The vines moved with a mind all their own, as though they were connected to Alera's own mentality, her wishes and desires. As she fought Nicholas back, they slithered across the floor towards him and the remaining dark tentacles that still lingered. It was no battle— the vines engulfed and snuffed out the weakening magic like a dwindling candle flame as Alera's grew with each absorption through the dagger. It was like it was an additional appendage, a part of her, working in tandem and yet having its own autonomy.

"You witch," Nicholas snarled as the vines latched onto his ankles and wrists, wrapping around his legs and arms. "You heathen, you canny bitch."

The vines wrapped around his head, covering his mouth like a living gag, but nothing he could slur at her stopped her approach. There was no fight left in him that could scare her anymore. The dagger had seen to that, absorbing every last bit of her dark energy, now pulsating with its own magical glow. All while the vines pulled the Prince's arms and legs outwards towards the corners of the room. He groaned in what sounded like pain, and Alera actually smiled. With one word she knew she could have him torn in quarters.

She wanted nothing more, after all the pain he had caused, and felt the dagger's thirst for the same. But was it her own magic, or the taint of his darkness that was taking over the clarity of her mind?

This man had tormented her kingdom, her people, her father— innocents that had nothing to do with his disgusting endeavor, all because of his obsession with her and her power. None of which were ever his to begin with, she didn't care about whatever arrangements her father may have made on her behalf. By now, it was moot— Nicholas has overstepped his boundaries and played the wrong cards.

It was the last hand he was ever going to play.

She grit her teeth as the building power threatened to consume her, and she was so ready to allow it to do so. For her father. For her Mother. For Palazia. For—

"Alera."

As if she summoned him, she glanced over her shoulder ever so slightly to see Jere standing in the doorway of her father's room, sweaty and covered in blood. She was unable to discern if it was his or someone else's but there was no time for technicalities. Guards gathered behind him, glancing up and over and around as if to see what was happening in their king's quarters, The wolves whimpered at his legs, but Jere was not allowing any of them to pass. Not as he stood, as still and sturdy as a statue while his gaze met hers.

For Jere, she would do anything.

For Jere, she would end this treachery once and for all.

For Jere—

"Alera, what are you doing?"

Jere's voice was like a whisper on the wind compared to the thrum of the magic within her hand.

"I'm ending this." She barely recognized her own voice.

"Not like this." She could sense it when Jere finally took a step into the magic-concentrated room. Like water in a sponge, it almost seemed to squelch as he stepped on the rug, and the ripples reverberated straight through her. "Not like him."

"He doesn't deserve mercy," she insisted, though she could hear the emotion threatening her tone. Tears began to sting her eyes as she stared at the man who would have so readily destroyed everything she knew and loved for his own selfish purposes. And what right did he have to any of it? None. Which was why Alera could not allow him to breathe for another moment. "He has to be stopped."

"And he can be. He will be." Jere stepped closer even still, so close he was able to put a warm hand on Alera's shoulder. And as always, his touch was like an electric jolt, shocking through her system and returning her to the present. "It just needs to be the right way."

"The right way," she parroted. What was the right way? Was her father promising her to this monster the right way? Was her mother leaving her people only to die giving birth to her the right way? Was Alera bringing pain and suffering to the innoncents of the forest— of Palazia— just because of who she was the right way? Was Jere— beautiful, perfect Jere— giving up everything for her the right way? No...

She shook her head. "This is the only way."

"Is this what your father would want?" Jere's voice remained calm, gounded, soft and gentle despite the linger threats that continued to surround them. The vines holding Nicholas aloft, the darkness that threatened to consume them all if she delayed any longer...

She blinked. "My father—."

Her father, lying all but lifeless in the bed behind her, nearly forgotten in the chaos of ending the life of the bastard who did this to him.

"And also your mother."

"What— what does my mother have to do with this?"

He nodded down to the dagger clutched tightly in her hand.

The same dagger her mother had given her to be the change the world needed to set things right.

Her breath shuddered as the tears fell down her cheeks.

He leaned over and kissed away her tears. "Let's end this the right way. Together."

Together.

Jere's hands trailed down her arms to the dagger, bringing them together between his, that throbbing force aiming towards the soon-to-be defeated prince.

Together. Because for the first time in Alera's life, she wasn't alone, and wasn't going to allow herself to be alone ay longer.

"Together," she breathed out, and closing her eyes she allowed the power that raged through her to finally rush outwards, towards Jere's hands and into him where their bodies touched. But instead of the anger she felt in the dark magic consumed by the dagger, with Jere it yielded and seemed to calm, as if the goodness in him was so palpable even the darkest of magics could be contained.

She allowed him and their shared power take control. Willing them to use her as a conductor. And that's exactly what they did— Jere leaned his head against hers as he clasped her hands and the dagger tightly within his. Together he guided her to raise the dagger up and out, pointing it towards Nicholas.

The Prince, in turn, had become quite still during the entire interaction, and Alera opened one eye just to make sure he was still alive.

The hatred in Nicholas' gaze could have made any mortal run in the opposite direction. But she wasn't just any mortal. And he knew it. Especially now.

She held that gaze. Held that gaze with all her might. She wanted him to know she saw him. She wanted him to watch her. To know that is her she, Alera of Palazia, who finally ended his reign.

She let out a slow breath, and with it the magic was released into the room, the brightness of its power almost blinding as it rushed out of the dagger and through her vines. Nicholas screamed as the light met him and sooner overtook him, drawing out every last bit of darkness until the last black tendril remained and had no choice but to retreat into the shadows as they were dissipated by the light.

Nicholas, who seemed to have lost all energy, was no more than a husk of a man without his black magic to carry him along. The dark eyes that once seemed to have so much power they could peer through to her soul now were no more than dull marbles. There was no power in them. Contempt but nothing palpable. And when she finally asked the vines to release him, he slumped to the floor like a child's ragdoll.

The remaining loyal guards took that as their cue to move into action. Filing in from the bedroom door, they surrounded and gathered Nicholas up off the ground, a guard on each side, two behind and two in front. But there was no fight left in the dark prince. His head fell forward, his face covered by his black hair.

"What shall we do with him, Princess?"

She had to bite her tongue in telling them what she'd really prefer to do with him, but after a quick glance at Jere who seemed to already be expecting it, she let out a breath. "Take him to the dungeons. He can remain in a cell until we figure out what we're going to do with him."

"As you wish, Princess." The guards bowed in unison before excusing themselves, carrying their new prisoner between them and out of the room.

Alera watch them leave, her mind contemplating the next move where Nicholas was involved, until she was nuzzled behind the knee by a warm snout.

She almost forgotten about the wolves, left behind to help Jere keep those loyal to Nichoas away, and all of them now were in the room, but not lingering near her— no, now they had proceeded deeper in, towards the bed, where Jere stood looking down at the form of her father, still barely breathing in the state Nicholas had left him.

Alera felt her heart crumble. A part of her thought that when she had defeated Nicholas in any way she would, everything he'd done would be set right. But her father did not move. Had not changed.

She had taken all of Nicholas' magic from him and hadn't considered asking him how to save her father.