Morgana had been completely asleep, amidst a rather pleasant dream about a certain prince, when she was abruptly awoken by the Silverwater household’s head manservant, Jeffords. He had rushed into her room. In an instant of fright, Morgana had leaped to her feet, her fire energy illuminating every candle in her bedchamber and the hallway beyond. She now stood in the middle of her pink and gold bedroom as the lights of her energy flickered with an ominous aura that she quite enjoyed among all the pink. Her leg bumped slightly against the delightful bed with its oak framing and thick comforters now thrown about in a messy clump that made her eye twitch. The usually pleasant scent of lavender incense was sour to her nose, and when she moved, she nearly rammed her toes into the leg of her nightstand.

And there she stood as Jeffords detailed what he knew about Lilliana's survival. Her fights. Her enslavement. And the Baron's rush to her location in Cael. The more he spoke, the angrier Morgana became until her blood was boiling so loudly in her ears she could barely hear herself think.

“You told me she was dead!” Morgana snarled in an explosion of rage, long brown curls bobbing around her head in messy strands as she whirled on the manservant she had previously ordered to follow the whore’s daughter around. The sheer amount of money she'd spent on purchasing monster corpses to lure the Beast King from the forest had been only worth it because she'd believed her revenge had been achieved. Now Morgana was finding out her money had gone to waste and her people had utterly failed in every aspect. “How can she be alive? Are you telling me you not only failed to capture the Apocryth but couldn’t even kill one pathetic child?” In her rage, Morgana grabbed the ceramic cup half-filled with scalding tea from her nightstand and threw it at the manservant, who nimbly shuffled out of the way.

That only enraged her further, and she screamed in frustration. None of this was going according to plan. The girl had been alive and kicking all this time. She was supposed to be dead. For the dishonor to Brian. To her. To her family. Though, it had been survival at the cost of being a slave. The thought briefly made her anger cool into a small satisfied smile. Right up until she remembered the girl was now facing the trials to become a Saintess. How absolutely absurd. The girl was lucky to be a slave that fights—she belonged in the pleasure houses like her whore of a mother. Yet somehow, this whore's daughter kept ruining her plans. Morgana still didn't know how Liliana had swapped her poisoned cup with Lady Tremmor’s under Morgana's nose, a constant and persistent annoyance whenever it came to mind. And then Lady Ballenci’s weak maid had squealed all her little secrets to the Baron. All of Morgana's little secrets regarding the poison. Following that the Baron had forced all contact between her and the Ballenci girl to be blocked. That hadn’t mattered all too much to Morgana as by that point Lady Ballenci had all but cut off communication on her own. For whatever reason. “The child who shamed my little brother, shamed this family, shamed me, killed my friend, and has done nothing but shame herself, is still alive?”

“That is correct, my lady,” the manservant said, bowing. Despite the boiling water that splashed on his skin when the ceramic cup shattered against the wall of Morgana’s bedchamber, his expression remained stoic. That wasn’t surprising considering the old manservant had served her household for a little over a century. His face was nearly covered in wrinkles, though he somehow maintained a full head of white hair. Morgana sometimes suspected it to be some sort of trick from an energy specialist. She had never cared enough to confirm the thought.

”Is she still enslaved as of now?” If the news had made all the way to Silverwater, Lilliana’s identity must have been revealed.

”Yes, my lady. While it was revealed that she is of our house, the Cael King has chosen to hold her in his dungeons. The Baron suspects this to be an intentional showing of disrespect toward the Silverwater house and the Lysoria royal family.”

“Has our king responded?” Morgana had no doubt their own royal house would be quite enraged, especially Princess Isla who seemed to have developed a soft spot for the little whore spawn.

“He has not. However, we have recently managed to detain the beast king’s sire using the elixir. We may be able to use the harvest to stay the King’s hand in this matter completely.”

