Frances woke up and found herself blinded by dark maroon hair. One of her arms however was under something warm and soft, and she could only use her free arm to brush the hair out of her eyes.

Her eyes were met with Timur’s bare chest, which she realized she was resting her head upon. Blinking, she looked up to see her boyfriend snoring softly. One of her arms was under his back, which she belatedly realized, was also very much bare. His right arm was wrapped around her, hand resting on his shoulder. His left arm was sprawled out.

Frances smiled contentedly, the memories of last night coming back to her. Nervous, fantastic memories that she could barely believe were true. The fact that she was sleeping next to her boyfriend, though, was proof enough.

Giggling softly, so as to not wake Timur up, Frances pulled her arm out from her prince’s body. If all they had done last night had just been touching, she was now intensely curious what the actual deed was like.

As she pulled her leg away from Timur, though, and stepped on the bed for leverage, her foot squashed on something furry and soft.

Timur howled, sitting bolt upright, eyes wide. “OW!”

“Oh Gods, Timur? What—” Frances blinked and looking underneath the bed covers, she cursed. “I stepped on your tail.”

Timur, caressing said tail, which had the same maroon color as his hair, groaned. “Yup. That’s… one way to wake me up.” Feeling very sorry, Frances kissed Timur’s cheek, smiling as his wince was immediately replaced with a wide-eyed smile. “Although, I suppose I got a kiss out of it,” he whispered.

“Yeah.” She giggled as he kissed her back. “Alright, I guess this is the day then.” She took a deep breath. “Are you ready?”

His smile faded, a serious look replacing it. “Yeah. I am.”

The plan was as follows and that morning, once Frances had discretely got back to her tent and changed for battle, they all ran through it over communication mirrors.

While the diplomatic meeting took place, as much as the staff would start evacuating. Sebastian, Sir Orcas, and Edana would stall, and then after it, they would confront Clawdia and inform her of the ambush as well as their knowledge. They’d immediately either help Clawdia escape, or leave her and her entourage, depending on her response.

Titania and Antigones had already left and were riding to rally their forces. Their excuse was that Titania might be pregnant and needed a doctor at a proper castle to check her out. Titania actually planned to address other lords with Whitey to try to get more support, and try to lesson the extent of Thorgoth’s renewed attacks on Erisdale and Lapanteria. It wasn’t open rebellion yet, but she was going to try to drastically expand her recruiting efforts.

After Edana left with Sebastian and Orcas, with Elizabeth and Ayax escorting, they would blow the bridges to the island. That would leave Frances to face Thorgoth. She was to hold him off with Ivy’s Sting as long as possible, until she had to evacuate with Timur, who would be watching the fight, reading to intervene. They would then travel into Alavaria territory to throw their pursuers off and then try to reunite on the human side as quickly as possible. At max, Timur and Frances would be in Alavari territory for a week. At least, this was what everybody hoped.

Circumstances would conspire to make Frances and Timur’s journey in Alavaria far, far longer than that.

They began shortly after Timur got off a call with Frances. They’d been discussing their battle plan and knew it by heart at this point. However, he had to be at the diplomatic conference and so after blowing his girlfriend a kiss, the prince ended the call and got up. He was going to be late, but that was alright. His father wouldn’t notice.

Only, there was a knock at his door. Timur wondered who could it be as he walked across.

When he opened the door, he found Thorgoth smiling right at him. It was at this moment that Timur realized that no, Thorgoth wasn’t actually that much taller than him, and yet he always found himself looking up at his father.

“Hello, son. We need to talk.” The king didn’t give Timur a chance to reply, he just pushed past his son. Wide-eyed, Timur just stared as his father took a seat on one of the spare chairs and crossed his feet.

The silence tightened. Timur stammered, “Father, isn’t the conference happening right now?”

Thorgoth smiled. “Yes, but the diplomats can stand to be reminded of how little I care for them. Besides, can’t I have a chat with my son? Take a seat.”

