xxxiii.

THE QUEEN OF ANGRIA SUCKED IN A BREATH, pressing her lips together as her heart pounded mercilessly inside her chest. Her arms were wrapped over her legs, knees touching her chin as she tried to collect herself. Whoever would enter, it wouldn't do for her to cower. Where ever she was at present—whoever it was who had brought her and was keeping her here, it wouldn't do to give them the satisfaction of her fear.

In all of Isadora's twenty and two years of life, she had managed not to allow her own mother break her, than who were these people to think they could cower her so easily? They—whoever they were—could have magic at their disposal, or even weapons against her unarmed person, still, Isa's anger refused her to cower. Maybe she would think of giving herself up when sufficient odds were against her, and a weapon was pointed to her heart. Then perhaps, she would think of giving up. But for now, she had a mind, a tongue and adequate energy in her body at her disposal. The required use must be extracted from them.

Her posture straightened then as the interference with the lock of the door started getting aggressive, as though the person with the lock was getting frustrated with the stubborn key.

She dropped her knees, and tucked them underneath her and her glittering white skirts as she distanced herself from the door as much as the chains binding her feet would allow her, all the while continuing to hold herself straight. Swallowing thickly, she prepared to meet whoever who would show. She prepared herself to ask the questions she needed to, to show the strength that she wanted to.

After all, she was the Queen of Angria now. She was more than the Miss Isadora Tremaine of Toulouse that she had once been. She was more than what she had presumed herself to be on her darkest days. She was more than all that, she had always been more. And for Zander, she would be more than everything she was or could be—to see him again, to be with him again, she would do anything she needed to.

The door opened with a scraping sound, as the person behind it pushed it open, making gruffing sound if exertion from their mouth.

And Isadora's eyes found themselves fix on an unorthodox sight. The person guiding the door was not a person. With a height of what seemed to be four feet, the creature-Isa couldn't understand what else to call the thing—was of a startling damp green color, it's manner like that of humans and fairies, but the second obvious exception lay in the hand sized two tusks protruding from beside both ends of the creature's mouth where perhaps humans dimpled, it's dark small lips were pressed into a straight line, dirty hair was wrapped underneath an equally dirty piece of cloth in a manner reminiscent of working human maids or other human labor in midst of their work.

The creature's clothes—dirty scraps tied across its body in a chaotic manner, and the worn leather on his feet—immediately replaced The Queen of Angria's initial fear into a collected shock as she stifled a scream at her first sight of the creature.

Short as it was, its form was clad in an assortment of muscles on its forearms and chest and short thick legs. The stomach, protruding out from behind the dirty brown clothing, was another matter.

So absorbed was Isadora in her scrutiny, still she managed not to notice the rusting dark wheelbarrow that the creature was silently wheeling. With difficulty, and without even once looking at Isadora, it pushed the door clear open, making enough way for the barrow as the creature pushed it into the small room.

Isa startled, the barrow—though one wheeled—was larger than the creature's own size, and definitely did not belong in the cramped room that she was occupying as her cell.

The creature seemed to have no consideration for that issue, as it huffed through its nose, perspiration coating it's exposed green skin and a stoic expression of frustration and mechanic submission remained plastered onto his face.

The eyes, Isadora noticed, as they continued to deny her presence in the room, were normal human eyes. Though slightly bigger with green lids darker than the green of the facial skin, the eyes were also almond shaped. The nose resembled that of a bull's, complete with the protruding shape of the snout. Except, Isa had a feeling that this creature was different than others of it's kind. Somehow, she could sense it's distinctiveness—she could sense it's discardedness as though it was a dented piece in a collection, so it was being made to carry out the tasks the perfect pieces wouldn't. There was a sense of vulnerability in all of it, but Isadora had to shut off her sensibility in case she read too much into it and her sympathy overshadowed her composure. 

Though her present state was susceptible to shirk into reminiscence, her collected scrutiny of the creature, with curiosity ebbing at her in equal measure with her shock, oddly calmed her.

Then, a different grunt came from inside the wide wheelbarrow, and it was at that moment that Isa realized there was someone inside the wheeled thing.

The creature ignored its captive's sounds, as it continued to tinker with the wheel of the barrow as it got stuck in between two stones on the uneven floor of the room. Isadora hadn't realized the barrow had gotten stuck.

