Sara had barely finished dressing when the door to her room exploded in a rain of splinters. Chunks of stone shot through the space like cannonballs, slamming into her desk. Then the sycounts rushed into the room, Aelia at the lead.

At that moment, Sara thought that she would grab the woman’s head and smash it into her wall, but she held back. “What the fuck was that?” Sara demanded.

“Just a demonstration to prove we’re serious,” Aelia said, throwing a bag onto the floor.

Sara looked at the bag. “What’s that?”

“King Escar is conducting an investigation into the events in Lemca. He requests that you willingly submit yourself to our custody or that you leave peacefully on friendly terms. This bag contains resources from the royal treasury. Whether you choose to stay or leave, this bag is yours.”

Sara snorted, looking at her door, into the hall, and then out her window. “Friendly terms? Are you trying to piss me off?”

“I’m just making it clear that it’s non-negotiable,” Aelia said with a cold voice. That tone immediately pissed Sara off—and then it clicked. She’s trying to get me to leave, Sara thought. It must be bad. But….

Sara hesitated, considering just leaving the capital, setting off a nuclear political bomb in Lemora, and then waiting to swoop in during the aftermath to hold a coup. Yet that’s exactly what Jason did, and whether it was rational in her situation or not, she wouldn’t do that. It didn’t fit her code—the only thing separating her from the people she was stopping.

It also didn't fit her lifestyle. If she conquered Lemora, it would make her the queen and line her up for a decade of warfare. That was the opposite of what she wanted. Once this was all over, she wanted to disappear into a small city and run a tavern with Kyritus if he let her. If she conquered the Escaran Kingdom, her dream would die forever.

It would be one thing if she wasn't prepared for this exact scenario to play out—but she was. The shackles and the prison cell weren't as strong as the kingdom believed, and by going, she would obtain the most powerful political tool in history: martyrdom. Going into captivity to obtain martyrdom was her plan from the start, and now, she had to have the guts to go through with it—and accept the consequences that came with it.

“Do you really think that Escar will let me leave?” Sara asked. “Just let me saunter off to another kingdom?”

Aelia’s face stiffened.

“Exactly.” Sara scoffed and put out her hands in a shackle me already gesture. “Let’s get this over with.”

Aelia’s eyes sharpened. “You seem confident.”

Sara looked at the troops in the hallway with a mocking smirk. “So do you.”

Aelia frowned and exhaled, turning to a sycount in the hall. “Shackle her. And be gentle. Lady Reece is not our enemy.”

“Yes, ma’am.” A sycount came in with shaky legs, unlocking a pair of steel chains that glowed with white marbling. “Sorry about this.”

“I’m sure you are,” Sara drawled.

The sycount locked the chains around her, and Sara felt her energy drain out of her in waves, like water bursting out of a broken dam. As it happened, the chains glowed with vibrant golden light.

His eyes widened when he saw how vibrant the chains became. “Should we—“

“It won’t make a difference,” Aelia said. “Let’s move out.”

Sara studied Aelia carefully. They both knew that one pair of "mana-deprivation" shackles wouldn’t be enough to contain her for long. So the question was: why was Aelia being so reckless? Sara didn’t know, but she knew one thing for certain—

—Aelia Twilix wouldn’t betray King Escar to save her. The woman was loyal to the core, willing to protect King Escar even if he ate infants and made her dispose of the bones. That’s just who she was. It was far more likely that King Escar gave Aelia the opportunity to help Sara, and so she did, and that he didn’t give her instructions on how to handle Sara in the event she turned herself in, so she was as lenient as possible. Or perhaps it’s because she felt guilt for what would happen.

The consideration left deep gashes in Sara’s bones. Neither Sara nor Aelia saw each other as villains or felt each other was wrong, but King Escar made them enemies, and if he asked Aelia to execute Sara—the woman would try. And when the time to seize the throne came…. Sara looked away from her teacher. For the first time since returning, Sara wished that Aelia Twilix stayed dead.

Aelia whistled the sycounts, and they stood straight, pushing themselves against the wall. Then Aelia led Sara through the hallway between the Royal Guards, feeling somewhere between a queen and a prisoner. If everything worked out—she would soon be both.

Tyran was in his study, weighing powders for an elixir when he got the news of Sara Reece’s incarceration. There was a knock on the door, followed by a single word:

“Downfall.”

Then, the man speaking strode away from the door with light steps, leaving as fast as he came.

Tyran looked at the vials in front of him with a blank expression, trying to think through a thick veil of conflicted feelings. Can she really pull it off? he pondered. That was the question that would determine his and countless others’ lives.

Tyran reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a scroll. It was normal parchment with a nasty-looking array on the back. On the front were the words:

-

DUKE TRIDENT OWNS THE TESTAL MILL!

Economic Minister Telskal Serok awarded Duke Trident the rights to own and operate the Testal Mill, which you are forced to pay taxes toward. Your tax money is going straight into his pocket!