His voice was casual, and yet Timur found he could not meet his father’s black eyes. He took a seat, crossing his arms, trying not to hunch forward.

“What’s the occasion?” Timur asked. He winced. The cheer he tried to inject into his voice made his tone high-pitched.

His father’s smile showed teeth. “I know that you and the humans are planning something.”

Timur flinched. He couldn’t stop himself. His eyes wide, he stared at his father. He took in the king’s casual posture and the flickering anger behind his smile. It was all in his eyes, those pitiless black eyes.

“Don’t you usually talk more than this? Why so silent, my son?” Thorgoth asked, leaning forward.

“I’m just shocked. What… why would I be planning something with the humans?”

“Because you’re fucking that Otherworlder bitch, or want to fuck her, Timur.”

Thorgoth didn’t yell those words, but the way they rolled off his tongue felt like he was spitting at Timur.

“Father, I’m loyal to Alavaria and you—”

“Then tell me what they are planning, my son.”

Timur didn’t know what to say. All he could think was how much of an idiot he’d been. How could he have thought his father didn’t have his own spies? Didn’t suspect him and Titania? He’d murdered so many Alavari, he’d even murdered his own son, his brother!”

Timur froze. Was Thorgoth going to kill him? Had Timur been wrong? Did his father really want him dead and not just hurt—

“Timur, you’ve been a good son. An obedient son. A son that a king would be proud to have. You know you are far better than your wild, rebellious sister Titania, don’t you?” Thorgoth slid his chair forward, its legs screeching against the wood floor. They rang in Timur’s ears, even as he sat, paralyzed, almost knee to knee with his father.

“I know Titania’s been planning a rebellion. I know you want to support her. I admit, I am not sure why you would do something so stupid, but I am willing to forgive that. You are valuable to me and I reward Alavari who are valuable to me.” Thorgoth’s eyes bored into Timur’s. “How about this, tell me everything you know about what the humans are planning, and what your sister knows, and I will make you my heir, and spare your beloved Frances Windwhistler. I will let her live, and let you take her as your bride.”

Timur blinked. Taking a breath, he stammered, “But… the court will be furious.”

“I am the king. They will accept my decision. And you, a loyal servant of Alavaria, have many talents. I’ve let you had small jobs at first, but you have always done well in them. You are ready for larger things. Maybe the governorship of a province, or the leadership of an army. I will let you take your pick.” Thorgoth pursed his lips. “Though, of course, I will have to render Frances mute first, but other than that, she’ll be unharmed and you can have her any way that you’d like.”

Timur felt like his whole world had gone sideways.

“What do you mean by rendering Frances mute?” he asked, slowly.

“Nothing invasive. Just a spell to make sure she can’t speak or sing—”

“No. I know nothing.” Timur was standing, and now he was towering over his father. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he hissed. He knew he was shaking, he knew his fists were clenched. That didn’t matter. The image of a mute and sobbing Frances was too much.

He could see his father looking up at him, the king’s easy smile now completely gone.

“My son, Timur, think very carefully about what you’re giving up. You will have everything you want. Even the woman you desire. I am willing to give all of this to you for all the good you’ve done for the kingdom.”

Timur stared at his father, and laughed.

He laughed right at King Thorgoth’s face. It was short, barely a chuckle, but the prince was far, far too angry to just keep laughing.

“Funny. I thought you just wanted me dead,” spat Timur, his entire body trembling with fury. “Or was the curse and the order to kill Edana Firehand another reward of yours, father?”

Thorgoth rose to his feet, lips twitching into the barest hint of a snarl. “Timur Greyhamer, I have been merciful and tolerant of your… affections for that human girl but you test my patience. Remember, I am your king. I have given you much, but I can take that all away.”

“So did you order assassins to take my brother Teutobal’s life, father?” Timur hissed.

The king blinked before his eyes narrowed. “What kind of preposterous thing are you saying?”

“Did you beat and whip my older sister black and blue and have her raped so you could turn her into the assassin of your choice, Your Majesty?” Timur howled.

