Dinner that night was as tense as a taut string. There were some minor seating changes. Instead of Miles sitting at the head of the table, it was Cal. Miles was on her right, Matias on her left. Melania sat on the other end of the table.

Neither woman wore a crown. Cal's hair was braided into a crown—the closest they would give her. Melania didn't need a crown to be recognized as a queen.

Miles, pale and shaking, barely ate anything on his plate. His grey eyes were fearful and anxious.

She would keep a close eye on Melania. A very close eye on her. Cal kept a cool exterior despite the fact that her magic was repulsed by Melania's very presence. 

Miles stood and excused himself. The lord was visibly shaking. Dread knotted itself in her stomach.

"Excuse me," she said and got up. She heard the scrape of another chair and knew that Matias was going with her.

"Where are you lovers going?" Melania drawled.

Cal stopped dead in her tracks.

"The Crown Princess is my charge. It's my duty to protect her. I go where she goes," Matias said cooly.

Cal looked over her shoulder at Melania. "Do you have a problem with my captain doing his job, Melania?"

The Queen smiled sweetly. "No. I'll see you in the morning, Calista."

Cal scowled and walked out. Once they were far enough away, Cal punched the stone wall.

"I hate that witch," she growled.

"I know," said Matias. "I don't like her, either."

She turned to face him. "I can't be queen, Matias. I can't even sit through a dinner."

Matias put his hands on her shoulders. "You are Calista Aelina Pyro. You wield light and fire and are heir to the powerful Pyro dynasty. You will bow to no one. You will make a fantastic queen, Cal. I know it. Don't give Melania what she wants."

He had a point. Melania was just picking fights with Cal to get a reaction. She wasn't going to bow and give Melania what she wanted. 

She was the Heir of Light and Fire, and she would bow to no one. Not even to the gods, and most certainly not the witch in the Great Hall.

—

Cal woke with a start. It was dark outside. She looked at the clock on her night table. She sent a tendril of magic through the halls. It recoiled. Something was very, very wrong.

"Matt," she said, rolling over and shaking his shoulder. "Matt, something is wrong. My magic can feel it."

"What do you mean?" Matias asked groggily, cracking open an eye.

"Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong," she repeated. Cal got out of bed and started getting ready. She threw on a red and gold tunic and tucked her burgundy pants into her black boots.

Matias sat up and began getting dressed himself. He was dressed in his red and gold guard's uniform, clasping the buckles of his boots as Cal fastened Azar at her hips.

"Let's go. I want to investigate and put my mind at ease," she said.

They stepped out into the deserted hall, moonlight streaming through the windows. Cal went in the direction her magic recoiled in. The air grew colder and colder, the corridors darker and darker as they went. The corridors eventually grew so dark, Cal summoned a ball of light to her hand. Even the darkness gobbled the light up whole. 

They paused outside the closed doors to the throne room. Cal's magic shrieked at her to run away.

"Cal, your nose is bleeding," said Matias.

Cal touched her fingertips to her upper lip. Her fingertips came away red with her blood.

She extinguished the light and looked in Matias's direction. She couldn't see him, but she knew he must be feeling the unnaturalness, the unholiness of what lurked in the throne room. She put her hands on the doors to the throne room and pushed in.

The darkness of the corridors fell away to the firelight of the torches mounted on the walls. There were Lucinean guards lining the walls, their faces blank and cold, and half of them all had someone on their knees before them—all bound and gagged. Cal spotted Miles and their eyes met. Miles tried to speak around the gag, but only a strangled sound came out. 

Call's eyes made their way up the dais to the throne. Her fury shone on her face, the torches on the walls burning brighter.

For Melania Andhera lounged upon the throne.