DAY 39-7: FROST

   "Orian!" Leda yells, fear gripping her by the shoulders.

   He isn't moving.

   He looks so lifeless.

   "This isn't good."

   Leda's heart stops at Hadey's words. She spins to see the very girl trying to swallow back unbelievable fear.

   "He appears to have lost too much blood. Supposing he's still alive, he doesn't have long left. He needs to be treated right away."

   Leda stops her gaping by gnawing on her bottom lip. As someone who was at Avel's behest, discreetly picking up on his quack studies growing up, there's no doubt she's honest.

   "Supposing he's still alive."

   She grounds her teeth, clenching the fabric of her chest. There is no supposing to it.

   He is alive. She won't allow otherwise.

   "Hn, what is this?" The man with the tallest chef toque on his head speaks first, breaking from the crowd. He's short, the length of his hat compensating for his lack of height, but his wide, turquoise eyes are intimidating. "Visitors? One maid. And one outsider."

   "Chef Jupus," one of the workers speaks up.

   "Continue with the preparations," 'Jupus' states, his nasally voice grating in Leda's ears. "Because that Mond princess split, Her Majesty is out for blood. And what perfect condolence exists other than a blood cake, her favourite dessert, featuring that very species? Hn, she'll love it!"

   The band of cooks adhere with a nod, stirring up the large pot of boiling ingredients, wafting a sickly sweet smell.

   Leda grounds her teeth. "You—"

   "My esteemed guests," Jupus speaks, a malevolent twinkle in his eye. "It sounds utterly marvellous, doesn't it? A blood cake consisting of such a foul hybrid. But foul means nothing in the presence of the great Jupus—Non, there is no ingredient I cannot use to prepare the most exquisite dishes for the royal family's palates! Such is because—"

   "—you're the greatest chef in all of Straeh!" his workers chorus.

   "Precisely." He smirks. "And I won't dare let anyone—even the Queen herself—get in the way of my cooking—"

   "Who gives a crap about cooking or some sadistic cake!" Leda's explosive shout—as well as a kick between his legs shuts him right up. She delivers equally shattering boots to his coworkers' privates before they can blink. "Get my friend down from there, dammit!"

   Amidst their bulged-eyed shock, Leda slips through the crowd and searches for a way to turn off the boiling cauldron. There's no plug, though. Or off button. It's truly as if it's running—burning—solely off magic. Grounding her teeth, Leda reaches for the rope constricting Orian's limbs.

   "Ma...ster..."

   The faint-as-a-feather whisper stalls Leda's heartbeat. Her attention darts to her companion only to have something patter onto her cheek. It takes her a hot second to realize it's tears. Orian's half-lidded eyes are a testament to his frail state, alongside the dried blood staining every inch of his skin and quivering mouth. He can hardly summon the strength to move—breathe—as if he's doing all he can to stay conscious.

   "Orian!" Leda's heart clenches at his woeful state. "I'll get you down from here. Damn bastards—why're these knots impossible to untie—"

   "I'm so glad..."

   Her words catch in her throat. Her fingers that were scrambling so desperately to loosen the constraints of his limbs, halt, as she gawks at the waterworks teeming from his eyelids and tinkering onto her face and to the ground.

   "I-I thought," he repeats, sniffling, "I couldn't protect you... Th-that because of me... you..."

   Leda's pupils shrink, lips parting in shock. The last time they'd seen each other flashes across her mind, leaving a crater in her heart. That's right... As far as Orian was concerned, she'd "died" right in front of him. She left him stranded on his deathbed, with the knowledge he'd had his companion killed.

   "Leda!"

   Hadey's shout snaps her to her senses. Her hands fling to the ropes, and she resumes untangling the mess. "Quick, Hadey. I already kicked these guys in the balls. While they're debilitated, help me get Orian down—"

   "Not that!"

   Leda makes a face. "I know, I know. It's dirty and cheap, but it's effective. Forget about ethics. Right now, saving Orian is our first priority—"

   "Behind you!"

   Leda ganders over her shoulder in time to skim the dagger swung right at her. She can hardly react—make sense of it—in time. Fortunately, Hadey head-butts her abdomen, avoiding another attack by a thin hair, and the two girls tumble onto the cold floor.

