Sara awoke to her little leetas clawing at her face. “I’m up….” She groaned and snatched Reck up and hugged him against her bosom. He squirmed and reeahed at full volume as Tilly cackled at her fellow leeta’s pain. “Don’t worry, you’ll get yours too….”

2

Tilly’s eyes widened in panic, and she tried to jump away, but Sara’s reflexes were too sharp. In one fluid motion, she caught Tilly and thrust her in the water, massaging the poor reeahing leeta’s fur with shampoo. Meanwhile, Reck watched from a corner of the locked room, pacing back and forth, looking for a place to escape.

“It’s not happening,” Sara warned, cleaning behind Tilly’s ears. “You’re both leaving here smelling like cupcakes.”

Tilly screeched as if Sara were flaying her skin off.

“Oh, shush,” Sara chuckled. “Stop treating me like a sadi—“

A negative wave of emotions hit her as if someone had taken her happiness sensor (which looked like a healthy heartbeat) and unplugged it, leaving it to flatline.

Tilly stopped yelping and looked at Sara with wide eyes and then reeahed. Sara blinked a few times.

“Sorry,” Sara whispered. “I’ll hurry….”

Tilly suddenly turned into a really good girl, and Reck left his corner, walking behind her head. It wasn’t close enough for her to grab him, but close enough to say, [I’m here.] Little shit.

Sara smiled thinly and combed Tilly’s fur. Even if humanity sucked, leetas did not.

3

The heroes ate dinner in the grand hall, a massive chamber with long tables that could house the Vikings before Ragnarok. It was commonplace for those who didn’t want to eat in private chambers. Raul enjoyed it. He felt like he was truly in a land of kings and swords, ripping roasted bird legs straight from the body and washing his food down with ale. For someone who thrived on protein, it was a paradise. Yet the dinner had [changed] under Sara’s rule.

No, [changed] wasn’t a fair term. The food was the same. The liquor was the same. The speeches were the same. It was just… different. Perhaps it was because a hot girl was on the throne, or because that “hot girl” dethroned King Escar and was a monster in human flesh, or maybe it was none of those things, and it was really just that the “hot girl” was Sara Reece—their classmate—but heroes just felt uncomfortable being there. A third didn’t show, another third went just trying to suck up, and those like Raul and Emma found it difficult to speak openly. They picked at their plates and said things like, “I [finally] mastered fireball aha ha ha,” trailing off even genuinely boastful statements with wry smiles.

[Just talk to them,] Raul thought, watching Sara. She couldn’t look at the heroes. He and Emma got the thawing friend treatment, but it ended there. There was just this horrifying look of shame, guilt, or a desire to confess in Sara’s eyes, and he thought that she’d eventually just let their relationships die completely, assuming her new role as queen and treating them all like citizens. But she wasn’t there yet—there was time. Raul and Emma just didn’t know what to do about it.

“I wonder why she’s not drinking as much,” Emma commented.

Raul looked up. “Wait. You’re right….” At the end of the hall, the high table—elevated to showcase status—held Sara in the center with Alecov at her side, speaking to advisors and avoiding the heroes. But usually, this would be the point in the night where Sara would have three empty bottles of wine beside her and have her head on her forearms, picking at her food with her fingers, answering in yes or no format. That, or the advisors would back away slowly, seeing her anger boiling up, leaving Sara to down another bottle before storming off. Yet there was a single glass of wine in front of Sara—and it was half full.

“Do you think she’s cutting down?” Emma asked.

Raul caught a good glimpse of her face, and there was darkness in her eyes. “No, she’ll be drinking later,” he muttered ominously.

“What makes you think that?” Emma asked.

“I just gotta feeling.” Suddenly, Sara stood up, said, “Thank you for sharing this meal. Enjoy your feast,” and walked out of the room.

“Should we go after her?” Emma asked.

Raul shook his head. “She’s doing something. It’s best to leave her alone.”

“Then we’re meeting up later,” Emma said. She needs us.”

“Emma. She’s going drinking…. What are you doing?“

“If she’s going out drinking, then we’re going out drinking,” Emma said, pouring herself a glass of wine. “She’s not doing this alone anymore.”

Raul felt ominous chills pass through his body as he watched Emma, who to his knowledge had only drank once in twenty years, down a glass of wine beside him.

4

Sara wished that she had a drink as she walked down the spiral staircase to the dungeons. Alcohol was a bad friend to Sara—always making things worse but ensuring she wasn’t alone. That’s how she thought about it anyway, and tonight, she didn’t want to be alone.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

The mana crystals in the dungeons were ominous even during the daylight, but tonight, she swore her shadow transformed into a demon as she walked down the spiral staircase. Thin and thick, sharp and round, flashing over and over again as she reached each lighting crystal, changing shape until the shadow had no form—only a presence—filling the cylindrical space like a dark water cup.

Once she made it to the final floor, where the mana was thin, and the rontum-plated doors worked overtime, Sara reached the room she spent her time in during the execution trial. Two guards stood out front and immediately knelt when they noted her presence.

“Welcome, My Lady.”

“Are you here to see the prisoner?”

“I am,” she said.

They nodded and opened the door.

A terrible sense of nostalgia washed over when she entered, remembering all the doubts and internal torment that she went through in the room. It wasn’t over. Kyritus and Tiber were alive, but they weren’t safe until they were safe. They’d never be safe. Not until she rid the world of the people trying to harm her. One of those people was in that room, lying on a bed, locked in a state of misery.

“I want my phone call,” Mary said defiantly.

Sara sat down. “Your friends think you’re dead. No, they don’t know what happened to you, and that’s even worse.” What she didn’t say was that the only way to prevent a martyr was to make them disappear without ever confirming their death or location. No justification. No saying [they abandoned you]. Nothing. Just make them disappear and let the confusion and hysteria spread fear. That’s what she was doing. Purely practical—sick and sinister.

