from that bane of a man.

It didn’t elude her how the guards and servants were wearing armour and garments gilded with silver in place of gold, which she ordered to be revised immediately. That girl… Her father’s grip on her had been tighter than she had thought; than she had hoped for. A silver snake was the blazon of Krichtier as opposed to the golden heart pierced by an arrow, the insignia of Windschild.

Why, this… this was essentially treason… But she couldn’t muster the strength to reproach that girl anymore, let alone talk to her.

Two guards brought him, dragging him harshly by his arms on either side. Béatrice stood up. She didn’t lay eyes on her son for four years.

He had grown a little and even had an ungroomed stubble now, probably stemming from his time incarcerated. She gave him a relieved sigh and a wide grin. “Release him… and leave us!” she ordered the guards, who let him go immediately and started removing his shackles.

Upon hearing her voice he was surprised and finally dared to look up. The guards left along with Timur and Lusia, who was the only one who bowed for Béatrice whilst leaving.

Jason looked at the woman in a black wide dress with the same pale skin as Josiane, and the same dark brown eyes as his; the person, whom he thought was his aunt. She had a royal bob with smooth raven hair, where his hair was full of spikes. He was mortified until she opened her arms to invite him into an embrace. And relief ran through his face followed by tears of joy as he closed the distance to embrace her firmly.

Jason had a strong odour, but she didn’t mind, nothing a nice warm bath with soap and lemon perfume couldn’t fix. Then she remembered and broke the hug by pushing him away.

“I’m-...” he could only stutter before Béatrice slapped him across the face, hard enough to leave a red mark. He staggered backwards and was taken aback, reciprocating her angry glare with a confused one.

“Sleeping with your cousin?!” she shrieked at him. He should have been smarter than this. “I thought I taught you better than this!” Béatrice yelled.

Jason put a hand on his cheek. “I had the most noble intentions, I swear!” he high-pitched, like he was the boy from four years ago again. “I wanted to marry her,” he admitted and his gaze sank regretfully.

“Make her your queen…?!” Béatrice outraged. “...for a supposedly reunited kingdom?!” she couldn’t help but deride the mere idea.

Jason dropped his hand and just gave her a frown, almost pleading. And Béatrice slightly softened her expression. “Have you forgotten how the Von Hossenfelds have killed your grand-aunts and grand-uncles?” she serenely tried to appeal to his senses. “I assure you the townsfolk have not; the house guards definitely have not!” she followed up. “They almost eradicated us!” she whispered at him gravely.

Jason widened his stance. “That was over 50 years ago,” he put forth. “The people responsible are long gone. Their children do not inherit their crimes!” He cut the air with his hand.

How he could muster to keep defending those savages was beyond her. “You’re right!” she admitted and a brief glimmer of hope bloomed on Jason’s face. “But matter, it does not! No spilled blood merely dries in this world!” she rejected him, cut the air with her hand.

And her heart flickered in face of his disappointment, with which he turned his head away from her. He was still the same, sensitive boy…

Béatrice put hands on his shoulders but he refused to meet her eyes. “You have responsibilities as my heir!” she reminded him with a smile. “You know what this means! And I love you from the bottom of my heart!” she reminded him again, but his dejection was persistent.

She tightened her grip on his shoulders. “Because you have allied yourself with the Von Hossenfelds some of the townsfolk regard you as a traitor, who wanted to coerce his cousin into becoming his slave wife,” she alarmingly relayed the rumour to him, shaking him slightly. And Béatrice found herself imitating his cringing at the disgusting accusation. “Rings vile! Doesn’t it?!” she high-pitched with shame.

Jason uneasily released a breath and shook her hands off his shoulders, frustrated. “Aunt… why did she do this?” he asked her with despair, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

And Béatrice was awfully reminded a lot of a conversation she had with her own mother nineteen years ago, where she had been on the other side of it. Sometimes men see you as just another piece of meat… she heard her mother answering. Nothing more!

“Her father…” she reflexively spoke instead. “...had fed her unseemly ambition. Don’t you already know that?” Béatrice answered him. “She would seize every opportunity to delegitimize your claim as heir,” she finally realised herself.