"Who is in there?" The Queen of Angria spoke then, her voice only slightly shaking as she laid her weight onto her courage.

"Are you carrying someone in there?" She hastened, watching the creature groan and growl under its breath as its thick fingers started yanking at the wheel of the barrow, sitting itself down on the uneven ground as it wiped sweat from its brow.

The manner of the creature was entirely masculine, and Isa quickly started to replace her considerations of the creature from an it to a he. The knowledge of the existence of such a creature was an ember against her rattled psyche, as she tried to comprehend him.

Magic existed, she settled finally, so then why couldn't this creature?

Myths and tales of monsters existed throughout the lands, morphed into stories elders told young ones when the sun set in the sky and it was time to welcome sleep. But for the first time in her life, Isa was watching one of those myths unfold. Could this creature be born of magic? How many more were there? She wondered then if she was in the creature's territory. They must be separate from humans, for she heavily doubted she was just one of many who were familiar with the sighting and existence.

"Can you answer me, please?" She ventured on, her voice sticking to a hopeful edge.

It was then, that the creature's eyes flickered over to her and Isadora saw the pitch black eyes stare at her with brief vague consideration before centering back on his task, as though she were but paint on the walls. Except, the walls of this room were far from painted.

Outside of the open door behind him, Isa saw a dark dingy hallway that could possibly go deeper towards the right as well as towards the left, where the creature had been heard descending to the door from. Isa hadn't even heard him wheeling the barrow towards the room, all she had heard were footsteps.

She got the impression suddenly, that the creature was overtly meticulous in its tasks, and the reason she hadn't heard the barrow being wheeled was because he was taking care with it. And now, it seemed to her as she watched the creature yank furiously at the singular wheel for it to not even budge, the being's meticulous patience had possibly run out.

The creature let out an odd grunt then, as though he didn't want to speak, but still wanted to let acknowledgement across.

Strangely, Isa understood that. Though for her, not responding to her mother or sister at times, or even to the Duke, had been a matter of choice to fully disregard them from her mental consideration even if she was forced to consider their physical presence in her life. Often times, not replying felt like an escape—a burden unleashed, a freedom.

For this creature, however, something similar yet different seemed to be the case. The lack of interest to converse, but the curiosity to acknowledge and be acknowledged.

Isadora shifted slightly closer, lengthening her neck to catch a glimpse of what-who-was inside the wheelbarrow.

Against the rusted grey and black, she made out a tuft of thick light human hair connected to a face rested sideways with a cheek pressing against the rusted grey of the inside of the barrow. It looked to be a man, a seemingly properly dressed man from what she could decipher. He surely must be a noble. In midst the darkness of the cell and the bare and meagre moonlight, she saw a dark velvet vest as the material caught the moon's glow and shone, and she saw—

She startled. The man's arms were clad in an undershirt he was wearing underneath the sleeveless velvet vest, except, there was blood drenching almost the entirety of his white sleeves, with the material sticking to his skin.

Her panicked eyes searched more of the form of the nobleman, and the stark realization came too late to her. The man was considerably sized, even for this giant barrow, yet it was only his torso that she could see. The man had no lower half, making him fit snugly inside the wheelbarrow as though he had been cut up for just that feat.

Then she noticed a faint dripping sounding closer to her, and on the moonlit uneven stony ground under the barrow, she saw droplets of crimson blood pool on stone.

She gasped, pushing herself backwards, her hand covering her mouth as her eyes widened and settled on the creature.

The creature looked at her again, a vague relaxed look in his eyes as though he merely had no idea or desire to read Isadora or the room, instead his attention was seemingly fixed on the mundane task he had set about doing.

The wheel of the barrow was still stuck amidst the harsh protruding stones on the ground, and Isa realized the creature had brought her a cell mate. Perhaps he intended to simple dump the man there. No ankle chains needed.

A groan sounded from inside the barrow, making her heart accelerate. The man inside, with half of his body butchered off, was still alive.

"He's still alive," Isadora managed, swallowing as she tried to maintain her composure.

The creature stopped his tampering with the wheel then, and as if understanding her words, he lifted himself off the ground and peered inside the barrow with a blank look.

