Calleighdia promised Feign her magick would take care of everything. All he had to do was deliver a stone.

Back from Exul, the commander sought to bide his time holed up in his quarters, sharpening his blades and adding to his collection, but he knew he would not be left to his own devices. The Archmage would want a full report on what transpired in Exul and she would be coming to his quarters to fetch it.

Hot water coursed over Feign's head and onto his shoulders, stinging his eyes and scorching his skin. Calleighdia had told Feign it would take awhile for him to return to normal, but he had hoped the witch would be wrong. Instead, hemma sensitivities still plagued his body.

Angered, he cursed Calleighdia under his breath. A bar of animal fat clutched in his claw, Feign scrubbed at his chest and arms, trying to lift the odor of Exul from his fur. The scent of their weakness and cowardice stung his nostrils and reminded him of the hemma he'd occupied during Calleighdia's plan.

A sudden urge to kill something rippled through him. If only the archmage had permitted Feign his axe, he could have minimized his time in Exul and ended the princes' lives right there. He wouldn't have returned smelling so repulsive.

Another surge of anger flaired to life within him and with a mad-man's fury, Feign slammed his fist into the shower's wall. Chunks of obsidian fell to the basin floor and caught in the drain.

"Damn witch," he hissed, "My axe would have been quicker. It's always quicker."

Resigning himself to live with the scent of hemma for the time being, Feign got out of the shower, grabbed a fresh tunic from off the sink and headed toward his living quarters. A coppery scent flooded his nose as he entered and helped to temper his rage.

Opposite from where he stood, his personal arsenal decorated the walls. From single-bladed daggers to double-sided axes, each had been mounted with utmost care. The glow of the fire from the hearth reflected in those polished steel and iron blades, casting the room in a reddish hue.

A worktable ran the length of the farthest wall, an array of hand-sized weapons, leather holsters, and sharpening stones strewn on the marred wood. Small jars of varnish made of Feign's own mix of tar and blood sat off in a corner collecting gnats. Various large, glass jars filled the space, each housing a green liquid reminscient of pond scum, a head from one of Feign's enemies suspended in the liquid.

The first of the heads to meet Feign's gaze as he strode in was the one with murky, grey eyes. This head bobbed up and down in its jar atop the mantle, the fire lighting it in a way that gave it an otherworldly feel. Though chunks of flesh had rotted away and floated freely in the liquid, the face remained just as Feign remembered when he had taken it from the mage at the Chapel of Calomar. The gold bangles worn in the cat-man's ears, though rusted now, had jingled like tiny bells when Feign's axe had ripped through his spine.

Smiling, Feign walked over to it, tappping on the glass as though to rouse the head from its eternal slumber. "Now, what was your name?" he asked. Flashes of fire, of screaming, of her, filled his mind. "Ah," he continued, slipping his hand into the green liquid. He plunged a finger deep into the mage's scalp, delighting in how easily the rotted bone gave way to the pressure."It's Sorrocah. You died well, mage," he said as he released the head. "Though not as well as her."

She had been Feign's triumph and her death had been his masterpiece. As if nodding in agreement, Soroccah's head bobbed up and down in the jar. Feign smiled. "It would seem even the dead understand what is true."

Taking a seat opposite the fire, Feign propped his bare feet on the hearth. The heat needled at his sore foot pads. With a sigh, he closed his eyes, letting the low crackle of flame carry away his thoughts. His mind went to where it always had- the night of Nocturnis' rebellion. They had all cried, had all screamed as they bled, except her.

A good queen never screamed and Queen Lorreilana Dinn' Aelurus had been a queen worthy enough to shoulder a kingdom's name. Too bad Feign had been commanded to make her bloodline extinct.

Had it not been for the loud rap at his door, Feign would have remained seated, letting the queen's death play over and over in his mind's eye. Another knock sounded before Feign was on his feet, yanking open his door, fangs bared.

He glowered at the small Aelurian female standing in the door frame.

"It's about time," he hissed.

The cat-woman smiled and strode into the room, casting her curious gaze on his weapons, then his heads. In most of Feign's experience, it was usually the other way around.

Large, circular markings of the Archmage's order covered her chestnut fur. The pattern slithered across her body, making her look as though she were in motion even as she stood still in the middle of Feign's room. A full moon brand had been seared into the flesh between her beady eyes, a mark that mimicked Feign's own, which spoke to their unyielding allegiance to new king.

"Why bother to knock, Archmage? Your kind can conjure the winds at will, no?"

The cat-woman's mouth peeled back into a snarl. "I prefer fire, Commander, though yes, an Archmage can summon the elements at will. A rudimentary skill, honestly. One I'd rather not waste my time on."

Light on her feet, the small woman glided over toward Feign's balcony, her eyes hard trained on the evening settling over the hills. A blood moon emerged from the west, rising high into the sky, signifying the new blood on the throne and their prophesied one-hundred-year reign. It cast Aelurus in a wonderous red haze. Calleighdia smiled and turned toward Feign, the words he least wanted to hear falling from her lips. "You did not report back to me."

Releasing a sigh, Feign rested his hand along the mantle, his fingertips brushing the base of Soroccah's jar. Cruel thoughts floated through his mind.

What would the Archmage look like preserved in a jar? How would fear mold her features in her last moments alive?

Feign smirked before finally addressing the Archmage."The hemma has the stone. You knew that the moment I returned. I should not have to report my affairs to you."

Calleighdia nodded and tapped one of Feign's jars with the sole of her slipper. "You would have preferred more... barbaric means, in handling the princes, yes?"