Jason wiped away his tears. “I thought… marrying her would resolve any dispute of inheritance,” he admitted solemnly his gaze fell to the ground.

And suddenly anger filled Béatrice again, when she was reminded. “Behind my back?!” she outraged, infuriated. “You couldn’t have consulted me first?!” She glared at him.

And his gaze wandered even further down. “I’m sorry,” he admitted weakly and Béatrice could bear this no more.

She sighed the tightness off her chest. “Bear witness, that it will be alright,” she had to reassure him. “But let me advise you, marriage is not the end of disputes…” she finalised her lecture, already tired of it all. “But rather the beginning.” He finally met her eyes again. “Take it from me!”

She didn’t need to say anything more, her eyes relayed her bitterness clearly, yet Béatrice couldn’t bear to dwell on the past for too long.

“I have exonerated you from all the crimes you have been accused of,“ she felt compelled to change the subject. “The guards should treat you with the proper etiquette again.” Jason slanted his eyes at this, seemingly doubtful. “It goes without saying that I trust your judgement to never touch your cousin again!” she said sternly and raised a finger. And if she has retained any ounce of sanity, she shouldn’t tempt you either…

“Regarding the rumours…” she added. “I plan to graciously reduce tax on the townsfolk, in your name.” She gave him a beam. “Surely that will nudge their memory of my dear credible nephew!”

Jason silently nodded and reciprocated a smile to her… but it felt artificial. “I’m sorry…” he said again.

“It will be alright,” she answered in a low voice with compassion. “How about you go and get yourself clean,” Béatrice suggested to him. “You’ll find your room untouched yet sanitised.” She caressed his left shoulder.

He nodded again and silently turned to leave. And Béatrice thanked the gods for at least giving her a son, who didn’t need much reproach, was aware of his mistakes and tried to correct them.

“Jason?” she made him halt mids leaving and turn towards her. “We will have lemon cake later,” she rejoiced and forced a smile on her face. “You two will talk it out, make amends like you always do, and… and everything will be the way it used to-…” she tried before she stopped. When she saw Jason’s face shift, Béatrice realised how desperate of a wish it sounded like.

“She… killed…” Jason hissed, gritting his teeth, clenching his fists. He quivered so intensely, unable to finish his sentence, her kind and compassionate boy transformed into a dangerous brute of a man right before her eyes, so full of rage he was. Tears spilled yet again.

And Béatrice realised, with horror, how large the rift was these two had carved out between them, that it no longer could be bridged this time. And Béatrice was reminded, with horror, of history; of the last time how a sibling feud ripped apart an entire kingdom; of how their ancestor, Princess Phoebe, fled to these lands in murderous pursuit by her vindictive brothers.

She couldn’t allow this to happen… No! Not with her own children!

JASON

It was unbearable! He needed answers! And he needed them at once! He knew he should focus on releasing his friends first, but the bitter ember of betrayal set his insides ablaze, it was excruciating! He turned around, showed his aunt his back.

“Jason, wait!” his aunt exclaimed but he didn’t bother to turn around this time. “I punished her already! There is no need to feel-”

He walked away, leaving the great hall with his aunt behind. He couldn’t constrain his legs any longer, they led him around two corners, and up the staircase, but instead of turning him right to lead him to his chambers, they turned him left with sovereignty.

He walked to the end of the corridor, the last turn to her room, and saw the crack on the wall, where… where his black heart had been pinned.

It made him even angrier, guessing she kept that fracture in the wall as a trophy, the kind of foul prance she would indulge herself in.

He turned his head away in disdain and noticed the two guards on the other end in front of the double doors, distracted in conversation. Immediately Jason backtracked out of sight and considered his surroundings for a potential weapon. Approaching one of the windows of the corridor, he opened them and was greeted by a strong breeze. He pulled on the iron chains of the window shutter and then gave the wooden shutter two mighty kicks to break the iron chain loose. Then he turned the corner slowly, aiming for a casual demeanour, pretending a slight limp with a bend back, the chain rolled up in his right hand hidden behind him.

