He drank.
She stared at the wine a moment longer, then tipped it back and swallowed. When the final drop slid down her throat, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and placed the cup back on the table with a sharp clack. Her body sank back into the chair, limbs loose with theatrical ease.
The king was watching her closely, his expression tight with something unreadable. Slowly, cautiously, he resumed his seat.
‘Is something the matter?’ she asked, inspecting her nails with an air of boredom.
‘No.’
‘Did you think your poisoned cup would be the end of me?’ she asked, smirking. ‘Oh, King Florian, I didn’t take you for a fool. Surely you know witches cannot be killed by such simple means? Everyone knows that.’
And then, quite suddenly, the king smiled.
‘I do know,’ he said quietly. ‘But poison isn’t the only method.’
In two swift, fluid movements, the so-called servants sprang into action. Magic cracked like thunder in the air, the Fae’s magic colliding with Vera’s own as she raised her hand from where she lounged in the chair.
The witch and warlock at her back acted as one, flinging the doors shut with a powerful spell.
The Black Lotus fell at once.
All three collapsed to their knees, hands clawing at their throats, gasping for breath.
Vera didn’t rise. She merely reclined, her fingers still glowing faintly with power, while across the table, King Florian sat very still, his eyes wide, his composure unravelled.
‘Did you know, King Florian, that all witches possess the capacity to wield blood magic?’ Vera mused, her voice light with amusement. ‘It merely requires a teacher, and a willingness to sacrifice a sliver of one’s soul. But then, I’m hardly mortal, am I?’
She observed with cool detachment as blood began to seep from the eyes, ears, and mouths of the three Fae. It dripped in delicate rivulets, a grotesque imitation of tears.
With a single, elegant curl of her fingers into a fist, their bodies collapsed as one. Dead before they hit the floor.
Vera rose with unhurried grace and stalked across the chamber to where the king sat frozen. She leaned forward, placing her palms on the oak armrests, her face mere inches from his. Her smile curved wider, slow and cruel, as fear blossomed in his expression, raw and unmasked now.
‘I might have kept your people safe,’ she said, as if discussing a broken truce, ‘if only you’d chosen to cooperate.’
‘Liar,’he hissed.
Vera laughed, a silken, delighted sound. ‘Ah, you caught me,’ she said, eyes gleaming. ‘Still, you did try your best, didn’tyou?’
‘The Fae will never bow to the likes of you,’ he growled, knuckles white on the armrest. ‘Kill me if you must, witch, but the Fae are legion. They are ancient. They are—’
She didn’t bother to let him finish.
With a flick of her wrist, the slim blade hidden in her sleeve flashed once. The cut was clean, efficient. Blood spilt like a whisper.
King Florian slumped forward, his antlers catching against the edge of the table before he toppled to the floor with a dull thud. Vera nudged the body aside with a sigh, her expression shifting from triumph to boredom.
She turned to the silent witch and warlock standing behind her like shadows awaiting instruction.
‘Find the queen and the princesses,’ she said. ‘Slaughter them. Then set this fucking forest city alight. We march at dawn.’
And just as the words left her lips, the doors burst open with a violent clang, and the symphony of screams began to rise. Sharp and chaotic, echoing off the wooden walls like a twisted aria of death.
Vera smiled.
Right on schedule.
They will never admit it, but there is a reason the Great War dragged on for as long as it did, why such horrors were unleashed upon the witches, why our kind endured tortures so vile they still haunt the earth.