The king’s face twisted for a brief moment in a rictus of fury and he raised his hand.

Before he suddenly lowered it, and smiled.

“And what if I did, Prince Timur? I am the king. Alavaria belongs to me.” He turned on his heel and strode for the door. Just as he reached the doorframe, though, Thorgoth paused.

“Ah, I forgot, Timur. I should have mentioned when I first made my offer that if I did find evidence that you lied to me, some people will visit your dear niece to check on her safety.”

Timur’s rage evaporated in a snap. “No, father, wait—”

“Offer’s up, son. Better hope I don’t find anything,” Thorgoth grinned.

“She’s your granddaughter! How could you—”

The door slammed shut with a bang that echoed in Timur’s ears for what seemed like forever. The trogre, shaking, sank to his knees, cold, horrified dread stabbing through him like a thousand daggers.

“What do I do? What do I do?” Timur stammered. Morgan had just started attending the Alavaria Academy for Magic. He remembered that it was in the province of Nairolen. Titania, Antigones and him had thought that in such a public place, at a well-respected and protected institution, with so many people around her, she’d be safe. Morgan would be far away from Minaira, the capital city of Alavaria where his father was, and far enough away from the war as while Nairolen was technically not part of the kingdom’s “core” provinces, Erisdalians and Lapanterians would have to invade the Vertingen Plain and the province of Gestoch to get to it.

Timur knew, though, that his father did not make idle threats. He had to stop this, and save Morgan.

Frances was sitting in her tent, communing with Ivy’s Sting, going over the spells they may have to use in the battle ahead.

She was already in her battle armour. On her hand was her diamond ring, hoarding a store of backup magic. On her head was the roman-legionary style helmet Edana had given to her years ago. It’d been expanded and reforged as time had gone on to accommodate her growth. Her main protective equipment was her armoured mage robes. White, made from tough linen, they hid an enchanted cuirass and armoured plates sewn in to protect her torso, arms and even legs. Over that was her equipment belt and wand holster, where she carried Ivy’s Sting in the open. There would be no point in hiding her any longer. Finally, in its scabbard at her side was Alanna, her estoc. She rarely used the weapon, but she had no doubt she would run out of magic in this fight. The piercing sword might prove the difference between life and death.

Her tent flap was ripped open. She tore her eyes open, took in the look on Timur’s face and sprang to her feet.

“What happened?”

Her boyfriend fell to the ground, knees thudding into grass. “Father knows something is going on. He’s going to have Morgan killed. Frances, we… I… I don’t know what to do!”

“Wait, what! Explain,” Frances demanded, grabbing onto Timur’s hands.

“Dad threatened to have Morgan killed if something happens today and it will! I didn’t tell him anything, but now he’s going to have Morgan killed, like her father! What am I—”

“Timur, focus!” Shifting her grip to his shoulders, she pulled him close to her. “I don’t think your father is one to bluff but can he really just kill her like that?”

“I… I don’t think so. She’s at the Alavaria Academy for Magic, and it’s highly protected and rather independent… but you know he doesn’t bluff!”

“Right, can one of our allies get her out of there?” Frances asked. “Or can we send Morgan a message to leave?”

Timur’s panicked expression turned into a thoughtful frown. “No, she can’t leave there without a heavy escort. The Academy is politically neutral, but Nairolen province is loyal to my father and it’ll be dangerous for her to leave. It’s also why Antigones and Titania wouldn’t be able to go there.”

“Olgakaren?” Frances asked.

Timur almost smiled, but it faded immediately. “Maybe, but alone she’ll have trouble protecting Morgan,”

Frances closed her eyes. The way she saw it, with the information she had, there was but one solution. “Then send her ahead and we’ll go get her after we leave.”

The prince’s jaw dropped open. “What?”

“Do you have a better idea, Timur?” Frances asked. “Is there anybody who can go?”