When the guards took notice of him, they became stiff and dutifully put on their neutral faces. As Jason limped towards them, expectedly, they did not open the doors. He positioned himself until he was only two leaps away from the guard on the right.

Then he stated his intention, “I wish to converse with the Lady Josiane,” roughing his voice to further the facade of illness. “May I pass?” Jason plainly asked.

The guard he addressed, turned his head and questioned the other with his eyes, who sternly shook his head.

Sensing an opening, Jason seized this chance, dropped the act and jumped two leaps. The guard on the right could barely react and turned his head only for an iron chain, rolled up in a fist, to break his nose. His companion watched him fall over, and drew his sword.

One feint… no… better two feints! Jason planned as he fell back and started to swing the chain in circles with half of its length.

The guard on the left slowly approached him, Jason took a step forward and then back to give him the first feint, which prompted the guard to exact his own feint. Then Jason’s second feint made him swing his sword with full commitment, easily evaded by Jason who countered with a spin, striking the guard with the furthest end of the chain right on his bare head.

The guard, now disoriented, tottered backwards. Jason whipped the chain and hit him again until he fell down on one knee. He knocked him out with a final blow to the back of his head and he fell flat on his stomach.

The other guard was still conscious and slowly stood up, still covered his face with both hands and groaned in pain. It was evident he was a rookie. If Jason wasn’t so aggravated, he might have even felt sorry for him. Jason forced him down by kicking his knee and gave him the same treatment, kissing him good night as well.

Their helmets were tucked in their respective corners, they didn’t even bother to put them on when Jason had approached them. Underestimating him meant he had successfully portrayed a physical impediment. It probably also had helped that he was smaller in size than the two. Nevertheless he expected the house guards to be a little more cautious than this.

“AHHH!” he heard her scream muffled behind the doors, startling him. Is that the punishment Aunt talked about? he wondered.

He threw the chain away, approached and carefully opened the doors and saw Sir Kostas hover over a barebacked Josiane. She was laying on her stomach, on her bed, tightly gripping her bed garments, her face buried in a pillow. Jason could hear how heavily she was breathing, groaning in between breaths.

Jason walked in and closed the doors behind him.

Sir Kostas briefly turned his head and gave him a short glimpse then continued on his work. He had brought with him his leather case containing medical equipment located on the end table, as well as a bucket made out of copper full with water. “Almost done,” he evenly promised her.

Josie painfully cried out, as Kostas furtherly stitched the scar on her back shut. The appropriate emotional response to this was probably vindication for Jason… but in its place… he felt pity instead… and something else he couldn’t name…

Kostas pulled on the thread in order to tie a knot and turned to his leather case to pull small scissors out. He then cut the remaining thread, leaving a knot. “There,“ he finalised the stitching.

Josie removed her face from her pillow to look at him, when she noticed Jason. If she hadn’t heard him entering or struggling with the guards, then she didn’t elicit a reaction to his presence. Instead her tear-smeared face locked her eyes on him until she gave him a scowl. “Sir Kostas…” her voice was rugged. “That’s enough! Leave us!” she ordered him.

Sir Kostas glimpsed shortly at his leather case before he remarked, “But… m’Lady, I have yet to clean the wound and apply a salve,” he spoke.

“Leave. Now.” Josiane sternly demanded.

And Kostas turned to leave. Jason noticed the uncharacteristically meek way he was conversing with her. The thirty years this man purportedly had spent as their physician should have earned him a more fitting stature… instead he was worked by her like a mule. He shortly halted beside Jason to give him a face with anxious concern, the object of which could have been either of them. Then he left through the doors, closing them behind him.

“Well, if it isn’t my dear fiancé!” she spat the word like a curse, her voice almost rasped.

Jason fell back and turned the left door knob in order to lock the doors, assuming his aunt or Kostas might turn up with more orderlies in tow.

“Came to revel in my anguish, I see!” Josie assumed.

Jason blinked at her. You think anyone is as rotten as you?! He wanted to retort, but restrained himself from doing so. “You’re the only one who thinks that way,” he said evenly instead.

