"The preparations are nearly complete. We are ready to begin the next phase." Her captain explained. The Queen frowned at his words but didn't reply, merely waving her hand to dismiss him. He wasn't useless, but he had nothing useful to tell her. Until the snow melted, they could only go through the motions; they would know how ready they were soon.

She stood on the highest balcony of Castle Miritis, her gaze sweeping across the overly bright horizon. The sun was just beginning its descent, with long shadows floating over the training fields and city beyond. Below her, the sound of her armies preparing for war echoed through the stone fortress. The distant clatter of swords being sharpened and armor being fitted was a constant reminder that the battle was coming. And this time, there would be no mercy.

Her eyes narrowed as she thought of the one who had eluded her time and time again.

Lukas.

His name ignited a cold fire within her. He had escaped her grasp too many times. He had defied her, slipping away just when victory seemed inevitable. He remained unwilling to accept his fate, pushing her patience to its limits. Her head pounded with anger. She would not let him get away again. This time, she would finish it.

Her fingers tightened, disrupting the soft dusting of snow that had appeared earlier that day on the stone railing. She breathed in the cold winter air, letting it fill her with determination. Lukas had been hiding in the Kingdom for too long, protected by its fading monarchy and weakened nobility. She had infiltrated their ranks, sown chaos among their advisors, and manipulated their court. It had taken years of careful planning, but now, the Kingdom was on the brink of collapse. All that was left was to tear it apart—and to find Lukas before he could escape again. She needed the season to change and the snow to melt along the inland passages to the Kingdom. Her Navy could arrive any time, but she also wanted a land attack.

Lukas still hid in the youngest prince's chambers. But she could no longer track his movements precisely. She could not risk any avenues of escape. He was a master at evasion, constantly slipping through her traps, always one step ahead. But she had caught him twice before and would do it again.

She turned as the soft sound of footsteps approached behind her. Lucius, her cousin and the Assassin for her Queendom, stepped onto the balcony, his black leathers making him nearly invisible in the shadows. His presence was always quiet and calculated, but when he dressed his role, it sent a shiver of excitement down the Queen's spine. She would have loved to see how his skills translated into the bedroom if he had not been her closest living kin.

"My Queen," Lucius greeted her with a slight bow, though his voice carried the same casual tone it always did.

The Queen didn't turn to face him. Instead, she fixed her gaze on the horizon, where the Kingdom lay waiting to be devoured. "What of Lukas and the troublesome Prince?" she asked, her voice cold and steady.

Lucius stepped closer, his hooded face still hidden in the darkness. "Theodore has returned. He must have met with a powerful healer because he has been seen walking without assistance outside his chambers once or twice. There are rumors that Lukas has been injured. Neither has been seen much in the court, and we no longer have anyone in Theodore's staff." Wariness filled his words as he referenced the night he had lost four of his best spy assassins to an unknown Water Mage working with Lukas in a botched effort to capture her prize.

The Queen's lips curled into a snarl—the thought of a Water Mage working against her flared hatred in her stomach.

The Queen thrummed her fingers against her arms impatiently, her gaze cold as she turned to her cousin, studying him closely. Shadow swallowed half his face, and the other illuminated just enough to highlight the deep lines etched into his skin—a face hardened by years of calculated decisions and unspoken burdens. His steely blue eyes reflected a quiet but unmistakable power, their intensity sharp as they met hers.

"We know Theodore was injured rescuing Rosemund. It's a shame he didn't die," she said, her voice laced with disappointment. Her cousin remained silent, his expression unreadable, but the slightest flicker in his eyes betrayed that her words did not surprise him.

"Lukas is too careful," the Queen continued, her fingers resuming their impatient rhythm. He doesn't venture out, and his absence creates caution. The Kingdom is shoring up its defenses, finally aware of its fallibility. And we," she paused, taking in the formidable presence beside her, "cannot afford more delays."

Her cousin's jaw clenched slightly. The shadows deepened the harsh lines of his face, casting him in a half-light that made him seem both a man and a weapon—waiting, poised to strike. The Queen could feel the tension between them; his silence was a sign of controlled restraint, as if he held power just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to unleash it.

Then, Lucius tilted his head ever so slightly, a glimmer of amusement flickering in his steely blue eyes. His voice, calm yet edged with dark confidence, broke the silence. "It is too late for the Kingdom," he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "They should have prepared for us years ago. Lukas is not invincible."

His words hung in the air, a quiet certainty laced with threat. In the flickering light, Lucius no longer looked merely like a man—he looked like the weapon he had always been meant to be. The Queen's fingers stopped their impatient rhythm, her gaze locking onto him with cold intensity.

"I want him alive," she said sharply, her voice cutting through the silence as she turned fully to face her cousin. "He belongs to me."

