Lockhart Castle’s triple domed roofs came into view long before they reached its lowered bridge. Three turrets of pure white flanked each dome of gold, each supported by thin pillars arranged on the points of a hexagram. Its walls of gold and silver polished and gleaming stretched across the horizon, as far as eyes could see. Rubies and emeralds, larger than the fists of her younger self adorned the golden carvings of chrysanthemums that were etched into its surface.
Though it was not visible from the outside, Rowan knew instinctively that narrow stairs of ancient stones ran the length of the turrets, connecting them to the largest dome in the middle.
She knew every chips and cracks along the stone steps. She knew how the dome shone gold in the morning and turns transparent from the inside at night. She knew there was one among hundreds of the golden glass pieces that was loose and could be lifted from inside. And she knew especially well how the night air could freeze her skin instantly when she lifted her younger self out of the small hole and peers into the night sky.
It had always been Rowan’s favourite place in the castle, a secret hideout known only to Lucero and her. It was only there in the small space enclosed in reflective glass, with only stars adorning the night sky as her companion, that she felt most free—as if she could escape the clutches of the castle if she extended her hand far enough.
Now that she thought about it, it was only a wishful thought of a foolish child.
Directly in front of the castle’s gates, the royal infantry awaited their arrival. Their armours shone a dark lustre, polished to perfection to mirror the gleaming red blades of their spears. Leaves of the same shade of orangey-red crawled their chest plates and gauntlets, a scene akin to fresh Nyphilles blood spilled on the dark robes of reapers.
The image was not far from the truth.
Their armours were forged from black tourmaline and aventurine that not only protected the Fulgels inside from assaults of magick but also instantly heal any that was not fatal. While the red agate leaves that adorned their armours were fashioned to ward off evil, the agate that made the blades of their spears were not as innocent.
Just the sight of them made Rowan shudder.
Agate blades were the only thing in the world other than Magus’s magick that could cut through a Nyphilles’ flesh. They were poison to the dark ones. One that could consume their flesh from within, causing their flesh to shrivel before they wither and die from a slow, torturous death.
It was a weapon deemed too cruel even for the ‘betrayers’, one that the Lockhart ancestors had banned right after the Purge.
Despite the sins he had committed, Davor Lockhart would know better than to revoke the rules—unless someone had encouraged him for it. Rowan shifted her gaze to the flags hung on the high walls. Now, not only of the Lockhart’s crest of white chrysanthemum but another of marigold flew alongside.
“My lord!” With an excited squeal, Anastasia untangled herself from Rowan and skipped her way to the heart of the army of death.
Rowan clenched her fists by her sides, tight enough to draw blood as she watched Anastasia flung herself into the arms of an all too familiar face.
Dressed from head to toe in the finest silk of lavender, Belius Maganti stood apart from the unfeeling reapers behind him. His hair of dimmed gold swished around his shoulders as he lifted Anastasia and twirled her around, deliberately making a show out of it while his pale purple eyes, almost blue, watched Rowan from the corners. Their laughter, both familiar to her ears, echoed throughout the otherwise solemn heart of Lucidus.
Rowan’s hands instinctively went to her thighs where her daggers once were, her mind wandering to darker places. She imagined swinging her blades high in the air, cutting across his lips and made his faux smile permanent. A gesture she deemed kind enough as she watched him laugh, his smile a little too wide for a man as cruel.
Cold skin met hers and jolted her back to her senses. She snapped her head around, instantly locking her gaze with Cornelius’s intense pair. No words of comfort left his lips but the squeeze of his hands spoke for him. The blaze in his eyes burned clearer than his tightened fists, implying that he too felt what she did.
For once, she allowed her gloved hand to squeeze back, basking in the small strength afforded by the coldness of his palm to keep her sane. The thought of wishing her hands were bare, their skin touching, nagged at the back of her mind but she waved it away. It was impossible not to lament the fact that her mind had been doing more harm than help her cause these days—especially when it came to matters concerning a certain Magus.