“But… it’s a month-long journey by horse to the Academy from where we are and who knows how long it’ll take with us on the run,” Timur stammered. “We don’t have enough gold, horses or—”

“We’ll deal with that when we need to but is there anybody else who can go get your niece?”

Timur took in Frances’s determined expression and wracked his head. There was nobody else. He knew that but as he stared at his girlfriend, he hesitated.

“No, Frances, but… but…”

“But what, Timur?” Frances asked. She swallowed. “What’s wrong, Timur?” she asked again in a gentler tone.

“You’ll be in Alavaria for… a long time, away from your family and friends. In enemy territory, and on the run. I… I can’t do that to you,” Timur stammered.

“And I can’t let you abandon your niece. I want to help.” Frances took a deep breath and tenderly clasped Timur’s face. “She’s an innocent child and someone dear to you. It’ll be hard, but… it’s the right thing to do.”

The prince sniffled, tears filling his eyes. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” Frances parted her lips and met Timur’s in a kiss between chaste and desperate. It ended far too soon, but they didn’t have time. “Now, call Olgakaren. I need to get to the conference to tell Edana.”

Frances could already hear the shouting and yelling before she arrived at the tent. Tensing up, she put a hand on Ivy’s Sting and entered.

All the humans were standing up, bellowing at one another, or more specifically at Clawdia and the Roranoak delegation. Frances’s already uneasy stomach churned even more as she started to pick up words.

“You betrayed the alliance! You betrayed humanity!” Frances heard Sebastian bellow.

“You don’t have to go home with the knowledge that the only reason your subjects haven’t overthrown you is because they know you literally can’t do anything better!” Clawdia retorted.

Frances brushed past the frozen guards towards the human side of the conference table. Thorgoth and his Alavari weren’t here yet. His side of the tent and table were empty, which made sense as Timur had just talked to him. Hands were however, already on weapons with the majority of the humans turned to face the Roranoak envoys.

Frances found her mom, whose brow was furrowed and teeth grinding together.

“Mom, what’s going on?” she hissed.

Her mother didn’t take an eye off Clawdia, and rasped into her ear, “Clawdia knows something’s up and confronted us about it. She doesn’t know the plan, but she definitely told Thorgoth of her suspicions.”

Frances’s grip on Ivy’s Sting tightened. “Ah, well Timur just told me Thorgoth knows. The king’s threatening his niece. I… after I fight him, I’m going to stay for a bit longer, and help Timur get his niece out of Alavaria.” She blinked back the tears she wanted to shed. “I’m sorry mom, but she’s but a child. I can’t let him hurt her.”

Edana’s anger seemed to deflate, leading her shoulders to sag. “How much longer?”

“Months. I’ll be safe with Timur and I’ll call you, okay?” Frances whispered.

“I don’t like it, but… well, you wouldn’t be you if you left a child in danger. Okay. But we’ll need to change the plan. If Clawdia knows then we need to evacuate everybody else, now. Can you get everybody going—”

“What are you talking about behind our backs with your Alavari-fucking daughter, Edana Firehand?” Clawdia hissed.

Frances fought not to let her wand rise. The idea that this traitorous woman could slander the previous thing that she and Timur had burned at the back of her throat.

“Princess Clawdia, we know you have arranged Roranoak’s neutrality and exit from the war, against the agreement between our countries. That’s a far worse crime than simply sleeping with an Alavari,” Frances hissed. She took a deep breath. “Anyhow, my mother and I were talking about nothing of consequence. Please, continue with your conference.”

Frances bowed shortly, glanced at her mother. “I already have ordered it to be sped up, don’t worry,” she whispered. Edana smiled with relief and nodded. Frances, nodding back, headed toward the exit.

She heard the tent flap on the other side open and then, a drawl.

“Oh don’t leave so quickly, Frances Stormcaller. I want to have a talk with you.”

Frances stopped. She slowly turned around, facing her opponent.