Lucius's expression didn't change, but his eyes gleamed, a flicker of understanding passing between them. His smile widened, though it held no warmth—more a reflection of the cold calculation that bound them together.

"Of course, cousin," he said smoothly, his voice carrying that same dark amusement. "Alive. Just as you ordered."

The Queen didn't respond immediately, her gaze lingering on his steely blue eyes, knowing that Lucius would carry out her command without hesitation, yet always with his edge of cruelty. He was a man of precision, a weapon she had sharpened over the years—and soon, he would deliver the Kingdom's most crucial pawn straight into her hands or lose his usefulness.

The Queen's eyes glittered in the fading light. "And the Vale? What have we learned?"

Lucius shrugged lightly, though she knew nothing ever slipped by him. "Not much. The Vale is well-protected, and its location is kept secret by those within. We suspect Raja remains there, but beyond that, we know little."

"Call the Spy to me," the Queen hissed at the guard at her chamber door. "Hopefully, he will have more information about this refuge."

She had always hated places like the Vale—places where people could hide from her, where they thought they were safe from her reach. But no one was safe. Not Lukas, not Raja, and indeed not anyone foolish enough to seek refuge in that cursed sanctuary. The Elemental Masters might be powerful, but they couldn't even stand against her might.

"The Kingdom is your focus," the Queen said finally. "Lukas is still in the Kingdom. We will deal with the Vale soon enough."

Lucius nodded. "Of course, my Queen."

The Queen watched him for a moment, calculating. Lucius was efficient and ruthless but lacked the emotional investment that drove her. He saw Lukas as just another target, another kill to claim in her name. But for her, it was more than that—much more.

Lukas had defied her. He had made a fool of her, slipping away repeatedly, mocking her with his freedom. It wasn't just about capturing him—it was about breaking him. He had to pay for his defiance, for thinking he could live a life outside of her control. And once she had him back, she would ensure he never escaped again.

The Queen turned away from Lucius dismissively and looked out over her city again. Her forces were ready. The Kingdom was weak, and soon, her Empire would spread. She would reclaim what was her birthright. The entire continent would buckle under her might.

But her mind floated back to Lucius's most recent failure, and doubt crept in. Every highly trained and carefully chosen assassin they had sent had been lost. Their meticulous planning had crumbled instantly, a stark reminder of how badly Lucius had underestimated their enemies. Lucius, ever composed, had promised their next attempt would not end the same way, but the sting of that defeat still hung in the air, a reminder of his costly miscalculation. Perhaps it was time for her to find his replacement.

Her throat clenched. Lucius got away with much being her cousin. How long could he survive on her sentiment?

"My Queen," the voice of her Spymaster pulled her from her thoughts, and she turned to the sound.

Simyon emerged from the depths of the castle's darkness, his thin figure barely distinguishable against the stone walls. The pale winter light did little to soften his sharp features; if anything, it highlighted the gauntness in his face, casting him as a creature shaped by shadows and secrets. His dark, unremarkable clothing clung to his slight frame, practical yet almost invisible against the bleak backdrop. His eyes, however—those sharp, restless eyes—scanned the balcony before landing on her, ever cautious, ever calculating.

She noted how his shoulders hunched slightly, whether from the cold or the weight of his news; she couldn't tell. As he stepped closer, the winter wind tousled the few rebellious strands of hair that had escaped the slicked-back style, but Simyon paid it no mind. His long fingers gripped the edges of his cloak, an attempt to guard against the chill, though the Queen suspected his discomfort came more from what he was about to report than the biting cold. Simyon was a man who lived in constant anticipation of her wrath, and today, as always, she enjoyed watching the fear simmer just beneath his carefully controlled exterior.

"What news do you have from the Vale?" She had taken to meeting with her advisors individually, a strategy she had honed over time. While she occasionally summoned them together—allowing them to vie for her favor—she found separating them more effective. When apart, they were more anxious, suspicious of one another, uncertain of who might hold her ear. Too much time together, and they began to collaborate and even respect each other. Divided, they were easier to control, their rivalry keeping them in line.

"The priestess of the Earth found a lingering trace of my spy. I have sent others to confirm that he found the Vale before disappearing."

The Queen noticed that Simyon carefully avoided the word "death" when speaking of the lost spy. Was it a sign of lingering affection for the man or simply an unwillingness to admit failure? His thoughts remained elusive to her, frustratingly murky. She could never fully lower herself enough to grasp the nuances of someone like him. Still, his motivations were transparent—he wanted to survive and serve and was undeniably skilled at his craft. She would never give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it aloud. His continued survival was proof enough of his competence.

