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rison life ended up being about what Darius expected—long stretches of impenetrable ennui interspersed with pockmarks of interest. He saw his life emptied of all the material comforts that once brought him solace and within a few days of it he’d grown to mourn all the books, the fine clothes and gourmet-prepared meals he’d come to take for granted.

Yet in spite of all that he knew this emptiness, this harrowing void of irrelevance he’d found himself in, was sooner preferable to what awaited in the bowels of the Citadel dungeons. For that reason alone he sought to become a model prisoner, playing the part of the domesticated monster until an opportunity arose for him to sink his teeth into. He’d begun to memorise his routine for lack of any other way to pass the time, from the circulation of nurses to the exact minute of the hour his meals would be served.

As a full-grown occasso he required, at a minimum, six meals per day with carnivorous options—though he’d always been most partial to fowl and fish. He liked the elegance that came from ensnaring them. How the process seemed cleaner, neater, than the foul-smelling, blood-soaked mess that was hunting down an elk. He’d dirty his hands of course, should he need to. But should there be a choice in the matter, he would always prefer to keep his fingers spotless.

Once his late afternoon meal was cleared he took to exercise. He knew there was as much urgency in keeping his body as sharply honed as his mind, and with the absence of possibilities to satisfy one he’d been driven to overcompensate the other. He’d worked himself into a deep sweat when a break in his routine arrived in the form of a solarite. He could tell her instantly by the bright hue of her hair and eyes, the glistening skin that under incandescent lighting seemed to overpower.

Darius ceased his regimen, standing immediately to attention, predator senses alert.

“Oh please, don’t stop on my account,” Dr Mielette urged from the observation window, “I was beginning to enjoy the display.”

Darius quirked a brow in response. “Do you often flirt with your charges?”

“Only the pretty ones,” Dr Mielette said with a smile. “My name is Dr Lucrèce Mielette and I happen to be in charge of this fine facility. Come, let us talk a moment.” Then she unlocked his door.

Intrigued, and a little wary, Darius slipped back into his white overalls before he followed her out of the door. He was accosted by Lightshields the moment he stepped foot from his cell, whose necks all dangled with a glowing yellow crystal that sickened him upon proximity to it. He would later come to learn that this crystal was amaranthum.

“Come along, don’t dawdle,” Dr Mielette called over her shoulder, continuing her brisk stride.

He pushed through his discomfort to catch up to her, mirroring her poised tightrope walk. He took this time to commit to memory the journey from his room to the setting of their destination; all the entryways and exits; the enclosed stairwells.

Their final stop brought them to the office of the doctor herself, her name stencilled on a gold plaque in bold lettering. Yet another was she in the long line of female leaders he had encountered on Vysterian soil.

A Lightshield opened the door for them before they entered and Dr Mielette made a gesture to one of the many seating arrangements of the room. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

The chairs were all upholstered with leather in a meek-mannered cream, far more pristine than it had any right to be. Darius almost feared he’d sully it through sight alone. He chose the chaise lounge and reclined into the plushness, grateful to take luxury where it came.

Dr Mielette regarded his affinity to opulence with a smile, taking a seat opposite of him. “Can I interest you in some rosewater?” She gestured to the frosted floral jug and glasses on the table before them.

“You are gracious,” Darius said, offering her his most charming smile, the one that best showed off his dimples. A little flirtation could carry him a long way in his experience.

The doctor poured them both glasses and handed him his. “I want to apologise for the belated nature of this consultation. Typically I like to catch my new inmates when they first arrive but things have been rather busy. Have you been settling well?” She raised her glass to her lips.

“Quite well, yes.” Darius took a sip, having waited for her to drink first. “For a prisoner I have certainly been treated with remarkable courtesy.”

“Well, I don’t quite know how you do it in Mortos but here in Soleterea we treat criminality with the aim of rehabilitation rather than retribution.”

“Sounds rather… soft,” Darius said, taking another sip from his drink.

Dr Mielette smiled widely, a small spectacle of light fluctuating across her features. “I suppose you aren’t too partial to forgiveness where you’re from.”

“Forgiveness,” Darius chuckled, “I’m sure your impératrice didn’t have me sent here in the hopes I could be forgiven.”

“No, she sent you here in the hopes you could be reformed. Once you are reformed, forgiveness comes easily.”

Darius smirked heavily into his glass. “Something tells me that the opportunity for reform has long surpassed me.”

“What makes you say that?” Dr Mielette cocked her head to one side, curious.

“Oh, I’ve done a lot of very bad things.”

“Tell me about them,” Dr Mielette encouraged, the oscillations along her skin now a soft and steady shimmer. “What’s the first terrible thing you have ever done?”

“I—” He almost couldn’t think of it, mesmerised as he was by her pulsating glow. “When I was young, Dominus used to have this bird. This little crow he used to go hunting with. I remember it so fondly. It had these ink black feathers, soft as a cloud. Oh, and he loved that bird. Used to take it everywhere with him. He’d drive me mad with it. Then one day we were having a spat over something, I don’t even remember what it was. And for whatever reason I was so angry with him that night, I couldn’t let it go. It reached the point where I waited until he was sleeping, crept into his room, took the little crow deep into the forest. And I set it free.” Darius wet his lips, swallowing thickly. “He searched for it for days after, all up and down the Citadel and on the grounds. Just calling for it. I never said a word.”

