---
Awin's Office
The ember hue of his whiskey ebbed and flowed within the glass. The king downed it and poured himself another. It seemed that this burning ache of thirst could not be sated.
Awin stared at the door expectantly, no emotion in his eyes, his humanity almost fully drained away. He was no longer a man—he was now a beast, and worse still, a beast who felt cornered and was about to take a dastardly step.
The door finally opened. Awin's trusted aide entered, followed by a timid maid.
"Ah, Tina." Awin smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. He stood from his seat and leaned against the table.
The maid bowed her head, cowering in his presence. He missed this—he relished it.
"To be honest, I was surprised when I saw you were part of the palace staff. At least one good thing came from Mahalia changing the staff."
Tina could not speak. She prayed she would leave this room unscathed.
"Though," his voice turned lethally cold, "I do worry you haven't been doing what I asked."
When Tina looked up to offer an explanation, she nearly fainted in shock. Awin was already close, the sharp tip of a fountain pen pressed against her neck. He pressed harder until it drew blood. Tina knew this was only a warning. He would not always be so merciful.
"Your Majesty, I have done as you told me. I promise."
Awin's eyes narrowed. Then he relaxed and pocketed the pen.
"I have one task for you. You must not fail—or else, you know the repercussions. Your brother will suffer for it."
Tina bowed, veiling her fury and hatred as best she could. It was hard, but this was what she had to do.
"Increase the dose."
"Yes, Your Majesty—"
"I was not done. You normally gave her about two teaspoons. Make it one cup."
Tina's head shot up, her face pale with fear and surprise. But she recollected herself and nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty."
"Now leave."
Tina left, and once she was certain she was not followed, she made her way to Mahalia's chambers.
Her access was easy—she was appointed Mahalia's head maid. If she had noble heritage, she would have been her lady-in-waiting.
When she entered the room, Mahalia was staring at a book.
"Your Highness."
Mahalia shook herself from her reverie. "Tina?"
"I just spoke with His Majesty." Tina recounted the entire encounter to an appalled Mahalia.
Mahalia nodded thoughtfully. "Follow his instructions. Bring food to me in those doses."
"Your Highness?"
"Just do it. I'm smart enough to handle that."
Tina bowed. "Your Highness, I'm grateful for the mercy you've shown me. I will forever be in your debt."
She kowtowed and left after Mahalia dismissed her.
---
"Awin has been failing woefully. I have been thwarting his plans—this is not something he's used to. But one thing confuses me: why is it that every single time he feels cornered, he wants to drug me? It must have something to do with consummating this sham of a marriage."
Mahalia rubbed her temples. Think, Mahalia. Think.
If only she could remember what Awin had made her forget by feeding her the oculus plant. She had to recall quickly. Awin was desperate. She couldn't trust him not to do something horrible soon.
Her eyes drifted to the manuscript Kafka had given her. This was her best chance at uncovering the truth. She had to suck it up and read it—sooner rather than later.
---
(The Manuscript: The Tale of the Mythic Twins)
The Royal Family of Easteford has one dream: to cheat death and be gods.
And Bel Tyvard—lunatic that he was—was determined to make that dream come true.
The mystery behind the Mythic Twins will forever remain, for Tyvard wished its knowledge to perish with him. In truth, the cruelty behind it leaves me with no desire to learn more. But one thing I know: the Mythic Twins is a disgusting, riveting way for one king to remain alive forever through his lineage…
---
Mahalia closed the book. A splitting headache surged through her.
…one king alive forever through his lineage.
She had heard that before. In person. But when? She frowned, forcing herself to remember.
"I'll rest for a while and continue later," she murmured.
She drifted to sleep, unaware she would not wake that night, or the night after.
---
The Next Day
Horrible news greeted Easteford that morning. There was word of treason—and before Awin could fret, the traitor was revealed. Much to his chagrin, it was Olaf Septentine.
Olaf, like Mirabel, was a core member of Awin's faction among the ministers. He was the Lord Marshal of the kingdom and in charge of the military.
Awin had used him as a proxy to sponsor wars across the southern and northern continents. Through this, Awin had amassed a significant portion of his wealth.