Then, just as Isa held her breath for anything untoward the creature would do to the dying man, he dipped his upper half into the barrow, bending until he was completely inside, only to come back up with his hands under the dying man's arms, picking him up like a rag doll.

Isadora saw the entire form of the man, both of his legs missing all the way up to his clothed hips, the pre-mature ending point of the body was a mess of torn muscle, shattered bone and dangling ligaments dripping profusely with stark red blood. She covered her mouth with her palm again, her heart battering in her chest.

The man had been hacked in half, the entirety of his lower limb taken away, yet still he breathed.

The creature dropped the man carefully on the opposite corner of the small room, effortlessly propping him up as the man groaned and moaned in pain with eyes shut close, the creature not taking as much care as the man's open half jammed directly against the hard ground, shattered bone ends and dangling ligaments scraping against the stone ground.

"Be careful! Please," She let out, relying on her better judgement and deciding that the creature was, in an odd way, trying to help the man's case.

Why else would he have kept the man alive and not killed him? Why else would he have wheeled him all the way here? Mon Dieu, if this creature had the keys to where she was being kept, why was she alive still? So indeed, her desperate judgement urged her to focus on the good, even if it caught her throat in the end.

Isadora observed the dying man's face then. He looked to be about her age, with olive coloured skin drenched with perspiration and blonde brows pinched together in anguish. His hair was very light—the color of corn, when inside the barrow it hadn't looked this light. He was a nobleman, but why was he here? Who had hurt him like this? Why were both him and herself being kept alive?

His nobility, she couldn't recognize. When she was the Duchess of Basingstoke, she had played hostess to many of the Duke's friends—men and women of rank and nobility. There had come a point where she had been certain she was familiar—in a manner of acquaintance and not that of frank friendship, she supposed—with the entirely of the nobility in the north of the Kingdom of Angria, or perhaps even the south of the kingdom too. Afterwards, she had been exposed to a new and old audience of nobles with Zander at her side a few times at the palace, before the entire bulk of the Angrian nobility had arrived at their wedding, congratulating her as the new Queen of Angria.

Still, this was a face she hadn't seen before.

"Wait, you must get some bindings," Isa uttered then, anxiety in her tone as she watched the creature starting to struggle with putting the man in a certain upright position, as the man kept groaning loudly and crying out in pain.

"His injuries," She hastened, pleading with the creature as it met her eyes. For a moment the blankness in his eyes had gone, and a certain consideration could be recognized.

"They need to be wrapped," She finished, swallowing tightly.

The image of her late friend, Ruby Alderidge, penetrated her mind. Mon Dieu, Isadora had seen what bleeding out to death looked like. Her eyes knew what too much blood looked like-her anxiety had seen how quick the body tended to turn cold.

The creature looked at her then, his large eyes regarding her blankly, before he shuffled over to dug back inside the darkened space in the wheelbarrow, from which he procured a light open sack flowing with white. It was only when the sack was tossed towards her legs, did Isadora realize that it spilled with white cloth—bindings for the injured man.

She didn't understand where her fear went then, she didn't realize that she had stopped shaking. For when her situation tumbled back to her senses, she was seated beside the injured nobleman, the skirts of her beautiful wedding gown dirtied with scrapes of dirt and wet with swipes of the man's blood. Her hands too were wet with red, but at least the man's body stood upright, his lower half bound twice over with all of the white cloth that had been in the sack.

The Queen of Angria cast a shaky glance at the creature who had helped her in this task, suddenly aware of him under her returning reluctance.

"Please," The nobleman muttered, his forehead wet with perspiration as his eyes shook with discomfort underneath closed lids.

"Please, help me," He murmured again, repeating the same words he had been speaking since Isadora had dragged her body towards his with the sack of bindings in her grasp.

"You're alright," She responded softly, "You'll be alright."

Her knees were tucked underneath her gown, and her body ached all over for having been pressed against the hard stone floor, but she was grateful for the exertion—the distraction that tending to the man had provided her. She would break if she wallowed in her thoughts anymore in this dark place, she would shatter in her misery.

"Where—where am I?" The man stirred then, and both Isa and the creature startled at hearing the different words than to the ones the man had earlier been repeating.