King Thorgoth was in full plate armor with an open-faced helmet. The armor was ornate, gilded with gold and silver and polished to a bright sheen, covering every inch of his body. Even his long lion-like tale was covered in articulated plates. Yet, perhaps what was more astounding was the fact that he sauntered in like it weighed nothing. In his gauntleted hand, he carried a wand.

They stared at one another across the tent, divided by the heavy conference table. Amber eyes met black eyes, the pair standing silently. The humans in the tent, particularly the Erisdalian, Erlenberg and Lapanterian delegations, were either just running for, or trying to sidle quietly for the exits.

“Your Majesty,” said Frances in a quiet voice. She pursed her lips. “May I ask why you are in full armour?”

“Well, someone’s going to be fighting me. I can only imagine that it’ll be you or your mother, since you have clearly found out about my ambush.” He smirked as Clawdia started. “The princess didn’t know, but they’re not coming for the Roranoakians. We have reached an agreement, and I don’t go back on my word.”

“No. You just kill and abuse your own children.” Every muscle tensed, ready to move at a moment’s notice, Frances raised her wand and took a step back. “You don’t really want to talk to me, do you?”

“Nah. I just want to kill you and every wretched human in this tent. Oh and that includes you Princess Clawdia, but as I’ve mentioned we have a deal, and you do want to uphold your end of the bargain,” said Thorgoth.

Frances grimaced, but didn’t glance at Clawdia, she couldn’t afford to, but she from the corner of her eye, the princess running out of the tent. She didn’t even notice her mother backing away from the table, until Edana quickly kissed her on the cheek.

“I love you.”

Frances, unable to even blink, nodded and hissed. “Get Clawdia.” She didn’t hear her mother’s response, but she heard her mother’s footsteps fading.

“The Roroanokians will still abide by our agreement, even if your mother captures Clawdia,” said Thorgoth casually.

Frances narrowed her eyes, and smiled. “You know… you always told Timur he talked too much. I think you’re plenty talkative. Must be a family trait.”

Thorgoth sauntered forward, not having even raised his wand. His tail swayed slowly from side to side. “Perhaps. How did you come by my cowardly old wand? You do realize it’s a useless Named Wand right? All it can do is make vines. Great for teaching my daughter a lesson, not the most practical for combat.”

She felt Ivy’s Sting shiver in fear, and yet, Frances felt her partner’s rage and anger.

Master, I’m ready.

“I know,” thought Frances. She started to circle away as Thorgoth walked forward, putting one armored foot in front of the other, stepping towards the conference table.

The king moved first, Frances reacted. He bellowed a Word of Power, flinging a fireball at her. She screamed a note to throw the table in its way. Wood blasted apart, showering the tent with splinters that froze and shot towards the king. Thorgoth bulled through, one arm shielding his face from the deadly rain of wood, singing now. Frances leapt out of the way of a purple bolt of magic that punched through the tent, setting it alight. The young girl leapt again, through the hole, collapsing the tent on the king.

Heavy canvas, rope and supporting poles caved inwards, slamming onto the troll, covering him from view. Falling into a familiar aria, Frances charged her lightning spell and as the canvas ripped out, she threw a crackling bolt at the king.

Chanting a sentence of Words of Power, the king created a purple shield that the lightning slammed against, arching over and dissipating. Thorgoth was smiling now, and he rolled his head, as if stretching his neck out.

Frances sunk back into a ready stance. All around her, amidst the maze of tents and pavilions set up for the conference, humans were making for the bridges, humans were fighting each other, and fighting Alavari. Spells from the different mages were going off. Tents were exploding or on fire. The sounds of battle echoed through the once peaceful island.

“Well, so that’s the Stormcaller’s famous lightning spell. Very impressive. I might actually be able to enjoy myself this time,” said Thorgoth. He rolled his shoulders. “Where did you learn to dodge, Frances dear? That was very agile of you.”

Frances grimaced, saved her breath and started to sing again.

Timur had just finished telling Olgakaren and closed his hand mirror when the first explosion deafened him. His ears ringing, he zig-zagged through the tents. The reason why they’d wanted to evacuate the humans before the war resumed was to prevent such chaos.