He chuckled wryly. Mahalia had done her research. Now she was cutting off his arms.
For now, a meeting was arranged. Awin would try to save Olaf.
But how wrong he was. The righteous faction had found hard evidence against Olaf again, and there was nothing to be done.
"This is a set-up!" Awin thundered. "It would not be hard to imagine you people doing this to weaken my influence. You are the real traitors!"
"What do you mean, Your Majesty? We are simply fulfilling our duty—ridding this council of leeches. We have authentic evidence." Kafka's voice cut sharp. "It's not our fault all the leeches happen to be in your faction."
A rumble followed. Every other member of Awin's faction kept quiet, fearing they would be the next target.
Awin sighed. He had lost this battle too.
"I nominate Rivan Ceria to replace Olaf Septentine," a neutral minister announced. A vote followed.
Rivan Ceria became Lord Marshal of the Kingdom that day.
Awin left in anger, his cronies following. They needed to regroup—it was clear their enemies were coming for all of them.
"All of you, put all underground business on hold and destroy any evidence. And the people—take care of them quietly."
They nodded and left. All except Eugene Malicine.
Eugene was a prominent figure, rivaled only by Milton before his exile to Ragnabor. As Lord Chancellor, his influence was second only to Awin himself.
"I reckon your instructions for me will be different, given how delicate our situation is."
Awin frowned. Eugene oversaw the underground slave market. If he was caught, it would not bode well for Awin.
"The same applies to you," Awin said, uninterested.
"Surely the scale of the business is too great to erase every trace."
"Then what do you suggest? That I get rid of the business itself?"
Eugene remained silent. Awin understood immediately.
"Surely, you can't be serious."
"That is the wisest thing to do. We can frame someone else and make you the savior. It's better for the eagle to prune itself than to let another clip its wings."
"I've put too much into it," Awin muttered. "Generations of effort."
"If it makes you feel better, Your Majesty, we'll transfer everything of value to another account. But we must sever all connections to you."
Awin fell silent, then nodded. "Do what you must."
As Eugene left, Bertrand entered with an unreadable expression.
"Your Majesty, the queen has fallen into a coma."
---
Qaya was in a coma.
Awin could not believe his luck. He had known this was possible when he increased her dosage, but he hadn't expected it so soon. Or was it a trick?
Nervous, he hurried to confirm.
In her room, a doctor stood by, along with Francis, the queen's uncle, Tina—visibly upset—and a few disgruntled staff.
"I would like to be left alone with my queen."
They obliged.
Awin approached Mahalia. Her face was pale, lips cracked. She looked serene yet troubled, her brow furrowed as though trapped in a quiet nightmare—the worst kind.
He caressed her hair, surprised she didn't flinch. She was truly unconscious… or was she pretending?
He drew his fountain pen and pricked just below her ear. A slight cut formed. Save for her brow knitting tighter in reflex, she did not move. She was truly unconscious.
Awin stood frozen, pen still in hand. He didn't know what to do, but he was happy. In the sea of defeats he had faced recently, this was a victory—a sweet one.
He was still savoring it when Tina entered, announcing the queen's family had come. Awin was annoyed, but he told himself to be patient. There would be another chance.
---
Alas, Awin's victory was short-lived. A newspaper published Olaf's arrest, and people began to question why the king was surrounded by traitors. They recalled things they had dismissed, whispering suspicions aloud.
Rumors spread: Awin had supposedly stopped the slave trade in Porto Jamon and Kusuk, yet no Eastefordian slave had returned home. Others accused him of sabotaging Porto Jamon and the Occident Coast.
The people were beginning to see their king as closer to a beast than a man.
"Why?!" Awin roared, kicking his bookshelf down. His office was a wreck. Bertrand tried to tidy it, but Awin snapped.
"Stop that! Get word to the Grandmaster of Yellow Jay. He'd better find me the ring before sunset tomorrow. But first, have the guards dress up as bandits and kill that hound Zachary—the one staying by the queen's side—this evening."
"Yes, Your Highness." Bertrand hurried out.
To be continued