Isadora watched him as the nobleman's eyes became half-lidded, as though the task of fully opening them was draining him of his energy. His irises were light, they were honey drenched and Isa was tempted to turn over her shoulder and search for the ay of sunlight that was magically lighting his eyes so. Except, it was an unknowable hour of the night outside and the sun was long asleep. 

"I don't know," She spoke, casting her own eyes onto the creature beside warily, finding herself short on any knowledge of her own to offer.

The creature uttered a grunt from inside the depth of his throat, though it sounded like an innocent reflex and not something with scorn nestled behind. Its expression remained firm and blank, and Isa tried to decipher it. The creature too—regardless of him having the keys to the cell she was in, and regardless of him bringing the nobleman's cut up body in—seemed as though he was as much a prisoner as the two of them were. 

The nobleman murmured a groan again, before words slipped with effort past his lips and his eyes opened a little wider as he took in Isadora's face peering anxiously at him. 

"Who are you, miss?" The man managed, "Are you a war captive as well?" 

"War captive?" The Queen of Angria uttered, her edged with her shock. How come she hadn't dwelled on that? How come she hadn't considered that a possibility? 

She thought of Zander then, she thought of his meeting with the fairy godmother. She thought of his confidence in his rule, and she thought of the assurance she had in him and how the idea of war that fairy godmother had been warning Isa with had begun to become so without merit. When exactly had she thrust war out of her mind? Could Zander have been mistaken? Was war being waged at present, and by these creatures?

Isadora turned to glance at the creature standing taut in the middle of the small cell as though there were strings invisible to the eye holding him upright and without sympathy. His reaction remained unchanged and blank. 

"I—," She turned to look at the nobleman, unsure of her words. "I think so." 

"I am Sir Henri Bernard, Earl of Rambolt," The man let out then, his words spoken with effort as his face scrunched up in pain, before he exhaled and tried to compose himself. 

Isa couldn't imagine the pain he must be in, an entire half of his body hacked off. She felt the delicate hair at the back of her neck raise at the thought and tried to keep her eyes away from his lower half and focus them on his face. 

"Of The Kingdom of Valence," The man finished. 

Isa startled. "Valence? Mon Dieu, you were assigned to the border?" 

"Yes, miss," The nobleman spoke, his eyes meeting hers. "I was under King Reginald's command. I had an entire army. All of it is gone. So many casualties. The border to the Kingdom of Valence is unprotected now, I don't know how much time has passed since my capture but Ferdinand and his army must've poured through by now. They must be wreaking havoc." 

"Mon Dieu," Isadora murmured, her heart beating fast as she thought of her hometown of Toulouse. 

Toulouse was close to the border of Valence, and however harsh the townspeople had been to her growing up, for all of their gossip and looks at her and Archie, they didn't deserve to be ransacked and killed for it. 

"Don't go on this.. thing," Sir Henri Bernard uttered then, his voice full of contempt as he threw a glance of hate towards the creature occupying the room with them. 

"He's definitively the most harmless out of the lot of them. The Heraum are vicious, all of them tower like giants and their individual strength is unmatchable to even six trained knights put together, they went through my men like a stack of paper cards." 

Isa's mind flickered at the name. The Heraum. She couldn't remember at present, but she was sure she had read about them a long time ago in one of her books. She remembered a lot of the myths she had read as a girl, but how many of them were as real as this one? 

"The bloody bastard Ferdinand is controlling them all," Sir Henri spat, "The stray sixth fairy. He resurrected them somehow—freed them all from captivity and is now using them against the kingdoms." 

Sixth fairy? Isadora sucked in a sharp breath. She thought of the fairy godmother, Mon Dieu, did the woman know of all this? Why then hadn't she been clearer from the start? Why resort to unclear warnings when you knew the whole story? Why had she hidden so much from Isa? 

The fairy godmother's betrayal felt like a sharp shard of glass stuck somewhere in her gut, and she hated the feeling of it. How many times had she confronted the old fairy? And how many times had the old woman in turn only consoled her? Isa had been made a fool of by the old fairy. Mon Dieu, all of it, using Isadora to get an audience with Zander when the King of Angria would never have entertained a fairy otherwise, time and time again encouraging her to choose Zander regardless of whatever happened—Isa had been used as a pawn by the old fairy and there was nothing more to it than that. The fairy godmother had seen a prophecy that The King of Angria would win the war and she had only wanted to be on the winning side, despite the fact that the war was being waged by someone of her own kin. 