That caused the Silverwater barony’s eldest daughter to pause mid-tirade. “It was finally detained?” He should have led with that. Ever since Morgana had used Lilliana, her father’s more loyal knights, and some of the mercenaries the house had recruited as lower soldiers as bait for the beast king’s sire, a large portion of the Silverwater barony’s knights had been in battle with the Sire. Her personal forces were on a bogus mission waiting for further orders from her, though it would be a while before the Baron’s forces were weak enough for her to do anything overtly aggressive.

The Baron had initially balked at the thought of combating a Sire, but with pressure from the Goldenhearts and the Church of Light, he’d caved fairly quickly. Normally, a mid-sized barony like the Silverwaters would never have been able to defeat a Sire. Though that was no secret nor shame on the house, it had ceased to be true when the Church of Life had presented her household with something the Red Cardinal had called the Elixir of Resistance after Lilliana’s ‘disappearance.’ Even a drop blessed the receiver with resistance to a Sire’s authority.

“Has the harvesting begun yet?” she asked, taking a seat on her lovely comforter as she suddenly calmed.

Apparently used to her quick shifts in temperament, the manservant simply shook his head before answering further. “Not yet. The news of the Sire’s capture was brought to me only moments before the news of the girl. The harvesting will begin tomorrow at dawn.”

“No, that’s unacceptable,” Morgana said, not as a command but as a statement. With her father gone for what was likely to be a few weeks, there wouldn’t be much time for her to put her plan into action. “We’ll start it now.” She reached above her head and yanked down firmly on a thick red string that dangled from the ceiling a little left of her bed. In the distance, though faint, she could hear a loud and crisp ding. Moments later, a chorus of footsteps gently clapped their way toward Morgana.

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Six maids entered the chambers, Nissa at the back and Ariel at the front like always. “My lady?” the head maid asked. Morgana eyed the older lady with the neutral expression of someone far superior. Which she most certainly was. Her Matriarch lessons had been very insistent on making sure all servants knew their place, even those with whom she had a past. “Dress me.”

The six maids snapped to work, their worn-down maid outfits ragged compared to the grandiose opulence of the chamber they shuffled into. Shifting her maids into worn-out outfits was another recent change caused by her Matriarch lessons. The Baron, despite his support of treating lower-class workers without decency, continued to be at odds with her taking Matriarch lessons. Only her eldest brother had any support when it came to leadership lessons.

Morgana climbed barefoot onto the dais at the far end of her room where she was always dressed, her delicate features illuminated by the rays of a waking sun streaming in through great windows.

She spent a moment directing the maids to the outfit she wanted to wear before returning her attention to the manservant. “Once the servants complete their tasks and I am prepared, you will escort me to the dungeon lab. I want a full progress report and I want to see the Sire.”

“My lady,” Jeffords began, “I’m not sure that would be wise—”

Morgana cut him off. “I do not care what you believe to be wise, manservant. You have already failed me twice, and I am extraordinarily displeased. Your understanding of what is wise very clearly comes with great limitations.” The maid directly behind her grunted as she pulled the corset strings around Morgana’s midriff. “Tighter,” Morgana hissed when the maid went to loop the strings closed.

“My apologies, Lady Silverwater.” The manservant gave Morgana a low bow. It was a much lower bow than what her station rightfully commanded, but most of the servants in the household were aware of the true authority she held. And those that did not yet know soon would.

The six maids bowed similarly low and backed away simultaneously, indicating the completion of their duties. Morgana dismissed them with a casual flick of her wrist and followed Jeffords out of her room and into the mansion’s hallway. She paid no mind to the rows of suits of armor and tapestries lining the stone walls as she’d seen them all thousands of times over the years. No, what she really wanted was to see the Sire. Something new. Something powerful.

“Right through here, my lady,” Jeffords said with a small bow of his head. He reached over to a large iron door and rapped his knuckles against it three times, each harder than the last.

“Who is eet?” drawled a gruff, almost intoxicated-sounding voice.

“It’s Jeffords and Lady Silverwater. Open the door, Dresden.”

“Oh fu— Yea okay, one second, my lady,” Dresden muttered, and Morgana could hear the jingle of many keys being bounced around. Then there was a click, and the enormous metallic door creaked open.

