After the morning court adjourned, Damien made his way to the Orchid Manor. He navigated the winding paths and entered his mother’s chamber, each stride filled with confidence, yet his mind was burdened with an unusual array of thoughts. His mother had made it a habit to pry into the court’s discussions, and, as always, she would be waiting, eager for her son’s report.

Queen Priscilla was seated in the dimly lit chamber, her gaze shifted to the door as Damien entered. “You’re later than usual, my son,” she remarked coolly, though her sharp gaze betrayed her anticipation.

Damien let out a sigh, dropping into the chair across from her. “Father’s tasks have grown... demanding, to say the least. This time, he’s assigned me to address the unrest along the northern border.”

Priscilla’s brow arched slightly. “The mountain bandits?” she asked, her tone calm but with a touch of displeasure. “And he sent you?”

Damien gave a curt nod, irritation flashing in his eyes. “As if I didn’t already have enough to handle within the capital,” he muttered, glancing away momentarily. “Edric was notably absent today. One of the courtiers explained his reason to Father, but I still don’t fully believe it,” he said, his tone laced with curiosity. “There was something… unsettling in the way he avoided discussing it further.”

Priscilla’s eyes narrowed, and her fingers tapped lightly on the armrest. “Do not trouble yourself with Edric’s matters, Damien. Your father often favors him for matters that require discretion. You know that much.”

Damien shifted uncomfortably, there is a faintest hint of a scowl on his face. He knew all too well of the favoritism his father sometimes showed, though his mother had long comforted him by reminding him of his superior lineage, or so he thought. Yet, his curiosity remained piqued, and the notion of his father’s attention on Edric lingered uneasily in his mind.

“I’ll investigate further if necessary, Mother,” he finally replied, dismissing the issue with a flick of his hand. “But back to the bandits. Father seems intent on testing me… or at least, that’s what it feels like.”

Priscilla’s gaze softened, but her response held a steely edge. “You are my son, Damien. And you’re far more competent than he allows you to demonstrate. Prove yourself at the border, and let it be a reminder to the court of your strength. Our plans rely on your place as the next in line, and if I have to secure it myself, then I shall.”

Damien hesitated, looking away from her for a moment. His mother’s ambitions had always both inspired and unsettled him. He knew of the calculated ruthlessness she possessed, even hearing fragments of conversations between her and her maids late at night. It was in one such encounter that he’d pieced together her involvement in the former queen’s mysterious demise—an incident that had always struck terror on him as a child.

Despite his apprehensions, Damien admired her cunningness. If she never takes that step, then he would never be a legitimate heir that could rival Edric, the former Queen Olivia’s only son. He could almost forgive the whispers about the witch clan… almost.

Before he could voice his lingering thoughts, the chamber grew noticeably colder, and a strange silence enveloped the air. Damien tensed, looking around in alarm. “What… what’s happening?”

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Priscilla’s face paled, though she maintained a semblance of composure. “It’s nothing, Damien,” she murmured, attempting to mask her own anxiety.

But her son’s voice was tinged with irritation. “Nothing? I felt it the moment I stepped in here! Do you take me for a fool?” he demanded.

Without warning, a dark shadow materialized near the corner of the room, and the air grew thick with a foreign magic. A figure draped in midnight robes and adorned with intricate silver patterns emerged from what seemed to be a shimmering portal, and the heavy scent of herbs and decay filled the chamber.

Damien’s eyes widened, instinctively stepping back. “Who… who are you?” he demanded, his voice wavering only slightly.

Priscilla, on the other hand, dipped her head respectfully, her voice low and deferential. “Elder Zara,” she addressed the figure, her voice barely concealing a tremor, “I did not anticipate your arrival so soon.”

The witch’s gaze shifted, her eyes piercing as she ignored Priscilla’s formalities. “Queen Priscilla, you seem to have forgotten our agreement,” Zara hissed, her voice a chilling blend of contempt and anger. “Your son’s indiscretions are growing tiresome, and our patience wanes.”

Damien’s face twisted in outrage, masking his underlying fear. “How dare you come here unannounced and speak to my mother in such a manner!” he barked, stepping forward defiantly.

Elder Zara’s lips curled into a smile, though it held no warmth. With a flick of her wrist, she cast a spell, and Damien found himself immobilized, his body paralyzed with a chilling energy that coursed through his veins. Pain surged through him, and he bit back a scream.

“Damien!” Priscilla gasped, her hands clenching, but her voice dropped to a plea. “Please, Elder Zara… please spare him. He’s young and foolish.”

Damien’s eyes were wide with shock and pain, his pride visibly bruised as he struggled to speak. “Release… me… this instant!”

Elder Zara’s voice remained cold, her gaze never leaving Damien. “Insolent boy. You know nothing of what lies behind your mother’s veil. You should thank her for all the sacrifices she has made.” She turned her gaze to Priscilla, her tone venomous. “Twenty years, Priscilla. The blood of a queen was merely the beginning. Do not think we have forgotten our terms.”

Priscilla’s head dipped, her voice soft but strained. “I have upheld our terms, Elder Zara. I have remained loyal to the clan… I beg you, do not take my son. He is all that I have worked for.”

Elder Zara sneered, releasing Damien from her grip, though he fell to the floor, gasping for air. “Perhaps you should remind yourself of what is at stake, Priscilla. Your son is expendable if you fail us again.” Her gaze flickered toward Damien, a look of disgust etched across her features. “And heed this warning, princeling,” she added, voice dripping with malice. “The power of our witch clan is not to be trifled with.”

Damien managed to pull himself up, glaring at Zara with a mixture of fear and rage. “You think your threats scare me?” he spat, though his voice wavered. “You’re nothing more than a parasite in the shadows.”

Priscilla’s hand shot out, silencing her son with a warning glare. “Enough, Damien. Show some respect.”

Elder Zara watched the exchange with cold amusement. “I see where his arrogance stems from. But mark my words, Priscilla, our leader grows restless. Fulfill your promise, or it will be your precious son who pays the price.”

With a final, lingering look of disdain, Zara waved her hand, and the air shimmered as she vanished, the remnants of her dark magic dissipating.

Silence fell over the chamber, and Damien was the first to break it, his voice laced with anger. “What promise, Mother? What vile agreement have you made with those creatures?”

Priscilla’s face was pale, her composure barely holding. She turned to him, her eyes dark and resolute. “Damien, there are forces in this world that you cannot comprehend. Sacrifices had to be made… for our family’s survival and your future. Do not question my choices.”

He took a step back, looking at her as though seeing her for the first time. “You mean… like what you did to Edric’s mother?” he whispered, his voice thick with accusation.

Priscilla’s expression flickered, a brief flash of vulnerability breaking through her mask. “You don’t understand, Damien. What I have done, I did it for you. For our future.”

For a moment, he felt a surge of bitter admiration. She was ruthless, just as he had always admired… but there was a weight to her actions he hadn’t anticipated. “Then I hope your loyalty to them is worth the price, Mother,” he said coldly, casting her a lingering glance before turning on his heel and storming from the room.

Priscilla watched him go, her heart heavy, but her resolve unwavering. For her son’s future, she would bear any sin. And for her own survival, she would face any darkness.