Obviously, that had gone wildly not to plan. But he could work with this. He just had to find where Frances was—

Timur ran face-first into a woman in an ornate dress and the pair tripped over each other’s feet to go sprawling on the ground. Scrambling to his feet, Timur blinked rapidly and realized he’d stumbled into Princess Clawdia.

To his surprise, she flung herself at him. “Your Highness! Save me! I’m working with your father! You have to help me!”

The prince blinked and as he looked up, he saw the princess was running from one Edana Firehand. Flames crackled and twisted around her black staff, scorching the ground underneath her feet.

When she saw Timur, the legendary mage paused and smiled.

“Oh, Timur, do be a dear and hand that princess over. She’s the one who told your father that we were planning something and she also seems to take issue with your relationship with my daughter.”

Timur felt a smile growing on his lips. “What kind of issue?”

“Apparently she feels that Frances is an Alavari-fucker,” said Edana lightly. She raised her hand. “Don’t tell me if that’s true.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am—” Timur froze and blinked. “Wait, she’s the one who alerted my father?”

“Yes—” Edana blinked and grimaced. “Ah.”

“Wait, what’s going on—” Clawdia gasped as Timur whipped around and socked her across the jaw, knocking her to the ground.

“Because of you my dad’s going to kill a ten year old!” Timur whipped out his wand and a gem from his pocket, saying a Word of Power. The enchantment in the gem activated and ropes bound the princess tight. “Ma’am, keep her locked tight.”

“Thank you.” Edana locked eyes with Timur. “Keep my daughter safe.” Without waiting for a reply, the woman grabbed Clawdia’s collar and dragged the princess after her.

Timur grimaced and ran to find Frances. He knew how, luckily, he’d just have to find the biggest explosions and follow the sound of lightning.

Frances already had beads of sweat running down her face. It felt like she’d been fighting for hours. However, she knew for a fact that they’d only been fighting for minutes.

This was not good at all. Thorgoth was still smiling, and maybe it was a front, but as he circled, stepping over tent poles and scorched grass, Frances could tell that the king was barely warmed up.

Frances, in contrast, was beginning to pant. Sucking in deep breaths of air, she stayed put, turning to keep her eye on the troll, but not moving. She needed to conserve her energy.

Thorgoth leapt into action, whirling his wand in a circle, yelling Words of Power, he fired a bolt of energy, whipped some kind of spell into the ground and cast a spell that did something outside of Frances’s vision.

Frances raised her diamond ring and threw a shield around herself, bright blue and white magic barriers blocking the bolt of energy, the column of earth and rock that slammed into her side, and an entire supply cart that smashed onto her barriers. Her singing wavered, as pangs of pain slammed into her head from the sheer force, but she held her barriers. Quickly dropping them, she leapt aside, dodging another piercing bolt of magic by the skin of her teeth.

She fired back with the spell she’d been simultaneously building as she’d throw her shields up. A howling gale slammed down on top of Thorgoth’s head, strong enough to force the Alavari to a knee. She immediately followed with a super-charged heating spell aimed to bake the king in his armor.

Thorgoth’s smile vanished for a moment, as he bellowed out a spell to cool his protective gear, but Frances wasn’t done. Tapping into her connection with Ivy’s Sting, she loosed a quick thunderbolt that slammed into the king with such force it kicked up a cloud of dirt.

She fired again and again, throwing thunderbolt after thunderbolt into the cloud. When she stopped, out of breath, her wand arm shaking, she stood, waiting to see if the king survived that.

Thorgoth stepped through the cloud, brushing off dust covering his armor, his tail batting away at the cloud he was leaving behind him. He was surrounded by a shimmering purple shield.

Frances bit back a groan. This was bad. She’d always known that fighting Thorgoth would be a horrible prospect, but it was worse now that she was in it.

