Cal schooled her face into a mask of calm. They had raced back to the castle as fast as they could. She changed her tunic and pants for a cobalt and gold gown. She now sat upon her mother's throne on the dais—her back ram-rod straight. Miles stood to her right, dressed in red and gold finery. Matias stood at the bottom of the dais, his hand on the pommel of his sword.

The doors flew open. A woman stalked forward. Her skin was as pale as death, her raven hair was down save for a few locks pinned back away from her cold face. Guards flanked and followed Melania. The were all dressed in black—the guards, however, had silver stitching on their tunics.

Melania paused before the dais. Her soulless ebony eyes bore into Cal's. Cal lifted her chin slightly and willed a crown of flames to her head. Melania's gaze darkened before she gave a shallow bow. She rose from the bow, giving a false smile up to the lord and princess.

"Your Highness, Your Grace," she said. "My apologies for not sending word."

"Why are you here?" Cal said bluntly. 

"I want to strengthen our ties. Our... political relationship has become hostile. If you would be so kind, I would like to stay and work on an alliance or treaty of sorts."

Cal looked up at Miles. His lips were pressed together so tightly that they were bloodless. His stone-cold face betrayed nothing to her or the queen. Cal looked back to Melania.

"You have one week," she said. "No more, no less."

Melania grinned with too-white teeth. "Thank you, Your Highness." Her voice, her eyes, her smile made Cal's blood run cold.

"The guards outside will escort you to your rooms," Cal said icily.

Melania's eyes lingered on Miles before she glanced at Cal, turned on her heel, and strode out.

Cal slumped back on her mother's throne, the crown of fire winking out. She watched Miles step down the dais and whisper something to Matias, and stride out.

—

Matias saddled up Khalesi and Aerys. He had packed the saddlebags full of fruit, dried meats, bread, and cheese. His father's words still echoed in his ears.

"No matter what happens in the coming days, take Cal and run at the first sign of danger. Run to Soturi and find the Everlight. He'll help you two. This is an order, Matias Gomez. Promise me you'll take her and run when danger strikes."

He promised his father that he would. Even if he had to drag his beloved by her toenails kicking and screaming.

He wasn't expecting Queen Melania this soon. How was she able to breach the Wards around Tenebrarum? Did she somehow make a bargain with the gods? Or was it a pact with darker forces—like the Princes of Helheim or, gods forbid, the Diablo himself?

Matias shivered at the thought. But she did have all the hallmark signs of a witch. The deathly pale skin, the night-dark hair, the dark, soulless eyes... But no dark magic.

Footsteps approached. Matias looked up to his father. 

"How are you holding up?" asked Matias.

Miles stood by Khalesi, securing the bridles around the mare's head. "Still shaky, but somewhat fine."

"Do you have any idea as to why Melania is here?"

"I doubt she's here to make friends," Miles said cynically. "She's aged well, I have to admit."

Matias's brows furrowed. "She's not in her thirties?"

"Nope. She's four years older than I am. She should have some grey hair by now."

A thought struck Matias. "Is Melania the witch who controlled you?"

Silence.

"Yes, she is."

Matias's heart dropped. Gods above, Melania was a witch.

Miles walked around Khalesi and Aerys to his son. There was a small pouch in his hands. He held it out to Matias. "Here, take it."

Matias's brows furrowed as he took the pouch from his father. He peered inside and found gold, silver, and copper coins. He looked back up at Miles. "Thank you."

His father held up a shaky hand. "Don't thank me now. We're not out of the woods yet."