He walked around her bed and into the restroom adjacent to her chambers. There Jason took his time to finally wash his hands thoroughly with some soap. With the dirty feeling on his hands, which he had to endure for two whole weeks, now finally washed off, he reentered her room with a towel in his hands, drying them.

Noticing the paraphernalia left behind on the end table, he decided to finish the work Sir Kostas had started. That was the least thing he could do for him. Jason walked around her bed to the leather case filled with medical equipment and threw the towel over his shoulder. He pulled out tissues, he then soaked one of them with water from the bucket.

“The conditions you hold your prisoners under are simply terrible!” he said evenly. He wished she’d lift her forehead from her pillow to take in his disdainful face.

“Not any prisoner…” she answered, her head still buried, the silky tone that accompanied her voice being restored. “Just you!”

Josie jolted initially as he touched the skin around her wound with the wet tissue. “Should I feel special now?” Jason asked sarcastically. “I bet you tell that to every prisoner,” he remarked.

Josiane chuckled shortly at this, then went stiff from the pain of her wound, making her groan. Jason methodically cleaned the left side, careful not to touch the scar itself. He switched out the tissues, first soaking it with water again, and started cleansing the right side. The scar was located a little left to her spine and reached over her lower back and almost reached her-…

Jason shook himself. She killed his mentor and left him and his friends locked up in an unsanitary cell to rot. So he should probably think of something else rather than how curvy her buttocks looked.

Josie was quiet now. The lack of her taunts definitely made this easier. He could simply leave her to fall victim to the same affliction Henry had suffered from last week, leaving her to die. Poetic justice… It would be what she would deserve…

Or… he could tie her up to torture her… right now… and it would be all justified…

Instead he took the same kind of pastel green bottle filled with salve Lord Nils used for Henry’s stump from Kostas’ case and removed its cork. He dipped his fingers repeatedly into the bottle and started smearing its content along her back. Josie sharply inhaled through teeth whenever the salve made contact with her fresh scar and her sharp polished nails dug in her bed garments. But other than this… she gave him nothing…

He made sure to apply the salve unsparingly around the area of her scar as well, the way he had observed Nils doing it with Henry. Lastly he pulled out a roll of dressings from the leather case, unfolded them in length, cut them with the scissors and covered the whole wound twice. He carefully pressed the air between cloth and skin out by swiping over it with a gentle finger’s touch.

He took the towel from his shoulder and wiped his hands clean, as he turned away from her.

“What happened to my delegates?” Jason asked her and awaited a response. He waited for a witty remark or a taunt, or an annoyed sigh. Anything. But Josie didn’t respond, she merely kept silent. And a weird feeling started seething up inside of Jason. A kind of anxious concern, with something entirely else hidden just beneath the surface.

And he looked up to the wall; the wall opposite to her bed with various weapons, where she kept that giant silver recurve bow again. And the same spear, and the same mace, and the four swords…

Four… including the addition of another one, which wasn’t there two weeks ago, clearly distinguished by its matt silver with a rainbow hue and its golden shaft.

And the anxious concern broke, giving way for the black seething flames underneath to emerge and put his core ablaze. Jason widened his eyes with sheer perturbation, awfully fixed on the sword. An invisible force seemed to slowly drag him towards the wall; towards the blade crested with the odd red stone, which gave the impression of twitching like a restless eye, convulsive in the same manner as Jason grabbing the hilt of the sword. And a spell came cast. And the two vessels of rage started sharing their grief.

Jason could feel The Lions Fang quiver with this emotion just as the blade could feel him quiver with it.

He turned around, shaking. A dark shadow couldn’t deepen his hateful scowl any further. That viper was lying on her bed, her nude back inviting in more than one way. Inviting to shred her into pieces, until nothing of her was left. Inviting to split her apart… split her apart… split her apart… what are you waiting for? Do it! Kill her! Jason’s shaking heightened and heightened it did, until it became unbearable. Kill her! His hand lifted the blade and he approached the bed. Kill her!

And he split apart what he couldn’t perceive in his wrathful delirium, pieces haphazardly flying left and right…

SOPHON

And suddenly the wood cracked, split asunder by the blistering heat, pieces haphazardly flying left and right… they raised their hands to shield themselves against the charred shreds and the sudden increase in sparks.

