I often thought it was best to act first and ask for forgiveness later. To do what was necessary, even if some might not agree; and more so if I believed my way was the correct way.

And in this particular case, I was right. I was always right.

The bottle I'd summoned for Luned to use to send her message to Gwenore; it was enchanted. The tincture I'd sprinkled on it, the magic I'd imbued it with was a powerful spell that worked in our favor.

And while she scolded me at first, telling me how risky it was, Luned eventually agreed that my secrecy would end up winning us the war. That my cunning, last-minute decision to charm the bottle she'd sent to Gwenore might be beneficial in the long run.

"It's like a spy," I explained to her and Jack, hours after Luned had expedited the bottle over to Gwenore. "If they keep it—and knowing Ossenna and Sym, they will—it'll allow us insight into the castle, wherever it goes."

"Like a crystal ball of sorts?" Luned understood quickly what kind of magic I'd used, and I knew she'd want to learn to wield such powers herself.

I'd teach her, in due time. If she upheld her end of the bargain. If she gave me the royal power I craved, I'd give her the magic she craved.

Jack was more confused, staring at me like I was a crazy inventor of some machine that made no sense. Of course, his knowledge of magic was minimal; he wouldn't understand how charming a bottle would work. "How does it give you insight? Where do you look, how do you see what it sees?"

I tapped my temple. "In here. The bottle is connected to me, to my mind. It flashes images to me when I tune into our connection."

Jack huffed. "Right, so Luned and I can't see what you're seeing." He scowled at me, as if trying to be intimidating. Cute. "How do we know you're telling the truth?"

I refrained from doing what I'd wanted to do to him for a while—shove him up against a wall, wrap my hands around his throat, squeeze. My lips would slide into a smile as I watched the breaths evacuate from him, his lips turning blue. His stupid voice and stupid questions gone forever, Luned and I finally left alone and in peace.

But before I could turn my imagination into reality, Luned grabbed my arm, as if detecting my intentions even before I did. "Otho," she whispered, subtly shaking her head. "Don't."

Fine. I wouldn't physically harm Jack, but that didn't mean I wouldn't infuse as much fear in him as I could. He needed to learn what lines not to cross; and doubting me, demeaning me, questioning me, especially in front of Luned, wouldn't do.

"Have I led you astray so far?" I approached him slowly, invading his space without touching him. Showing him that no matter how tall and in shape he thought he was, I'd always be better. I'd always be more powerful. I'd always have Luned's love; he'd have nothing. "Have I done anything to make you think I'm not trying to get us all to the castle? To achieve our domination goals?"

Jack snarled at me, surprisingly unaffected by my overpowering presence, for once. Normally he cowered, flinched; today he remained steadfast. It was almost impressive.

"To the castle, sure. But you're on the throne," he pointed at me, then at Luned, "and I'm on the ground-floor. Forgive me for ensuring my own survival while you two plan to overthrow the current queen to take her spot. I'm not too involved in those domination goals."

Again, I fought the violent urge to grab him and hurt him. Instead, I returned his snarl, doing my best to infuse my body with all the power and presence of an Ace-mage. A being to be respected and to not defile with such words.

How dare he?

"Your survival depends on your mouth, boy," I said, anchoring my eyes into his dark depths, seeking the feelings he held in deep down. "You stand tall now, but you cower on the inside. Without Luned and I to ensure your protection, you know damn well you'd be dead."

He parted his lips to retort, his eyebrows bunching in the same way a child's did, when confused and offended by a parent's reprimand.

But I raised my palm, stopping his complaints, whatever they were. "You dare doubt me when I'm the only reason you're alive? Be realistic, Jack. Had I not stepped in and changed our plans, you'd still be in that foreign prince's realm, without magic. Or you'd have come through the mirror and ended up in the Acewood dungeon, where Gwenore would torture you until you died."

His eyes bulged out as he shook his head. All his earlier bravery began to fade. "She wouldn't." He gulped, his bulky frame looking ready to deflate beneath my words. "You wouldn't have done that. Left me to rot." He glanced at Luned, fear on his face. "Right?"

"Of course not," she said at once, lurching forward to take his hands in hers.

I swallowed the bile at the top of my throat, the feelings of rage that her friendship with this moron caused in me. For him, it was more than friendship; he was so desperately in love with Luned he'd do about anything for her.

That was why he traveled with us. Not for protection, not because he agreed with our cause. Not in the hopes to receive some special position at court when we prevailed.

But because in that pea-sized brain of his, he thought he could be with Luned. He thought he could take her from me. He thought he had any chance of loving her, taking care of her, pleasuring her the way I could.

I wanted him to rot. His thoughts alone made him my worst enemy. His presence was toxic to me, and he made me, a powerful mage, nauseous with every breath he took.

But if I killed him, I'd lose Luned, meaning I'd lose my path to the throne. And that, I couldn't allow to happen.

"Tell him to watch his mouth," I said to Luned, lowering my voice as she returned to me. "Or else."