“Ah…is it not my beloved sister-in-law?” Belius Maganti prowled towards her. Anastasia hung by his arm as if a mere decoration for his parade. He placed a hand over his heart and dipped into a half-bow. “It’s been a long time, had it not?”
Rowan could feel Cornelius tensed beside her. He stared at the man, jaws clamped tight enough to make his lips twitch around the corners. Finding herself unable to sink into a mock curtsy with the Duke’s iron grip on her, Rowan only nodded in return. “A long time indeed, Lord Maganti.”
“And this must be the infamous Duke of Noxsidus!” Belius snickered, a little too loud for Rowan’s ears. “I must admit, I am surprised. Your Grace is indeed…different than most.”
An unnamed flame ignited to life in the pit of Rowan’s stomach. For split seconds, she was more than tempted to wipe the smirk off his face—preferably involving some significant bloodshed—but Cornelius beat her to it.
His eyes, now a metallic silver, travelled the length of the opposing man. Deliberately slow from his head to toes and back again, a predator daring its prey to run.
“I could say the same about you, Son of Maganti.” A mocking smile that did not quite reach his eyes lifted the corners of his lips as he dipped his head in Belius’s direction. “Though I must admit, I am a little more than surprised. You are more than what I’ve heard about you.”
“Oh.” Belius arched a grey brow and stood his ground, unfazed. The prey in question was a good actor if nothing else. “To share the same thought as the great Magus, I am honoured.”
Though smiles remained on the two men’s faces, none of them moved as they stared at one another. Hostility cracked between their gazes, deadly even to those who stood a little ways away.
Anastasia’s hair whipped around her as the wind picked up, the sky dimming significantly with the sun deciding it was high time for it to take cover.
This isn’t Cornelius’s magick, Rowan realized with a start. The way his life magick coursed told her that the change in temperature was not due to the Duke alone. A strange force was stirring within the palms of the Maganti’s son. One that she knew had little to do with a Fulgel’s limited affinity with nature.
Rowan spread her feet a little wider, ready to launch if needed be.
Anastasia was probably the only one of them oblivious to the magick thickening around the two. “My lord,” she called, pulling Belius by the sleeve. “The weather isn’t favourable today, perhaps we should take the conversation back into the castle? I am sure father is waiting for us.”
A heartbeat before Belius closed his eyes, refocused and inhaled. The mask of a smile plastered on his face once more. “Why indeed. How careless of me to have forgotten that.” He pulled her in by the waist and landed a light peck on her forehead. “Thank you for reminding me, my little dove. What have I done to deserve such a wonderful consort?”
Anatasia’s smile in return was one of pure bliss.
Lying through your teeth, as you’ve always did, Rowan thought, forcing her limbs to stay stilled by her sides and not launch for the man’s throat.
Anger coursed through her veins, causing her blood to simmer and her claws to tingle beneath her skin. A part of it was directed to him, the despicable man who had used her as a stepping stone. But most of it was anger towards the younger version of herself who had so easily bought his lies wrapped in saccharine coatings. If she had not, Anastasia would have never met the man and the Maganti would not had joined hands with the King this easily.
She bit down on her inner cheeks, the pain unrivaled by the weight of her sin.
“Love,” Cornelius’s voice swept over her, allowing her to rein her Nyphillie nature back in check. He brought her hand to his lips, kissing it so tenderly, a wave of calmness washed over her. His eyes never left hers even as he spoke, reading her thoughts in a way that only her brother had before. “It would be improper to make the King wait, don’t you agree?”
Cornelius’s frustration had ebbed the moment she turned to him, replaced by a look that was all too familiar to her now. It was a look that had twisted her insides into a fluttery knot and rendered her mind useless. Tender and almost…loving.
If not for the dim fire that still burned within the heart of his eyes, she would be made to wonder if his mood had really took a turn for the better.
It would be improper to make the King wait.
Rowan smiled despite herself. Her eyes reflected the same flame when she lifted her head to meet his gaze again. “Indeed it is.”
Soon he would have no chance to wait at all.
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