Jason heaved a sigh of relief. “Next time I’ll cut the wood into smaller pieces,” he promised.

The fire was illuminating this late winter night and painted the coarse trunks of mature pine trees in a warm and pleasant orange. The moon was a thin sickle and hardly spent a light, so the night clad the woods around them in pitch black darkness. Except for occasional faint lights in the distance which the night watch of these mercenaries carried, while roaming through the woods.

He had led the young human with him to this small clearing, outside of their encampment. Sophon preferred this solitary company to those, who were spiritually ragged and prided themselves with their theft and murder. The youngling never needed much convincing to follow him away either.

He had observed him closely the last three weeks, even accompanied him to a raid and watched him fight the day before. A local baron gave the Red Wolves a well paid undertaking to clear these woods from a large group of bandits, who were frequently raiding the main trade routes. He was pleasantly surprised to observe a sort of discipline within him even in the midst of battle, even when his life was at stake. He avoided dealing lethal injury the best he could, and did so successfully most of the time… most of the time…

Sophon mustered him, causing him to turn his face away, the flickering light of flame pronounced his features and deepened his grim frown. “You must think lowly of me…” he bleakly stated, surprising Sophon with a rather subdued expression, conveying a certain melancholy, which the quiet dignity, he had carried himself with so far, did not let on.

Curiosity raised within Sophon. “How come?” he asked, but could already guess the reason.

Jason shifted on the stone he was sitting on, and gave an exasperated sigh. “You saw me… killing… that man yesterday,” he expressed through shut eyes, and Sophon felt confirmed in his suspicion. “That wasn’t the first time I murdered someone, since I left my home,” he confessed. Sophon saw his face tense his cheek muscles in disgust with himself. “It’s just so ironic…” he continued. “I would vow to capture my uncle’s murderer, just to end up a murderer myself.” He lifted and let his right hand fall, gesturing.

Sophon did not say a word, and decided to simply listen to him, sensing the importance of this moment. “I told myself… ‘As long as I’m trying to sift him out, I’m on the side of justice’...” his voice started to waver, and his face shifted into a bitter grin. “But I’ve been doing this for three years now-” his voice cracked, and tears flowed from his eyes.

And when Sophon saw this human, in his young age already filled with so much remorse, he felt the tug on his own heart and his cooling fluids leaked through his eyes as well.

Jason continued. “How am I supposed to eradicate the evil in this world, when I’m trapped and engrossed in it myself?!” he eyed him for an answer, upon noticing the shared tears, he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“First of all…” Sophon approached him, but was interrupted by the creeping presence of another young human, who held one of the lanterns roaming the woods in his hand. He was among the few of the mercenaries who were clad in steel plates on top of leather along his shoulders and chest, apart from his rank, he was strong and agile enough with it. Contrary to Jason, he had marginal regard for the lives of his adversaries, so much Sophon had discerned about him the day before.

Henry shortly glimpsed at Jason then turned his head to have a glimpse at Sophon and started cackling. “If this isn’t rich! You’re both crybabies! Ahahahaha!”

Jason snorted, and gestured for Henry to take a seat next to him with his hand. “Please come, lieutenant,” he spoke.

Henry didn’t bother to sit down. “Say, steel pipe, didn’t know yo’ kind could drop beads like that!” He knelt towards Sophon to get a better glimpse. “What is that even? Milk?” he asked, grinning.

Sophon tried to answer. “My bodily fluids are for the most part an amalgamation of-...”

Henry raised his hand to cut him off. ”Don’t bother! I don’t understand a word you’re sayin’!” he expressed. He put his hand on his chest. “I will excuse myself from you, my dear lords of the crybaby kingdom!” he muttered with a deep voice in a mocking imitation of royalty. He bowed down, twice, the lantern in his left hand started swinging. “Respectfully!” he said in the same tone and turned to leave.

“Be careful!” Jason asked of him.

Henry briefly turned around to make an obscene gesture. “Always am!” he responded and slowly disappeared in the darkness, until only his lantern remained, seemingly floating ghostly through the air.