There had been several problems that Frances had known she was going to have when fighting the so-called “Demon King.” First off, nobody knew anything about Thorgoth’s fighting style other than that he reputed to be monstrously strong, not Titania, Antigones and certainly not Timur. Titania recounting her training had given insight into what her father valued. Power, reaction speed and a degree of flexibility and athleticism. However, he never actually fought Titania one to one. He’d only administered punishments without actually showing her his fighting style.

The second problem was that Frances had always known she was not a duellist mage. She’d actually lost the semifinals in Erlenberg’s Winter Tournament to a mage with less raw power than she had. Duelling magic was more of her cousin Ayax’s forte. Simply put, Frances’s power and casting speed meant she was used to overwhelming her opponents, or scoring a first killing blow. She had the instincts to grasp her opponent’s weaknesses and try to predict their movements, but she knew herself could be very predictable. The longer a fight got drawn out between herself and an equally powerful and skilled opponent, the more predictable she might get. A mage more used to duelling, like Ayax, would be able to feint, deceive or even slip a critical spell past their enemy’s defenses. In contrast, Frances had often relied on out-enduring, or overpowering equally skilled opponents, rather than landing a critical spell.

That wasn’t a problem on the battlefield against non-magical opponents, or opponents that simply weren’t as powerful as Frances, and few were. However, Thorgoth was more powerful and he was probably more skilled. The situation was more like a duel.

That and Frances had to make this duel as long as possible, which meant the longer she fought, the more deadly the fight was going to become.

“Roasting me alive? You are ruthless, Frances Windwhistler.” Thorgoth sneered. “Not Wendlan any more I suppose? Did your parents hit you too hard?”

Frances flinched, but didn’t reply. Let the king monologue, let him buy her time. He probably had found out the same way Titania had. Through picking up on the research done one her by her opponents in the Winter Tournament more than a year ago.

“You know, when I do get my hands on you, and I will, I’m going to torture you myself. Oh, and I’ll do it in front of my son. I wonder how long he’ll last before he goes insane.”Thorgoth pursed his lips and looked up at the sky. “Or should I make my son do it. Put a noose around his head and tell him I’ll just tighten it if he doesn’t beat you? Nah, he’ll just kill himself. He’s so stupid like that—”

Thorgoth deflected a bright blue bolt of magic with his wand. Frances continued to sing, rage, fear, but mostly rage, driving her song. For a moment, she forgot she was supposed to be buying time. All she wanted was for this monster to die, so he could never hurt her or her love ever again.

Thorgoth merely sneered and batted aside every blast of magic she threw at him, no matter the angle. Each of them could normally pierce plate armor, but he just hit them aside, continuing to chant Words of Power as he did. Frances dropped her voice to start her lightning aria, and that’s when Thorgoth fired.

Frances knew it was too late for her to cast a shield so she poured her magic into her enchanted armor. Sky blue barriers locked into place in front of the massive fireball that hit her, yet she was still thrown back and into the air. Her arms pinwheeling, she tried to levitate herself, only to be seized by Thorgoth’s magic and thrown headfirst into the ground.

She screamed a note, just quickly enough to create a shield that shattered against the earth, but broke her fall. She was certain the impact knocked her out for a split-second, but she scrambled to her feet anyway, blinking past spots in her vision, wincing as her head started to ache.

Master!

“I’m fine!” Frances hissed, checking herself over. Dirt all over her robes, her helmet was smeared, but she didn’t have any broken bones. But that was too close. She narrowed her eyes. Thorgoth waltzed, no, not walked, waltzed towards her, one hand twirling his wand like he was a bored kid in class.

“You are an exemplary opponent. Many mages wouldn’t have survived that. I wonder how long you shall survive.” The king was grinning. He wasn’t taking her seriously. He was still having fun.

Frances took a deep breath. “Ivy, are you sure?”

“I’m scared, but… I’m certain. You won’t survive if I don’t stop holding back.”

“Thank you.” Frances sunk back into her duelling stance and raised her faithful wand. “Let’s do this.”