Dr Mielette sat back in her chair, hands folded. “Why did you do it?”

“I couldn’t tell you.”

“Yes, you can,” she said. Her skin flickered like a dying flame. “You know exactly why you did it.”

Darius tried to hold fast his jaw but found he could control what his tongue was saying. “I did it because I was jealous of him. Because he had a nice thing. Because he always had nice things and I wanted to remove it from him so he would know how it felt to have had something so close within your grasp… only to have someone else take it.”

“Did it feel good?” Dr Mielette asked, “taking from him?”

“Yes,” Darius admitted, swirling the admission around on his tongue.

“And what about after? Did you ever feel bad after the fact?”

Darius clutched the glass of rosewater in his hand. “I helped him look for a little while, travelled deep into the forest with him as he called and whistled. I knew he would never find that blasted bird again. I just wanted him to have closure with it, I suppose.”

“You felt guilty,” she deduced.

“Does it matter? I still did it.”

Dr Mielette leaned closer towards him, her light engulfing the room in a stifling summer warmth. “I want you to focus on that. On your guilt. Your jealousy, and resentment, your insecurity with your brother... I want you to let those go.”

“Why are you doing this?” Darius asked, stiffening suddenly. “Why am I even telling you all of this? What have you done to me?”

“This is the first step towards your reform,” Dr Mielette informed him, her voice soothingly serene. “Don’t fight it. Just let it take you.”

“Get out of my head,” Darius snarled. His sclera was eclipsed by shadow, the veins beneath thick and writhing. “Get out of my head right now.” His final bark unleashed his fangs as he lunged towards her.

Dr Mielette barely shifted an inch, erecting a force shield around her that sent Darius rebounding across the room. He hit the wall with a thud, crackling paint and dust.

The Lightshields burst in to her aid moments after.

“Hold your weapons,” Dr Mielette said calmly, holding up a hand towards them. His resistance was fascinating to her rather than irksome and she debated whether he’d be the ideal specimen she’d been searching for. She folded her hands behind her back as she approached Darius. “I have to say I’m disappointed. I had hoped you might be more amenable to improvement than this. No matter. We have all the time in the world to get past this rough start, you and I.”

Her smile was so radiant it almost sickened him to look at it.

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The red carriage of Vasilisa Regina ignited like a flame through the greyed moroseness of Mortesian weather, drawing to a stop outside the rain-mirrored street.

“I want to thank you for extending me this invitation, Vasilisa Regina,” Laila mentioned once they’d vacated the carriage and climbed the steps towards the exclusive ladies’ lounge owned by Domitia Orlovia.

A ghoul opened up an umbrella for them once they did so, desperate to shield them from the torrent of the summer storm.

“Thank you for being brave enough to return here,” Vasilisa replied, her rubicund lips upturned in admiration. “Not many have braved my husband’s wrath and lived to tell the tale. Let alone been bold enough to step foot on his soil afterwards.”

“Well, it took a bit of coaxing I will admit,” Laila said, gathering her cape about her shoulders. “Though it did help in knowing he’s rather had his hands full to truly be concerned about me as of now.”

Since Claudius’ murder and Darius’ subsequent arrest, more and more of Lanius’ prefects had been roused into doubting the rex’s competency to lead. They vacated court in droves and those who had not been subject to arrest were currently still in hiding. With the loss of Darius, especially, came the severance of vital intelligence networks the Citadel relied upon to keep the kingdom under heel—a loss, Lanius quickly discovered, that was not quite so easily replaced.

They paused before the oak-panelled glass doors where Vasilisa turned to Léandre. “I am afraid there are no males permitted beyond this point. There’s a local tavern not far from here, if you’d care to join my guards.”

Léandre bowed his head. “Of course, madame.” He turned to Laila. “I’ll be with you as soon as you need me. For now I leave you in Lyra’s hands.”

“Thank you, Léandre.” Laila stepped forward to embrace him before he left.

“Now, shall we?” Vasilisa beckoned to the doors as a female ghoul opened up to receive them.

They entered the foyer where they were greeted by the sound of faint orchestral music. Haunting, lilting melodies of strings and woodwind suffused the air as their footsteps echoed on the polished marble flooring.

Another ghoul arrived to receive them. “Welcome, Your Highness,” she rasped, bowing low in courtesy. She, like all the ghouls, wore a uniform of red and black. “May I relieve you of your capes?”

“You may.” Vasilisa extended her arms out like a bird, allowing them to unveil the fox-trimmed garment from her shoulders.

Laila mimicked the gesture while Lyra remained firmly attached to her outer garment.

“You may, in fact, be the last appointment to arrive.” The ghoul gave a rudimentary glance at her guest list. “I shall escort you to our mistress.”