According to Jason, the platoons under Captain Arved’s command were the least bloodthirsty among the Red Wolves, hence why he had joined them. But this Henry seemed to be the odd one out of the odd ones, in that he only passively spared anyone who didn’t come running with a sword at him, and expressed pride in the number of vagabonds fallen to his hand. Despite this, Arved still had him promoted to a lieutenant. Perhaps Sophon had yet to observe his true character, or perhaps he had been promoted for that very reason, to better keep an eye on him.

Sophon dared to look at him. Jason’s face turned sullen again. And a dreadful possibility came to mind. “Excuse me, but I must query…” Sophon began. “Have you ever killed non-combatants?” he tried asking in a neutral tone.

Jason shook his head. ”No…” he answered and Sophon was relieved. “But I’m working with men, who have… and do… isn’t that enough?” he queried with a scowl.

He was right. It might as well be just as nefarious. “Yet you have made the first step for betterment…” Sophon rejoiced. “And you will find for those who repent and mend their ways that God is truly all-forgiving, most-merciful,” he pronounced the good news.

A sudden gust of wind took hold of them and made the flames flicker. Jason’s scowl disappeared, instead he looked into the fire lost in thought. Sophon decided to aid him a little further. “Who do you imagine your greatest enemy is?”

Jason eyed him shortly, and processed for an answer. “I have no enemies…” he said after a while.

“Yet here you said, you wanted to eradicate all evil…” Sophon put forth. “What do you imagine the root of all evil to be?” he prompted him to think.

And Jason gave the exasperated response: “I’m not sure…” he let his head fall in front and eyed the earth. “There are so many moving parts in the world and different perceptions…” he continued. “I only have a general notion,” he admitted and pulled his head back up. He stared into the flames. “I believe it is like fire.” Jason spoke. “One can not fight it with another fire, but rather with the cool waters of justice.”

Sophon felt another tug on his heart and had to avert his gaze.

Seemingly driven by a sudden thought manifest, “Is it greed?” Jason asked whilst looking up to him curiously.

Sophon put a smile on for him. Of course he would think that… “It is arrogance,” he corrected Jason and put his matt silver hand into his robe’s pocket to retrieve one of his rollings of grinded quartz. He unrolled the dark brown paper and licked the white powder with his tongue.

“Arrogance?” Jason inquired.

“Yes,” he affirmed and threw the piece of paper into the flames. “The delusion of thinking one is above others or above reality,” he explained further. “Knowing this… let me ask you again…” he gave a brief pause. ”Who is your greatest enemy?” He gave him the time and silence to really think it through.

Jason was deep in thought whilst resting his index finger on his lip, spending significant time in this position, until he suddenly widened his eyes with understanding. “Is it myself?” he asked Sophon solemnly.

And for the first time in over a hundred years Sophon had a genuine beam on his face.

“Exactly!” he answered.

JASON

And suddenly the wood cracked, split asunder by the raging blade, pieces haphazardly flying left and right, the eloquent pieces made out of smooth sanded wood. Chess pieces. The Lion Fang even cut the ground underneath the chess table, as if the floor was not made of stone-hard marble but rather cake.

Jason slowly calmed his breathing. Then closed his eyes and took a deep breath which he released along with his wrath. He removed his hands from the tilt. The blade, erected on the ground, only let him go begrudgingly, for the promised fury did not slice its intended target.

Josiane merely gave a chuckle muffled behind closed lips. The inappropriate reaction was disturbing in face of her nearly dying at her cousin’s hands. And Jason thought that something must be deeply wrong with her!

“Why would you do this? Why?!” he angrily yelled the question at her and grunted with frustration.

Her response was immediate and stern, “I’m no trophy you can put on your pedestal as a spoil of your ill-conceived conquest!” she spat.

What? he processed. She was the only one thinking this way… “Are you seriously-...” he gathered his words. “Are you… you of all people, in all seriousness accusing me of vanity?!” he put forth, with pure indignation. “I never saw you that way!” he punctuated.