"And have any survived to report back?" The Queen's voice cut through the chilled air like a blade, cold and unyielding. She barely expected an answer. Already, her mind had settled into a familiar rhythm—anticipating failure before it arrived, the taste of disappointment almost a comfort. The Obogor Mountain range lay far beyond the borders of her Queendom, a jagged wall of peaks that dwarfed even the mighty Dodsfall range, which separated her lands from the Kingdom. Those distant, towering heights held secrets—ancient magic older than the Queendom itself, older than even the Empire that had once ruled the continent. Magic her mother used to whisper about long ago before their relationship had crumbled into silence.

Her mother had been enchanted by those old legends, filling her daughter's childhood with stories of the Wizard who had shaped the mountains eons before—when the world was young, and powers moved freely through the land. The tales had meant nothing to the Queen then, just fanciful bedtime stories. But now, in the solitude of her reign, those stories weighed heavily on her thoughts, stirring long-buried fears.

Her mother had never grasped the true significance of rebuilding the shattered Empire. To her, the old tales were curiosities—wisps of the past with no bearing on the present. But the Queen had always known better. She knew that the Empire had not simply fallen by its own hand or by the chaos of its fractured leadership. No, it had been destroyed by Water—an elemental force of such raw, primal power that its touch was still felt in the crumbling remnants of cities and the scars upon the land.

The Queen had clung to this belief for years, using it as a rallying cry, a justification for the brutal methods she employed to reforge what had been lost. But deep in her heart, in the darkest corners of her mind, she knew Water was not solely to blame for the Empire's downfall. It had been more than just an elemental catastrophe—it had been the weakness of its rulers, the betrayal of allies, the unchecked ambition of the powerful. Yet the threat of Water—the fear of what it could still become—haunted her.

Her deepest fear was that a Water mage, one with the ancient force running through their veins, would someday rise again. She had nightmares of such a mage emerging from the shadows, their elemental power uncontainable, unstoppable, capable of undoing all she had worked to rebuild. The thought gnawed at her, a shadow that followed her every decision and command.

Though Water had not truly been the cause of the Empire's collapse, she had shaped it into the enemy of her Queendom. It was safer that way—more tangible, easier to blame. Still, in her darkest moments, she knew her fear wasn't about the past—it was about the future. A future where Water would return, where its full elemental fury would be harnessed by a mage who could tear apart her Queendom, her power, and her very life.

It was an enemy she could not easily touch or control, and that alone filled her with dread. She ruled with an iron fist, unyielding to mortal threats, but this... this was different. The thought of facing a force of nature, a being who could wield Water like a weapon, left her feeling exposed and vulnerable. And vulnerability was something the Queen had never allowed herself to feel—at least, not openly.

She had never spoken of this fear, not even to her closest advisors. The Queen, after all, could not afford to admit weakness. She could not allow anyone to see the threads of doubt that wove through her mind like a poison. Instead, she projected strength, ruthlessly cutting down any opposition that arose, burying her fears beneath layers of calculated cruelty.

No matter how many enemies she eliminated or threats she silenced, the fear of Water—the fear of a future mage rising to take her throne—would never entirely leave her. And as the cold winter wind swept across the balcony, she couldn't help but wonder if that day was closer than she dared to admit. She needed Lukas. He would protect her from this fate, which the Earth Priestess had foretold as much.

"Yes, she did not make it as far as the one we lost but far enough to discover a path we might follow." The Spymaster kept his head bowed low, his eyes obscured by the strands of dark hair that fell over his face. Yet, even without seeing them, the Queen could sense the subtle shift in his tone—the quiet, measured pride beneath the deference. It was rare for him to deliver anything resembling good news, and this was a moment he savored, though he dared not show it.

"A path large enough for my army?" she asked, her voice sharp but laced with curiosity. Her gaze drifted beyond the balcony as her mind began to spin with plans, already seizing on the opportunity ahead. If there was a way through the Vale, she could see the next conquest stretching before her like a map unfolding.

The Vale, hidden deep within the treacherous Obogor Mountains, had long been an obstacle—its ancient, rugged terrain and wild magic a challenge even for her forces. But now, with this new path, the barriers might finally crumble. Beyond the Vale lay the Council Lands, a region untouched by war for generations. It was a land that held power and, more importantly, vulnerability—wide open and waiting to be conquered.

Her fingers curled against the stone railing as she envisioned her armies cutting through the Obogor like a sharpened blade. The Vale would be only the beginning. With each victory, she would extend her reach further, her dominion swallowing up the lands that had once been out of her grasp. Beyond the mountains, the Council Lands would tremble at the mere thought of her name, their leaders scrambling to protect what little remained of their fragile peace.

The Queen's lips curled into the faintest smile, her mind far beyond the conversation. The Kingdom would soon be hers, but this—this was the future. The Vale, the Obogor, the Council Lands—all of it lay before her, waiting for her hand to crush or claim. And she would not hesitate.