As she led them through to the lounge the music grew louder, joined by the subtle interplay of ringing porcelain and silver. Laila took a moment to observe her surroundings, absorbing with slight open-mouthed awe the tall green marble-inlaid pillars and carved dark wood, the sculpted friezes coated in brass. The place had a gloomy grandeur to it; an eerie, mystical quality that seeped down her spine the further she entered.

There were two floors to the lounge and their table was located on the second, nestled up against the mirror-paned wall. The sole occupant at the table stood to attention the moment they arrived.

“Domina Domitia,” crowed the ghoul, beckoning to her most recent guests, “the regina has arrived.”

“My dearest Vasilisa,” Domitia exclaimed in delight, rushing to kiss her cheek. She was square of jaw and tawny-skinned with eyes the same bright hue of lemon rind. “How wonderful to see you, please sit.”

The casual manner with which she beheld the royal did not go unnoticed by the others and soon the mood had shifted to one of relaxed formality as the two were seated.

Lyra remained in the corner, ever watchful, deciding to take advantage of her proximity to the mirror to have an extra pair of eyes on hand for suspicious activity.

“I assume you’ve heard of Princess Laila by now,” Vasilisa said, unfolding her napkin to smooth it onto her lap. “She’s come to join us all the way from sunny Soleterea.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Laila accessorised her greeting with a scintillating smile. “Vasilisa has told me a great many remarkable things.”

“Likewise, Your Radiance,” Domitia replied.

“Yes, I’ve brought Princess Laila here today so she might have an opportunity to sit in on our little niche gatherings.” Vasilisa gestured for a server to pour her a cup of poppy tisane. “And further discuss our current state of affairs.” She reached for a ruby red cake garnished with whipped cream. “Domitia here is an esteemed member of the Golden Owl.”

“The Golden Owl?” Laila echoed in curiosity, “that’s a fascinating name, would you mind telling me what inspired it?”

“Well,” Domitia began, sipping from her tisane, “that happens to be me. Our members are all, besides Vasilisa here, proud owners of a gold medal of motherhood. Which means we have each produced eight sons to contribute towards the expansion and prosperity of the kingdom. With such a hefty investment made, it isn’t any wonder we have some misgivings about our current monarch as of late.”

“Yes, of course,” Laila said, somewhat astonished as she reached to take a sip of warm milk. While motherhood had certainly been held to great esteem in Vysteria, she’d never heard anything like hosting a reward system for it. “Eight sons, that’s quite an extraordinary feat!”

“Well, I suppose it shall be seven now in my case.” Domitia’s face grew embittered upon referring to Claudius. She took a bite from her black cherry tart. “Babes are rarer than diamonds for our kind and a thousand times more precious. So we like to commemorate the event.”

“And your daughters?”

“Will never grow to be warriors,” Domitia dismissed as though the subject bored her, “and thus the rewards are less grand.”

That didn’t seem right to Laila at all. Surely, in her mind, the producers of the next sons ought to reap far more value. It was like placing a higher price tag on the milk, rather than the cow.

“But onto other matters, it is a shame about Lanius,” Domitia sighed, “pity those hags at the Vidua Nocte became involved. If he hadn’t traded services with them then who knows where we would be now. As it stands, something ought to be done about him. His reign has spanned almost three centuries. It has been a healthy run, all things considered. However, all good things must come to an end.”

“Which is why we are here, Domasha,” Vasilisa explained, “I believe it is time for my son Dominus to take the throne and Princess Laila has agreed to lend her support. What I want to know is how many of the gentry we can count on.”

“Lanius has been making a number of unpopular decisions as of late, what with how he’s been choosing to deal with our weather, his revolving council seats, and now of course this diplomatic mess. To be perfectly honest with you, Vasya, we’d have seen him off the throne a century ago but Dominus’ reluctance has been a large factor. Has he seen a change of heart now?”

Vasilisa sipped from her tisane to take some time to think. “I have been supporting him towards… an alteration in perspective.”

“What a wonderfully neutral way of phrasing it!” Domitia declared in amusement, “well regardless, the support is there should he need it. Lanius’ base is still strong in spite of his mistakes even now but Darius’ arrest has gotten people questioning whether he is still fully in control. If he can’t control his son how does he expect to control a continent? Though he would be foolish to move now with so many eyes on him over the water. I’m sure Soleterea is on high alert, ready to move in should there be any signs of conflict.”

“You assume correctly,” Laila said, helping herself to a small red cake.

“Well then, we’re at a standstill,” Domitia said with a shrug, “but that makes this time period the most critical of all. If you want Dominus on the throne it’s best to move in now, while you can. Before Lanius begins to suspect the worst.”

“We’re certainly prepared to discuss it with him,” Vasilisa confirmed, turning to Laila with a smile. “Aren’t we, Your Radiance?”

Laila swallowed softly, taking a moment to stir burnt honey into her poppy tisane. For so long she’d lived in fear of this moment and in truth she still didn’t know which face of the coin Dominus’ loyalties may fall. She concealed this as she always did with the brandish of a smile. “Yes. Yes, of course.”