"Otho, please," she said, rubbing my arm, her tone affectionate and cooing. Which I hated, because it always had a subduing effect on me. It always made me forget why I was mad. "He needs us. And he's an idiot, I know," she ensured only I heard this, "but he can be useful to our plans, you know this."

"I do. I loathe it, but I do." I cleared my throat. "So make sure he stays in line. Otherwise, I will slice him open from navel to neck, and I don't care how much it upsets you. He's a distraction, Luned."

She hadn't appreciated that, but she had spoken to Jack privately after, and I hadn't heard many complaints since.

Now, alone in my cavern in the middle of the Hartland jungle, I waited. I'd sent Luned and Jack out on a mission to set up traps, to enchant the trees and branches and shrubs for Gwenore's imminent arrival.

The bottle had allowed me enough insight to know our false queen was livid. She was on the verge of cracking and doing something senseless, like walk right into my traps. Like bring her entire crew here, to Hartland, where I'd be prepared to face her and my other foes.

They'd left the enchanted bottle in the meeting-room. I'd had access to all their conversations, all their arguments. I'd sensed Ossenna's troubles, Sym's angst, Ysac's confusion. I'd watched Astrida and Tilda argue over the foreign prince, and stuff their faces with delicacies while the more important members of the royal team debated tactics.

And I'd found out that Sym and Ossenna had hired a new Arden.

I sat in my cushioned seat, surrounded by stone and lanterns flickering over the walls. It was so quiet in this cave that one might almost say it was peaceful. I reveled in the silence, for once not on edge from Jack's presence. Not constantly aroused by Luned's proximity.

I was on my own to analyze all the things I'd heard and piece things together.

Gwenore's anger had caused her to make many missteps; at least, according to her advisors. She refused to entertain suitors, didn't want children, would leave her heritage to her sisters.

"Which means I must target Astrida and Tilda, too," I said, steepling my fingers, a sneaky smirk over my lips.

Tilda would be more difficult to subdue; while she drank and partied more, and was younger, she also had an intuition that had her sisters beat. She played the immature card, but she was in fact quite wise, and paid close attention to her surroundings.

And she'd lived in Hartland and had access to some of its secrets.

But Astrida...she was distracted. Clearly still obsessed with Prince Teodric, her common sense thrown out the window. All she cared about was him, how to approach him, how to spy on him, how to take him away from Ysac.

Cornering her, killing her, wouldn't be complicated.

It went against what Luned plotted—get to Gwenore first before the Aces could protect her—but I found that weakening my enemy made for a more satisfying kill. And what better way to weaken said enemy than by removing those she loved from her presence, one by one?

The meeting-room was empty at the moment, chairs pushed in and nothing covering the darkened surface of the table. But it was a matter of moments, I knew. I'd sensed tension the last time they'd all gathered, saw the irritation in their expressions.

And that Arden...they were interesting, for sure. Quiet, contemplative, as every Arden was supposed to be, but...there was something else. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on yet.

I had no doubt that soon enough, the room would fill up, and I'd find out what their plans were to better thwart them.

And they'd have no idea. This bottle's magic was undetectable by Sym and Ossenna, and I didn't think this newbie Arden would have any clue of its energy, either. It'd been sitting on a side table near the window ever since Gwenore and Ysac brought it in. It remained unanalyzed, forgotten as if it had never existed. Everyone had focused on Luned's message and not the vessel it came in.

Yes, Ysac had thought it was poisoned, and in a way, he was right; but no one would be able to ascertain it. Not unless they looked closely enough to see the sparkles of magic along the glass surface.

And they wouldn't. They were too busy focusing on how to catch us unawares, thinking we wouldn't be prepared for them.

The images were so clear in my head, as if I was there with them. As if the bottle was me, and I was hidden in plain sight, picking up on all their communications, to their detriment.

A creaking door caught my attention, but it wasn't there, in my cavern; it was in the meeting-room. It was visible through my connection with the bottle. A bit blurry, but clear enough for me to visualize everything going on in the room, no matter where the occupants sat at the table.

I tuned deeper into the bottle's magic, watching as the meeting-room door opened to show Gwenore storming in, hands bunched at her sides.

Oh, she was pissed. Her eyes were creased, her upper lip curled as she plopped into her throne, sitting upright like a rod ran from her neck to her buttocks.

Following her were Ossenna and Sym, both harried and confused. And Arden, sweeping in without emotion, but a slight twitch in their limbs.

Soon after came Ysac, shrugging on a red coat; and Teodric, ruffling his messy mane and looking down to hide his flushed cheeks.

Then the princesses, both slower with their voluminous dresses, peered at the attendees without knowing what in the world was going on.

I knew.

I rubbed my hands as they all took their seats, peering at Gwenore for an explanation.

I knew what was happening because we'd provoked it. We'd made this happen. We'd shifted our energies, traveled by magical means to draw their attention. To draw them out of the castle, to bring them where we wanted them.

Where we had dominance.

Here, in Hartland.

Gwenore cleared her throat, and I stood from my seat, eyes closed as I homed in on the discussion to come. The discussion they had no clue I was a part of and that would end up being their demise.

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