"He's so powerful with his army of beasts alone, he need not even use his magic. He was having his damned fun with his magic before, pulling all his blind attacks. But now it seems he's done with playing hide and seek," The nobleman continued, spite etched in his voice. "That animal, he's protected from all sides there's no fucking way to get to him." 

"Pardon my language, miss," He hastened then, and Isa could've almost laughed considering the situation they were in at present. Language was the least of her concerns at present. 

"I'm just at a loss," The man rested his head briefly against the wall, "King Reginald and the royal family, as well as most of the Valence nobles were to be attending The King of Angria's wedding on the eve I was assigned to the border. They must all know what has happened by now. It's all a mess. I swore to King Reginald that I had it all under control. I swore to my men that I—blast it, it doesn't matter now anyhow." 

Isadora looked down at her dirtied wedding gown, her heart weighing heavier in her chest. The gleam of the glittering white of her skirts was overshadowed now, still she could feel the energy of it steady her when she smoothened her skirts gently with her palms. The sixth fairy had chosen the eve of her wedding to Zander to launch his brutal attack. If The Kingdom of Valence was trespassed, how far was Angria from being attacked head on too?  

A pause engulfed the room as the nobleman breathed heavily in the silence of the room, his head dropped back against the wall as he stared at the ceiling. Isadora had no energy to rouse him—to say anything or ask him something more and disturb his recollections. 

It was then that—before the silence in the cell could elongate more than a few minutes—an amused human scoff sounded at the entrance of the cell.

Isadora whipped her head towards the entrance, and her eyes took in the man positioned against the wall. He was tall and dressed in a dark maroon suit, the lapels of his coal extravagantly topped with red embellishments. He looked older, streaks of short white hair peeking out from underneath the balck top hat the man wore. In his right hand, he held a long, sturdy black stick which he was using to steady his body on the ground—a walking stick. 

Isa took in the man's sculpted yet wrinkled male face and human eyes, but his dapper attire against the dark grim of the cell and her situation made her want to rub her eyes in order to convince herself that she was truly seeing this man at present. He looked like a magician, like a illusionist, like a trickster. He looked like the fairy godmother, except he wore the fact that he possessed magic, on his body, while the fairy godmother resorted to an unassuming blue cloak. 

"Didn't realize you had that much energy left in you, boy," Ferdinand, the sixth fairy, said with amusement, and Isa saw the small stick he was rolling in between his teeth as he spoke. 

Henri Bernard lifted his head off the wall, suddenly aware of the presence. 

"Why, you want my tongue next?" He spat out, his tone seething as his fists tightened at his sides. The anger wasn't stemming from the fact that he had just been called a boy, on that much Isadora was sure as she tried still to keep her eyes away from his butchered lower half that she had just meticulously wound up. 

"No," Ferdinand mused slowly, "I think I've had enough from you at present." 

"You fucking bastard," Sir Henri let out then, trying to move as if to tackle the illusionist tempting him, but groaning in pain as he stifled his shout of agony. 

Isa reached her hands forwards instinctively to steady him, and found the creature of The Heraum beside her inching forwards to do the same thing as her. 

"Ah, Careful," Ferdinand mused then, a grin encapsulating his voice, "Might want to watch your language in front of the new Queen of Angria, my dear Earl." 

Henri Bernard's eyes widened through his pain as he looked at Isadora, trying to observe her for the first time, his expression of shock deepening as his lips parted but he found no words to speak. Isadora met his eyes briefly, before looking at the magician standing casually at the door looking as though he was merely a spectator, not the orchestrator of everything that was happening and the condition Isadora was in. 

For a moment, looking at him, Isa wondered if the fairy godmother had sent her to him on purpose. For she remembered the fairy godmother wanting to taking Zander and herself somewhere, didn't she? So had Isa been sent here, or had this sixth fairy manipulated everything to play out as he wanted it to? Isadora realized she couldn't be sure anymore. 

"How are you faring, your majesty?" The magician at the entrance performed a mock curtsey, as the flaps of his maroon tail coat moved with a flair behind his back before he straightened to his height again. 