Josiane merely laughed. “You haven’t changed! Still the same pathetic weakling you were, when you left!” she pronounced in an almost elated manner. “Weak and a fool!” she added grimly. “That’s why you couldn’t find my father’s killer, even if he was right in front of you!”

How… dare she?! Jason had enough but there was no arguing with her ungratefulness, never had been. “And you?” he spinned it on her. “You’re not nearly as smart as you think!” he grinned demeaningly at the back of her head. “Wouldn’t it have been more wise to at least pretend to accept my offer, become Queen of Igelland and seize control from within?” She must have at least thought of it at some point, if not considering it.

“Would it have been more wise to walk into a court where your most powerful advisor was filled with mistrust and disdain against my person?” Josie evenly threw the question back at him. “You thought you were ruling over them…” she honeyed. “... but I saw enough to recognize that, in reality, they were ruling over you!”

And Jason frowned with wide eyes at the unnamable suspicion that rose within his heart.

“You seem to have lost sight of one obvious actuality…” Josiane continued sternly. “...which is that I’m family!” she tenderly finished, the contrast hitting Jason off-guard.

Was she playing at-...

“I saved your life in ways unfathomable to you, from threats you were unable to even perceive,” she continued swiftly.

The familiar headache, accompanying his confusion, which he had been subjugated to throughout his late childhood, forced Jason to shut his eyes and grab his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then please… enlighten me! What is it that you know and I don’t?” he asked the curly hair on her neck, his hand rising and falling in gesture, exhausted.

Josie turned her head on her side. “Oh, Jayjay… There are so many things you don’t know!” she spoke and her cadence suddenly sounded so much like Aunt’s it churned Jason’s insides. “Suffice to say, I saved you from becoming a pawn of that metallic cancer!” The cadence broke on her distasteful admonishment. “You should be grateful!” And the usual venomous undertone in her speech returned.

Jason gritted his teeth. “I should become your pawn instead!” he retorted sarcastically.

In response Josie merely lifted her left foot, the one she made him kiss two weeks earlier. “That’s where you always belonged, and you know it!” she purred.

And Jason turned away, revolted by his lapse of judgement, and ashamed for the rising desire within him. She’s trying to confuse you… He shut his eyes again. She is lying like she always does… he reminded himself. I am my greatest enemy! he reminded himself. Leave her room! Leave it! Now! he urged himself.

He took his first steps towards the doors, decidedly refusing to look at her again. “Your greed for dominance is insatiable!” Jason hissed. “You will never catch me yielding to it again!” he asserted.

Josiane chuckled behind closed lips. “Are you sure?” He could hear her grin in her voice.

“I am! Use all the left-handed magic you want!” he shouted. ”You will never own Windschild!” He cut the air with his hand.

“Why don’t you just spare us both the inconvenience and get it over with now, Jayjay?” she spoke wearily. “I’m lying here… vulnerable… waiting to be pierced by your big… hard… sword!” she purred.

Jason widened his eyes, unsure what she was playing at. He truly couldn’t fathom what she possibly did expect from him; what the end goal of her little game was. Was she risking another strike with The Lion’s Fang, a lethal one, merely so she could taunt him? Did she have trust in his patience that much? Just leave the room! He moved again. His hands grabbed the door knots.

“Since you gave me the courtesy to testify what is hidden beneath your heart…” she made him halt. “...allow me to reciprocate the honour,” she spoke evenly with a fry in her voice.

And Jason braced himself for whatever lie she might conjugate, or whatever taunt or demeaning insult she was about to hurl at him. She couldn’t possibly ever try to say that she loved him without it being deception; without it furthering a self-serving cause.

But nothing could have prepared him for what Josiane was about to reveal:

“My bleeding… is a whole week overdue…”

And Jason’s body seemed to register the implications first, when his heartbeat increased in frequency and he restlessly unlocked the doors and opened them to hastily leave her room. His breathing turned into light pants, when his Aunt appeared around the corner at the end of the corridor with Sir Kostas and a couple of guards in tow. When he saw his aunt’s horrified eyes, full of worry, he realised she was merely, unbeknownst to her, reflecting to him his own face to the same abhorrent prospect:

Him killing his own blood.