Confusion danced across his brow.
‘You conspired with her, King Florian,’ she continued, voice lilting with mockery. ‘You sealed her little bargain, swore to keep silent while we took the drakonian castle.’
Recognition struck. He nodded once, regret glimmering in his eyes like a dying star. ‘And you murdered my daughters.’
Vera offered a careless shrug, her fingers drumming along the curve of her goblet. ‘You know what they say... never trust a witch.’ She swept her tongue across her teeth in amusement, gaze drifting around the chamber as though already bored. ‘Fortunately for you…I’m not a witch.’
The realisation registered in his expression, subtle but satisfying.
‘I wouldn't dream of keeping you from your meal,’ she added with a silken gesture towards his plate.
At his command, a servant was summoned, bearing a wooden jug and a delicate cup fashioned from pressed leaves. The girl’s hands trembled as she poured the deep red liquid. Vera watched her closely, her smile deepening into something dangerously feline.
‘Thank you,’ she said, taking the cup and lifting it to her nose. She inhaled, but did not drink, letting the wine linger near her lips like a secret. ‘I’ve not come for pleasantries, King Florian,’ she continued smoothly once the servant had scurried from view. She turned her full attention back to the man across from her. He was middle-aged, clearly softened by the enchantments his people so often employed, his dark skin unnaturally smooth, though silver streaks graced his black hair with dignity. His antlers were tall and large, signalling his royal blood.
‘I require safe passage through your lands,’ she said, voice allvelvet and steel. ‘The wastelands are... inconvenient just now, and the only viable route to the Kingdom of Ice lies through Fae territory.’
The king’s face remained unreadable, a carved mask of diplomacy. Vera sipped nothing, only let the wine swirl in her cup, watching him over its rim with eyes that missed nothing, and forgot even less.
‘You murdered my daughters,’ the king said, his voice cooling into a blade of frost. ‘Why in all the gods’ names would I grant you anything?’
Vera exhaled with theatrical boredom, rolling her eyes. ‘Well, let’s just say… you’ve two daughters left. And surely we wouldn’t want them to share the unfortunate fate of their sisters, would we?’ Her smile was all teeth and malice. ‘You could make this simple. Join us, and your people will remain safe beneath your leafylittlecanopy.’
‘I’ve already tried to help the witches. And they betrayed me.’
‘An honest mistake.’ She gave a careless shrug, as though betrayal were nothing more than spilt wine on silk. ‘I promise it won’t happen again. But if you deny me safe passage...’ Her smile widened, cruel and gleaming. ‘Then we’ll be forced to reduce your beloved trees to ash.’
‘So you barge into my home and make threats? Is that it?’
Vera tilted her head, as though considering it seriously. ‘Yes,’ she replied, then cackled, delighted by the flush of fury colouring his cheeks. ‘And really, Floridia? It’s laughable, isn’t it? I understand it was named centuries ago, but still. King Florian of Floridia?’ She gave an exaggerated sigh, slapping the wooden armrest as laughter overtook her. ‘Fae have always been so dreadfully earnest with names. Though I suppose all the kingdoms are guilty of that. The Fire Prince, what was it? AshAcheron. Please. The irony is exhausting.’ She smirked, raising her cup. ‘Well. He’s king now.’ Her attention drifted sideways to the wine she still refused to drink. ‘And where is your queen, by the way?’
‘Resting.’
Vera’s smile deepened into something slow and knowing. ‘And your daughters?’
The king said nothing. Instead, he asked, ‘Why do you wish to reach the Kingdom of Ice?’
She leaned back with a lazy grace, as though the world bent at her will. ‘It’s really quite simple, King Florian. I intend to burn it all down. Scorch the old world to cinders and build something new, something greater from the ash. Whether you become part of that new world...’ Her voice dropped into something smooth and final. ‘Is entirely up to you.’
The great doors behind Vera creaked open, but she didn’t spare them a glance. Her violet glare remained fixed upon the king, her wicked smile undimmed. A few new figures entered the chamber, dressed in the muted tones and plain fabrics of servants, silently arranging themselves against the walls to await orders. But Vera was no ordinary witch. No, she was something far more dangerous.
She was a goddess.
The goddess of chaos and conflict.
And she knew, with the clarity of instinct, that these were no true servants.
They were Black Lotus.
‘I will grant you passage,’ the king said at last, his voice rough as he swallowed. ‘So long as you do no harm to the Fae.’
‘You’ll help us conquer the world, then?’ she asked, tilting her head, her voice silken with feigned curiosity. The king hesitated, his eyes falling to the table as though its polishedsurface might whisper some clever riddle in return. Vera knew that look well. He was searching for the loophole, calculating the phrasing that might allow him to honour his word without breaking it. The beloved dance of the Fae, forever bound to truth and yet fluent in evasion.
‘Let us drink,’ he said instead, lifting a cup crafted from braided leaves and delicate blossoms. ‘To an alliance of witches and Fae.’
Amused, Vera lifted a sculpted brow. She would indulge him. Why not? The game was still young.
She rose with an exaggerated grace, dragging the heavy wooden chair back with a loud groan that echoed through the sun-drenched hall. Raising her goblet, she mirrored the king. Their eyes locked.