Mary’s eyes widened, and she turned to Sara. “Are you serious? Are you fucking serious? What type of nazi are you?!”

“A bad one,” Sara said.

“You’d just admit it?” Mary trailed off for a moment, and then her eyes burst into tears. “You’re serious, aren’t you? Aren’t you?! You’re actually fucking serious about this! Instead of killing me, you’re just going to torture me with… with… this?!” She looked at her body and let her head crash down to her bed.

“Mary,” Sara said calmly. “At any point in time, if you say the word ‘koolaid,’ the guards will bring drugs to euthanize you. But don’t try it recreationally—once you nod off, they will behead you.”

Mary’s eyes widened. “Seriously? Seriously?! You paralyzed me and locked me up, and now you want me to kill myself? Are you fucking crazy?!”

Sara stood up. “I’ll own up to my actions. Just say the word ‘sorry,’ and I’ll come down here to kill you. Had to choose a word you’d never say accidently.” She opened the door but froze when Mary screamed:

“Do you think you’re better than me? You’re worse! You’re seriously fucking worse! I fantasize about shit that would make your skin crawl, but I’m not nearly as bad as you are!”

Sara turned to her. “I am what you made me.” With those words, she walked out the door, down the hall, up two flights of stairs, outside the penal area, through the gates, into the castle, up a staircase, and into the royal bedroom. During the entire walk, Mary’s words played in her head.

[Do you think you’re better than me? You’re worse! You’re seriously fucking worse!]

Sara lay on the bed, eyes closed, wishing that Tilly and Reck days didn’t alternate. Without Kyritus, she probably needed to steal Reck permanently. She planned to live a long life despite her misery, and she couldn’t do it alone. But since Kyritus and Reck weren’t there, she had to leave to be with people. So she got up and walked to the window, brushing her hand over an 18th-century masquerade half-face mask. It had the calcified vestige of a monta and was twice as hideous, but it was the only thing keeping her from isolation. So she donned it for the seventh time that week, activated her invisibility spell, and jumped out the window.

5

Sara walked through the door of Lilli’s tavern. The moment she smelled the baked bread and heard the sound of the jingles, she felt a great sense of relief wash over her.

[Do you think you’re better than me?]

Sara grabbed her head and walked to the bar, which vacated multiple seats at the end.

“Come on, move,” someone said.

“Why? What’s going—wait. Who the fuck is that?”

“Monta Face Blondie,” someone whispered. “She don’t fuck with you if you leave ‘er alone, but she’ll end you if you don’t move your ass.”

Sara ignored them and took her “throne” at the end of the bar.

“Hey, hun,” Lilli said. She knew who Sara was and didn’t mind. Perhaps, like Edico, she felt a strange friendship between them and didn’t shy away so long as the mask that said “[Destructively Normal]” was strapped on her face. “Half-press?” Lilli asked.

“Twalla,” Sara said.

“Did she just say twalla?” someone whispered. “She’s growin’ soft on us.”

“Don’t jinx it. I’m feelin’ like a man for once!”

Lilli passed her the frothy mug, wet on the outside from condensation. “Things easin’ up?”

Sara put a griffin on the bar and slid it across. She never paid above price, but she had an outstanding tab that read like a government subsidy. Lilli didn’t question it. She bit it and then tossed it down her ample bosom, which seemed to swallow it whole. “No. It’s just because I don’t want my frien…. I don’t want people picking up bad habits.”

[You’re worse!]

“Hmmm?” Lilli put her hands on her hips suspiciously. “That’s noble.”

“No, it’s [relevant],” Sara grimaced, taking a drink. The door opened with a jingle of bells, and a massive man and a cute redhead walked into the tavern. They weren’t wearing masks. “I take that back,” Sara said. “I don’t want the [idiots] to pick up [worse] habits.”

“Go freshen up in the kitchen,” Lilli said. “I’ll send ’em home and round the back.”

Sara nodded, got up, and walked away. Emma tried to rush forward, but Lilli made a loud ruckus as Sara disappeared into the back. In the kitchen, she said high to all the cooks with her mask off, and they nervously said hello. They knew she was a good person, but she was still their acting queen. It was bittersweet, but at least she could breathe as she waited.

Five minutes later, Emma came through the back and threw herself into Sara’s arms. “Sara!”

Sara pulled her hands up in a [it wasn’t me] gesture but found Raul looking at her apologetically as he peeled the redhead off her. “Is everything alright?” Sara asked.

“Emma tried wine for the first time tonight,” Raul grimaced.

“Why?” Sara asked.

“Because you’re always drinking!” Emma chastised. “We can’t help you if we’re never with you, dummy!”

Sara frowned. “Emma, I know you want to help, but—“

[You’re seriously fucking worse!]

“—you seriously don’t want to—“

“Just shut up already,” Raul said in a protracted voice. “Can’t you see we’re fucked up, too, now?”

“Hey!” Emma protested. “Who are you calling—“

“Come to my room,” Lilli interrupted, walking into the back. “Yer welcome to it.”

“Thanks,” Sara said.

“Up you go,” Raul said, lifting Emma into a princess carry. The redhead squirmed, but then she giggled, blushed, and hugged Raul’s neck as he followed Lilli up a flight of stairs.

Sara smiled, if only for a moment before it disappeared, lost to the sound of Mary screaming,

(You’re worse! You’re worse! You’re worse!)

In her head.

Sara closed her eyes. Right then, at perhaps the lowest point of her entire life, she prayed that Emma and Raul could help her and that they would accept an imposter as their friend. But even if they didn’t, Sara had to establish hard rules about how to deal with Daniel and Mary because the rational [fear] she had of them was tearing her apart and corrupting her from within.