"Of course."

"You may think your way quicker, Commander, but do remember at least for now, you answer to me."

Feign clicked his tongue in disgust."I assist you," he corrected. "Because for the time being, it sates my boredom."

Calleighdia snorted and shot the cat-man a smile. "I'm sure you have other means in which to sate your boredom. Why, recently when I passed the dungeons, I saw your hack necromancers stitiching up your most recent plaything. She's quite worn. Perhaps you should think about getting a new one."

"Perhaps that someone should be you?" Feign hissed, grabbing the handle of SoulRend. Calleighdia's head would make a welcomed addition to his collection.

Shoulders back, Calleighdia strode over to Feign. Her lips curled upward as she addressed him. "Such an impudent hessren. You would dare tempt me, when I meant to come here peacefully?"

Smiling, Feign tapped his fingers on the handle of his axe. He envisioned the cut his blade would make, the blood that would spill from her throat, her gurgled screams, the look of her eyes the moment death claimed her. "I would."

Giving him a slight nod, Calleighdia turned to the fire. In a tongue Feign had never heard before, she called out to the flames, pulling them toward her until a firestorm engulfed her body. She did not burn. Her smile spread, wider, wilder, like the very flames that consumed her. Sweat formed on Feign's brow from Calleighdia's immense heat, but he remained steadfast, his axe at the ready.

As Feign was about to bring his axe down on the Archmage, a knock rang throughout the room. Sighing, Feign threw his axe to the ground and ripped open the door.

Calleighdia extinguished her flames. "That's a shame," she cooed. "It would have been fun to watch you burn."

"And to have watched you bleed, Bloodeater."

On the other side of the door, a cat-man stood dressed in the garb of one of the necromancy.

That could only mean one thing.

With a shaky gait, the messenger ushered in a figure draped in black cloth before bowing to the Commander and the Archmage, his eyes filled with terror as he met both their bloodthirsty gazes.

"Your plaything's arrived," Calleighdia said, giving voice to Feign's thoughts. She moved beside him to steal a glance at Feign's most prized conquest.

Shallow breath moved underneath the cloth that covered the figure. The stench of death felt many times over flooded the room. "This kind of scent only follows the most wicked of hearts," the Archmage remarked. "It fits you perfectly."

The voice that called out to Feign sounded distant. He was in his own world where only he and his toy existed. His eyes took note of her heaving chest. His ears picked up on the gurgled sound of her slight exhales. Feign's own breathing grew rapid and deep as he gasped for her fragrance to fill all of him. She was truly in front of him, patched up and ready.

"Your excitement is palpable, Commander," Calleighdia said as she moved toward the door. "I think it best for me to leave you to your pleasure."

Feign's fingertips graced the figure's veil, her warm breath a welcomed sensation on his fur. Gold eyes peered at him from beyond the thin silk. Feign's mind raced with a single question; how would he kill her today?

"Before I go, remember this," Calleighdia said. She strode toward the door, but not before sending a small breeze to rustle the creature's veil. She frowned when she spied the stark, white bone of its jaw. "Once our time together is done, Feign, I will send my fire to claim you, this room, and this queen. Everything your black heart delights in will be turned into ash. You do not, dear Commander, cross the Archmage and expect to live."

Feign broke his gaze away from those lovely gold eyes. He snarled at the witch, his fingers twitching, longing to reach out and snap the Calleighdia's frail neck. "Well heard, witch," he said, narrowing his eyes. "I look forward to the day I claim your head for myself."

The Archmage returned his smile and disappeared down the hall. Feign slammed the door close and returned to the figure. She stood sentinel, her gaze still upon him, as unwavering as it had always been.

"My Queen," he said huskily as he lifted the veil off her head. "It has been too long."

Taking her hand in his, he leaned over and gave it a kiss. The fragrance of rotten flesh overwhelmed Feign's senses. Patches of dirtied white fur replaced the areas where the queen's black fur had fallen off and the flesh had decayed. Feign made a mental note to reward his necromancers; they had done well keeping her intact for so many years.

"You are a sight I have sorely missed," he whispered, resting his head on her shoulder. Petting her cheek first, he slowly moved his hand toward her neck, his fingertips grazing the gnarled scar under her fur. This had been her death blow, the first of many Feign had given her.

"You know, your highness, you give me comfort like no one else can. "

With a great amount of effort, Feign pushed himself off her and went for his axe. "These past few days have been rough. So please," he said, Soulrend raised above his head, "comfort me."

In one swift strike, he brought his blade down on the queen, savoring in the way it tore into her shoulder. Though her blood had long since dried up, Feign never got tired of hearing the sound of her bones crunching.

"Did that hurt?" he asked. "I can't tell anymore, given your flesh is too rigid to flinch." Pulling his axe free, he looked her in the eyes. "I'll assume it hurts. And maybe, when Calleighdia's magick claims your sons, I'll have my necromancers preserve them like they did you. What do you say? A little after-death family reunion for the last of the Crescent Moon line?"

The slightest of shudders trailed from the queen's shoulders to her tail. Feign smiled. "I knew you were still in there," he said, hefting his axe above his head. "Now if I do that for you, you'll have to do something for me." Moving in closer, he leaned in toward her ear. "Scream," he said, before bringing the axe down on the back of her head. The loud crack of the skull snapping in half made Feign howl in euphoria. "Though this is wonderful," he purred,"I do miss the sound of your voice."

^-^Remember to vote and comment on this chapter if you enjoyed it guys and gals! And can I say, I did not set out for this story to be so dark, but, well, here it is.^-^