   The force sends Orian's body teetering back and forth, his hair skimming the boiling water. Leda fights a groan alongside Hadey.

   Jupus hovers above them, two sharp kitchen knives in hand. His subordinates carry equal animosity in their countenances as they circle them.

   "Nobody touches my food," Jupus snaps, eyes wide. "Nobody messes with my kitchen."

   "Damn, for real?" Leda stutters, scrambling onto her knees. "What the hell are your magical balls made of in this world? I kicked them hard enough to need medical attention!"

   Hadey offers her hand, and Leda utilizes it to her ascend to her feet. "Leda, this vulgar talk is embarrassing. Clearly, they're all right. Let's focus on coming out of this unscathed."

   The chefs revolve around them, Jupus in front. He bares his teeth, and without even the slightest hesitation, reaches and pulls a spatula from his crotch. "You think I would work in my kitchen without proper protection? The art of being a chef is an ongoing battle, and I cannot let anything hinder my ability to provide for the royal family, else I'll be kicked out of here. Especially if this 'anything' includes physical blows."

   His staff follow suit, retrieving cooking utensils from their shall-not-be-named areas.

   Hadey has to perform a double-take.

   "Do you always keep your utensils— I've been—I've been eating in this palace for the last ten years—"

   Leda, on the other hand, is desensitized. "I should've known you Hearts would have this up your sleeves! Cowards!"

   Jupus flaunts his giant knife at them. "Call us passionate. Not once for the thirty years I've served this family and palace staff have I failed to serve a meal. I will upkeep that tradition for as long as I'm alive."

   "Ha," Leda scoffs. "I would've liked to try these so-called "meals" of yours, but sadly your dish is trying to incorporate my companion. Sick bastards."

   The tension in the air thickens.

   "The cooking utensils... This entire time, they've stored them..." Nobody pays Hadey's distressed ramblings any mind.

   Not that they have the chance, really.

   In perfect unison, as if representing the collectiveness of the palace cooks, they spring for their throats from all directions.

   "I've never had the honour of preparing human flesh before." Jupus who lingers behind for a moment, licks his lips, insanity clear in his, and the other chefs' gazes. "A Mond. Human. Not to mention a traitorous Heart. Oh, will Her Majesty be delighted."

♥♦♣♠

"Aren't you going to the ceremony, Your Majesty?"

The Queen of Hearts stares out into the view of Straeh. The glistening sheens of white frost that conceal all; even the citizens chanting and whooping by the palace gates. "I will join soon, Jack Mavix," she purrs.

Disregarding his presence by the doors, Estelle tugs the item she caresses to her chest, her lips curled back wide. The skull is hollow, and battered, but she strokes it gently, lovingly, as she brings it to her cheek.

"The day has finally come," she whispers, tenderly, as if wishing none but sweet nothings. "Our nation will come to realize true love once and for all. You were too naive to see it entirely, that's why I had to take over. But I did it all for you, Aren. Everything I did was for you."

♥♦♣♠

The clock strikes one.

   Bells chime in the distance. Cheers resound from the citizens crowding the palace, alongside the plentiful nobles and other aristocratic guests that fill the hall. Soft, serenading music pools from the musical instruments the musicians utilize for the occurrence.

   The 5 Holy Sorcerers and other top officials line the backs of the room. Smirking figures concealed behind cloaks sit perched on beams of the tall cathedral.

   It's finally here. A moment that's been anticipated for years.

   Avel, dressed in a blinding white, stands in the blindsight of his people, servants by his side.

   Elsewhere, Valentina locks her fingers at the forefront of her silky dress, turquoise eyes forward.

   A shout from below echoes accordingly.

   "Let the wedding begin!"

   And it does.

_________________________________________

So sorry for the late update!! It's currently midterm season so I'm dying under the stress of exams/assignments. Plus I'm tackling NaNoWriMo 2020, but with a different book,,, Lol, I managed to write this very small chapter while neglecting an assignment I have due tonight b/c I saw people were reading this and I felt bad for not updating in a while. Hopefully it was all right? :)

I can't guarantee another update until maybe December (I'm gonna try my best to finish FS before the end of this year!). I guess we'll see how that works out.

Any who, tell me your thoughts about the chapter! <3

Thanks for reading!

—Misty