A small man stood on the other side, his clothes infinitely more ragged than her bedchamber maids. There was a small table next to him covered in cards and a few empty bottles.

“Take me to it,” Morgana ordered. The small man, Dresden, gave a bow so low Morgana thought his nose might touch the floor.

“Yes, yes, of course. Whatever it is the lady desires.” Dresden snatched a torch from its position on the wall and beckoned them to follow him down a set of spiral stairs leading deep under the mansion. The air quickly became damp and cold as they descended ever deeper.

When Morgana finally heard the sound of muffled voices and the clanking of metallic chains, the temperature suddenly spiked as if they approached an inferno. Sweat quickly poured down her, drenching her and causing her recently applied makeup to droop. Part of her was tempted to complain about the environment, but there was something powerful in the air that kept her quiet.

As the three of them reached the final level, a blood-curdling scream of pain erupted and Morgana could feel how even the walls shook. Her eyes widened at the sight of her beautiful prisoner.

Had she not known it was a monster chained and gagged, she might have thought it the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Dark, rich black eyes peered out under long locks of equally black hair with bright diamond-colored pupils that sparkled even in the dimly lit dungeon. The Sire was humanoid and a gorgeous one at that, his every part bunched and tensed with sinewy muscles that seemed to constantly test the restraints holding him to the floor.

The only nonhuman aspect of the Sire was a single horn jutting from the center of his forehead. The horn was the physical manifestation of darkness, she’d been told. Against the dim light of the dungeon, the horn could barely be seen at certain angles until light flickered upon it.

She’d thought the scream might have originated from the Sire, but a single look at the Sire’s calm demeanor extinguished that belief.

That, and the fact a white-robed mage twitched at the edge of life on the floor where the Sire was being forcibly knelt, a hole punctured through the man’s throat. She hadn’t seen any blood on the horn, though, so she took a closer look, careful not to approach too much. No, there was no blood on it. Had he absorbed it?

“Take him away,” she ordered, waving at the dying mage. Her nose wrinkled in disgust at the smell and the general scene. “Try to heal him. I want to see the effects of being stabbed by a Sire.”

“Where is the girl?” a smooth, casual voice asked, and Morgana glanced at the captive creature. The chains around him lit up in a brilliant red no doubt absorbing the magic and energy attempting to radiate from the Sire.

Morgana shook her finger and clicked her tongue. “Uh uh, no using your energy here.”

“Ah, you speak of the bindings?” The Sire shrugged, unimpressed. “It is not so impressive as you may believe.” His voice, while smooth, seemed to strain with the words as if unfamiliar with the language. “Your ancestors, the creators of these bindings, all perished despite them. As will you.”

Morgana laughed. “I hadn’t thought a monster with your strength and age could indulge in such…” she waved her hands around in a mocking gesture, “naivety.” She pulled out a small vial of orange liquid. “I wonder what would happen if you were injected with some of this elixir?”

“Where is the girl?” he asked again, ignoring her threat.

“What girl?”

“The one whose blood called to me.”

“Ah, you mean the whore’s daughter?” Morgana barked a laugh. “So it’s true! Sires of myth cannot withstand the blood allure of children with royal blood in their veins, even when it’s as limited as that of a bastard daughter of a baron.”

The Sire just smiled and shook his head. “You are correct, descendant of Silverwater. But you are equally wrong. I would warn you against conflict with that particular…girl.”

“We’ll see,” Morgana said, grinning down at him. “Inject him with the elixir.”

The chains embedded with thousands of unreadable wards flared red once again. The Sire’s muscles bulged and then froze, unable to move under the paralyzing energy of the restraints. Under his feet, a large circle of similar wards flared white, and a single mage made his way toward the Sire. A small needle hovered over the mage’s hand for only a moment after he walked into the magic circle’s perimeter. Then it surged forward and embedded itself directly into the Sire’s left eye.

He screamed, and Morgana felt herself smile wider than she had since she’d had the Baron’s whore mistress killed all those years ago.