"I hope my hospitality has been to your liking?" The performer went on, taking steps closer to enter the cell as his eyes focused on her, amusement slowly dissipating from them as a certain intrigue started flashing in the stead. 

"You see, I haven't hosted Queens or Kings before," He grinned then, showing an array of perfectly lined teeth, with the stick being held in between, "This is entirely my first time, so please, be so generous as to cut me some.. grace."

Isadora didn't speak, her eyes fixed on the man as she held her ground, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of anything. 

Her lack of response made intrigue flash behind his gray irises some more, and he came closer, his steps so light on the stony ground that his manner of walk made Isadora almost believe he was floating on top of it. The stout Heraum creature stood in his way to approach Isa's seated form beside the nobleman, so the magician grabbed hold of the matted dirty hair atop the creature's head in a fistful and yanked him brutally away, and the creature stumbled to a side with an anxious and terrified gait. 

The terror and anxiety was the first of any emotion she had seen the creature display, and the fact that the display came along because of the magician she was faced with, made Isadora recoil in her distaste of him. She was inclined to hate him then, when for some reason she had found herself not feeling as harshly for the man as was required. Perhaps watching the cruelty being enforced had a greater force than hearing of it being enforced. 

"What is wrong with you?" She cried, her concerned eyes watching the creature drop to his knees to the side, his thick fingers clasping his hair and tugging on it harshly, his biceps contracting in effort, continuing the punishment he thought he deserved, like a human child devoid of his senses who had been kept bound all his life. 

The magician had crouched in front of her now. He was dangerously close to her form, and though she could smell the cologne on his polished attire sharply, her eyes were still on the creature to the side, her brows furrowed in her concern. 

"Many things, I admit," The man grinned as she finally met his eyes head on. "I have recently developed anger issues, I believe. I heard of this infuriating prophecy about your husband defeating me in this war that I have been planning for far too long. You cannot fault me for being frustrated, can you?" 

Isadora saw the amusement swirl in his gray eyes again and she had the sudden urge to slam her fist in his face. 

"But I believe having you here is helping with that frustration, your majesty," He stuck out the stick in his mouth, as his eyes flashed intrigue again. "Now, where did The King of Angria find you, your majesty? As much I am embarrassed to interrupt a royal union, curiosity ebbs away at me." 

"I hope it decays you entirely then," Isadora answered, her jaw tight. 

The magician brought a hand and grabbed Isa's jaw in his hand and yanked her close. She let out a gasp, her face only inches away from the older fairy's. His eyes seemed to scour every inch of her face, his irises flashing something unreadable. Isadora felt the disgust of his hold on her seep past her skin into her soul, and she tried to snatch her face away but he kept her firmly in place. 

"Let go of her!" Henri Bernard's shout reverberated from beside them then, punctuated by his groan of pain as the effort took a chunk of his energy away from him. 

"I will savor ripping you apart to douse this vigor of yours, your majesty," The magician snarled at her face. "I've had enough of disrespect, and its time the kingdoms bow at my feet." 

Then the magician let go of her, got up back on his feet and distanced himself as if giving a wide berth for a performance he wished to initiate. 

"And I will start with you, your majesty," He grinned, positioning himself into a picture of superiority as he tilted his walking stick a certain way. 

"Get up and bow to me." 

Isadora met his eyes from where she sat on the stony ground in her dirtied wedding gown, the chains on her ankles feeling tighter than they had before. She didn't let the hammering of her heart show on her face, keeping her composure firm in place though her eyes were starting to sting. She had only just become a royal, but the man in front of her seemed have harbored hatred towards royals for years and years. 

"Your majesty, don't," Sir Henri blurted out as Isa shifted slightly to gather her skirts. 

Isadora didn't look at the nobleman, she only glanced at the creature at the side, who had now straightened himself to his feet and though he hunched in submissiveness still, his eyes peered at Isadora with a blank look. 

"Get up and bow to me!" Ferdinand shouted then, his voice echoing throughout every brick and stone as he pointed his walking stick towards Sir Henri Bernard as though it were a weapon, and it was then that Isa realized he had double use of his magic wand. 

Henri Bernard's forehead perspired profusely as he eyed the wand pointed at him warily, still he persisted. "Your majesty, please do not!" 