You can find proof of these claims…..

-

Reading the poster was a physical phenomenon for Tyran. It pushed his organs below his belly button, leaving an empty hole where his stomach was. Just the thought of posting the notice gave him goosebumps. Considering where he’d post it made him ill. There was a good chance he would be executed for doing it—but some things were worse than death, and what Sara Reece had planned was in that category. The only question was whether she could pull it off, but every fiber of his being said that she could.

Yet, if she succeeded, it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

I’m not here because you help women cheat or have their abortions, Tyran, Sara had said on the night she met him, I couldn’t care less. I’m here because you specialize in connections and blackmail—and I plan to utilize both mercilessly. But don’t worry. Follow my directions, and you’ll outlive this government. I can guarantee that.

Tyran gripped the parchment in his hand. She can, he chuckled, she can. I’m sure of it.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Sara Reece could pull off her plans. If she couldn’t, he would be appalled. Tyran built a business of lies and secrets—he was an expert on both. So he could tell if people were lying, and there was no falsehood hidden behind Sara Reece’s eyes that night. Her confidence, her knowledge, her power…. God, it turned him on. It also terrified him.

He turned to his cloak on his coat rack. The longer I wait, the more dangerous it’ll become, Tyran thought. And there’s a long ride ahead of me.

Without further deliberation, he donned the cloak, weaved through the mansion he risked everything to obtain and disappeared into the night with the parchment.

As he’d soon find out, it was a good call to trust in Sara Reece. Countless people were doing the same—

—and the people who bet against her would regret it.

Sara awoke in a room lit by mana crystals. It could be morning or night; she didn’t know—the room didn’t have windows. It had stone walls and smelled of dust, just like the smell of her grandparent’s house after a lifetime of use. There was a bathroom in the room, and she was lying on a real bed. Clearly, they didn’t want resentment or to roll the dice with her power—

—a wise decision.

Regardless, she couldn’t go to the bathroom because her cuffs were locked on the back of a wall like someone in the throes of a BDSM act. And she didn’t like that. If a man walked through the door, she’d certainly show people the horrifying extent of her body tempering. However, no men entered the room. There were only nervous female guards who were misinformed about how mana deprivation shackles worked and dozens of fortification arrays that prevented her from blasting out of the room if she broke free. That didn’t change after the first day, and when her first prosecutor walked into the room, they were also a woman.

“Good morning, Telskal,” Sara said when the woman entered her room.

Telskal’s nostrils flared as she strode into the room, glaring at Sara, making jerky movements as if she wanted to slap her but was holding back. “Do you really think that your petty plan will work?”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Sara said, “but judging by your face, I’d say whatever you’re accusing me of really is work—”

Telskal slapped her, clearly unable to hold back anymore. Unlike other nobles—she had no chance of survival.

Sara took a deep breath. “I should warn you, Ms. Serok. I have a bit of an anger problem, and if you slap me again….” She chuckled murderously.

“It doesn’t matter,” Telskal said, stepping backward, “you’re going to hang by week’s end.”

“Bold assertion. But humor me. On what grounds?”

“Beyond sedition?” Telskal asked. “There were dozens of false allegations stuck to King’s statues throughout Lemora using binding arrays.”

“Binding arrays?” Sara mused. “That’s a pity. Seems you’ll have to remove the statues.”

The array on the back of the notices wasn’t meant for sticking objects together—

—it was meant for permanently etching arrays and incantations into physical objects. As a result, it burned the notices directly into the statue, and mana locked them, permanently binding the message to the statue. Even if someone filled in the blank spaces with cement would only expose the message with the off-coloring. The only true way to get rid of it was to use high-level magic to remove the protective sealing and chisel out the stone.

Telskal wrinkled her nose. “No, we’re not going to remove the statues.”

“Your face says otherwise.”

“Enough of this,” Telskal said, veins protruding from her neck. “I’m sure you think you’re smart. That you’ll end up a martyr. That no one can hurt you from this cell. But the fact is, we know the man you visited in Helscope.”

Sara’s eyes narrowed, and her blood boiled, trying to keep her cool. It was difficult. She could hear the sound of the woman’s skull crunching against the wall in her mind and could feel the hot drip of her blood on her hands. Sara didn’t actually experience either, but her anger had a way of making such visions a reality.

Telskal let out a laugh with a sharp edge, studying Sara’s expression. “Did you think we wouldn’t find out about him?”

Kyritus stared at the silvermoon bloom Delina (he gave her the name of the war goddess after seeing the damage she left behind) had given him with a mesmerized expression. It was a stunning flower sporting translucent petals that glimmered with blue in the right lighting. It was constantly glowing, and he rarely opened it from the bag because it leaked out immense mana, and it was one divination spell away from being discovered. Yet on days like this—

—he couldn’t help it.