The sixth fairy attacked the Earl then, an almost blinding spark shot out of his wand and struck the Earl's chest. The half butchered nobleman convulsed as his eyes rolled backwards in his head and his torso bent backwards in a horrifying motion as his head and neck completely disappeared behind his back. 

Isadora screamed, dragging herself away from the nobleman as she watched him convulse, his half body bending every which way as the man groaned dully in his anguish. Isa feared every remaining bone in his body might break. She hastened to her feet amidst her screaming. 

"Stop, stop, please!" She cried, tears streaming down her face as she straightened to her full height. "I'll do it, please, just stop hurting him!" 

In the chaos, she felt something entangled in her skirts drop in an almost silent clatter to the stone ground underneath her skirts. With her heart hammering inside her chest, she moved her skirts slightly, only to find a familiar glowing stick pulsing a misty halo around it on the ground beside her ankle. 

How long had she had the fairy godmother's wand in tangled in her wedding gown? How had it gotten there? 

The Queen of Angria had no time to dwell on these questions, following her instincts, she bent down to grab the wand, and she held it towards the magician who was still engaged in his torture of the Earl, laughing viciously as he held his own wand firm.

Breathing hard, Isadora held the fairy godmother's cream silver wand tight, her palm starting to sweat as she closed her eyes briefly, centering her intentions. She didn't know how to use the magical thing, for the fairy godmother had been no sharer of her magical secrets, but Isadora knew the phrase the woman always spoke, and at present, the same phrase pulsed on Isa's own tongue.

"Bibbidi bobbidi boo," Isadora whispered, and just that instant, a silver spark shot out from the wand and caught Ferdinand at his throat.

The magician's eyes widened at her as he dropped his wand and threw his hands around his throat. His back slammed against the wall of the cell at the impact of the spell. 

Isadora rushed over to the Henri Bernard, who had stopped moving and now lay limp on the ground, his face glistening in his sweat. She dropped down beside him and felt tears wet her face again as she searched for a pulse frantically, exhaling in relief as she found a faint one at the nobleman's neck. 

She turned her head to glance at the creature of the Heraum, who was now crouching over the magician's discarded wand with a certain hesitance. Isadora looked at the illusionist, only to find that he was only starting to move from the blow he had received. The man's hand was still around his neck as he scowled, his eyes flashing from Isa to the creature holding his wand. 

"Bring me my wand, you loathsome roach," He spat, the impact at his neck sucking his strength, "It seems the Queen has brought me a gift, a wand of my kin's. I shall receive it properly." 

"No!" Isa uttered, her eyes fixed on the creature as her brows furrowed in fear and sympathy. With her knees tucked underneath her, the fairy godmother's wand held tight in one hand, she raised her other hand towards the creature, palm upwards, beckoning him towards her. 

"Please, don't give it to him," She spoke, her voice soft, pleading, "Come with us. Please come with us." 

In her mind, she thought of Zander's palace. She pictured him, she pictured Archie, and she pictured The Queen mother. She pictured home. It seemed to her that she was beginning to figure how the magic wand in her grasp worked, and she needed it to work just one more time for her. 

"You fucking leech, give it here or I'll skin you alive!" Ferdinand yelled, grunting as he started dragging himself upwards to his full form with effort. 

"Please," Isadora pleaded, her eyes fixed on to the creature, who met her eyes with a startling expression swimming in them. A consideration. 

"Please, please, come with us," She let out, fearing the magician would regain his strength and overpower, turning the tables at once. If the creature wouldn't come, then she needed to leave with the Earl.

But she wanted the creature to come. For some reason, she wanted him out of there. Even if it was his kind that were being used as weapons to wage war. 

Ferdinand stumbled on his feet, before regaining himself and letting out a scowl and running towards the creature. 

"Please!" Isadora screamed, and just at that moment, the creature broke into a run and approached her side. 

The magician's wide angry eyes were the last thing she saw, before she closed her eyes. She felt her free hand slightly touching the creature's elbow, and her knee touching the side of the Earl's unconscious face. She felt herself connecting to them both through a single thread that would tug them along where ever she went. Then she pointed the fairy godmother's wand at her chest and whispered the old fairy's magic words. 

"Bibbidi bobbidi boo."