Tiber was wheezing in their bed. It wasn’t always so bad, but this morning, she was going through a spell, and the mana winds in the area were more intense than usual. Since her body couldn’t process that mana, it just made her chest swell up like a balloon. They needed to move to the country and away from mana junkies and adventurers, but they couldn’t, so she was just suffering. Yet….

If he opened it and fed her a single petal, it would suppress the symptoms immediately and keep her stable for a decade or longer. It wouldn’t be a cure, but it was a miracle, and he had that power in his hands. Yet… Delina asked him to wait a year and so he held back. But it had been a year now, and the temptation was increasing exponentially. He still didn’t know who Delina was, if she was still alive, or if she would come back. A woman with that type of temper was bound to make enemies and land herself an early death. Still…

Wait for me.

Kyritus had to be strong. He had a firm belief that she would return. But….

His heart wrenched at the sight of Tiber, and his fear returned. If Delina told even one person about the flower, he could get robbed, and Tiber would die. Hell, he ran an adventurer’s tavern. He could get robbed at any moment, and just opening up the mana suppression bag around the flower was a bad idea. Still… it was getting hard…. So very hard….

Wait for me.

Kyritus closed the bag and put it away. Then he sat on his chair, lacing his fingers and putting his forehead on his hands. Not today, he thought. Just a few more months.

Kyritus stood and walked downstairs to prepare for the lunch rush. It was early morning, and he had to sweep up broken glass and place orders for new mugs. But first, it came to accounting—

—the worst part of the day.

Before he put himself through that hell, he poured himself a drink of the cheapest swill he had and sat at a table, tracing the rim of the glass until it sounded with a beautiful ring. It helped ease his mind as he stared into dead space. As always, for one reason or another, he was always pulled back to Delina and her mystery. Fascination. Alure. Mystery. Gratitude. Fear. There was always a reason to think of her, for one reason or another.

Who are you? he thought. Silky blonde hair. The face of a princess. The attitude of a miner (apparently). And her strength…. Putting aside the number of people she faced, he had to replace a table and a block of sitting wood after her attack, and the person she hit head-on had severely dented armor. At the very least, she fascinated him, and he daydreamed about meeting. Just seeing those sincere eyes again, the ones she had when she asked him to marry her… was haunting.

Suddenly, Kyritus’s warm feelings toward her shifted—just as they always did—and he got nervous. The story behind her feelings toward him was dark. He was certain of that. That and…. His chest tightened. The lengths she went to hide her identity told a terrifying story in its own right.

The day Delina visited him, the group that Delina roughed up got a crew together and started asking about her. That’s when they got a surprise. According to the town’s folk, they saw a woman of that description going into Alexbrook Tavern at the time of the incident. Some said she was a sycount. Others said she was a rogue who had business with Ubis. Hah, according to some accounts, she wasn’t in either tavern. Farmers claimed they saw her in the countryside, citizens claimed they saw her drinking and stumbling in the streets, and adventurers swore they saw her face in wanted posters. No one seemed to agree about who or where she was, but they all agreed on one thing—that they never saw her again. Ubis Grancole denied ever seeing her at all. Thus, Delina became a ghost story in Helscope, and so many contradicting facts about her surfaced that no one believed that she actually existed.

Kyritus didn’t think it was a coincidence. Delina looked like a noble, had the military prowess and battle magic of a sycount, and she was definitely sick. Whatever she did to pull off that magic act fooled everyone—

—and showed that she felt that what she was doing was dangerous.

Kyritus sighed. He wished that his warm fascination with Delina didn’t always lead to dark speculation and paranoia. It’s time to get started, he thought. He took another drink, wishing that he poured less. The last thing that he needed was to feel tired and lazy by noon. But the thing that he refused to do was waste something. So he picked up his drink and started chugging. Before he finished, there was a loud knock on the door that made him choke.

“We’re closed!” Kyritus coughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Come back at 2!”

“Look, kid,” a voice sounded on the other side of the door. “You have two options. You can open this door, or we’ll break it down. But I’ll warn you. I’m in a really shitty mood, so if you opt for the second option, I won’t stop at the door.”

Sara controlled her trembling fists, keeping it almost unnoticeable. But Telskal could see right through her anger, and the fucking sadist was reveling in it. Sara imagined the woman was moistening up, remembering the last man she tortured. Now, she was bound in heat, waiting to transform Sara’s trembling rage into a circular motion to get back in contact with her feminine side…. Jesus Fucking Christ! Sara couldn’t even debase the woman without wanting to break free like a wild beast and strangle her!

Don’t do it, Sara warned herself. It won’t change anything, and it will make this all for nothing….

“What’s wrong?” Telskal grinned. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about him?”

“I’m not,” Sara said. “I’m just pissed off that you’re wasting my time.”

“Yeah, yeah, act strong,” Telskal said. “When you see him in chains, I’m sure you’ll break.”

Don’t do it, Sara, Sara thought again. Don’t do it….

Sara definitely thought she might do it.