Extra lengthy chapter (double the size, actually) to compensate for last week's missed update.

he Stone Tower was everything like I'd seen in my dream back on Earth: bleak, grey and suffocating. But the stairs weren't cracked and the ceiling wasn't falling.

Instead, mighty pillars stood proud at each level, monsters carved into them just like the ones in the throne hall. They looked and felt more alive than not, an unsettling, thick feeling running a claw down my spine whenever I stared at them for too long.

The sconces were alit, a dull, blue fire hissing, wavering with the occasional gusts of winds, stretching shadows on the floor, the wall, the ceiling. Long and shallow, flickering with every step I took.

The only speck of color had been red. Stark, crimson red through the mosaic arts stretching on the risers of the stairs. The higher the level, the more brutal the scene became, taking its whole shape when viewed at the base of the staircase. They were the same stories found in the hall, in our building, everywhere in the castle. Their victory.

There was no carpet here, and the rustling of my cape against the marble floor had been the only sound beside the fires and the howling winds. A heavy length slid from my shoulders, black as coal, ran by a single line of bright scarlet in the very middle, thick as finger.

I rarely wore it, kept it for the formal gatherings. Which was a continuous reminder of how important today was. That atop this tower, the most powerful—most deadly—generals and leaders were gathered, waiting for us to discuss the new strategies.

I'd been through many similar ones, albeit smaller, more concentrated on a certain region. But now, what was coming, all the whispers of the court in consideration, a blood bath was being planned. And it was Leon, Yesar and I alone who could—who had to—scheme as hard as possible to lessen the damage.

The last stairway was all that stood between me and the old and massive Nightbleed doors, their sight a suffocating weight like nothing I'd experienced before.

Leon was atop the stairs, too, waiting for the royal family to arrive. He'd came in flying, spared himself the pain of the eight, unending levels. But I had wanted to see this place for the first, and last time, before leaving. Wanted to know what was so crucial about it to be the start of my nightmares. Nothing stood out, nothing made it feel more special than any other council tower I'd been in.

My fingers interlaced with my husband's as we stood, facing the double doors, the scents of the auras behind them thin and frail. Such a heavy power kept this place protected. Impenetrable without an invitation.

A thundering sound echoed within the walls as I faced the doors, taking in the long, two-inches-deep claw marks lining them. They ripped across the crescent and sun carved into them as deeply as the Eziaran emblem—those doors were of the many things they had kept after laying hand on the continent.

I hadn't realized how hardly I had squeezed Leon's fingers until his thumb started tracing idle circles, calluses rough against my scars. He donned the cape almost twin to mine, but the blackness of mine had been the fiery red. It suited him, so bloody much.

A ripple of magic stretched through the world and it was far enough to know Blake and Lysithea were moments of arriving.

Darkness spun atop my head, sewing a crown similar to the one I had flaunted that first night in this continent. A detailed artwork of threads thinner than a cobweb's, plunging in the middle, ending a breath before the space between my eyebrows.

The air grew colder and colder and colder. Leon let go of my fingers, hand falling slack at my side. The ruling Armedeses stepped out of their gate.

It felt as though the world fell silent at that moment, as though the winds and storms withered in a heartbeat. The Queen stood at my mate's side, nothing decent on her face as she extended her hand, perfectly manicured fingers curling around the arm he offered.

It took strength—a bloody amount of it—to take my attention off that hold, off that whisper of a smirk on her heavily, red-painted mouth. Off the arm Blake, or Dearcious, slid around my waist, slowly feeling the silken fabric of the shirt I wore—the one he'd sent to my rooms earlier this morning.

It had been soaked in his scent so heavily his smell had filled the entire apartment the moment I received it in its box. It was a twin to his—perhaps had been his, too, since it had been resized with magic to fit me perfectly. Leon and I had stared at it for so long, wondering if I should obey, if I should give him—and all those gathered today—such a clear sign.

We agreed to it, now that everything was on such thin, thin ice. Did all they wanted, didn't question, didn't rebel. It was the morbid calm before the storm.

And so I didn't push the king's touch away as the doors slid open, my chin high, my pace unfaltering as we went in, a wave of heat slipping out, caressing my skin.

Yesar was already inside with all the generals responsible of Nevora, Rimelia and Arelesia respectively at his left. His right was an empty chair standing between him and Weyar Ohad, general and second most powerful commander of the Umbra Warriors beneath the king and queen. He was one of them, those who had given themselves to the darkness—the strongest, actually. And the most merciless, cold-blooded demon to ever hold this position.

Mealin was here, alongside the leaders one rank lower than the generals while not a squire was in sight.

They all remind silent, still as the pillars in the corners as we entered, Blake and Lysithea the first to sit, the court's eyes low, their heads down. The last time someone dared look at them during the start of a formal meeting…well, Weyar hadn't grown yet an eye instead of the one he'd lost that evening.

Aedis and I took seat, the back of the chair low enough that my cape didn't bulge and drag behind me; actually, it was low enough to accommodate my wings should I decide to unfurl them. At last, Lysithea raised a moon-white hand and it was enough a cue for everyone to take seat.

The clock on the opposite wall chimed, the six hours meeting starting.

Yenes still hadn't arrived.

And Yesar was more than just aware of the king and queen's unfaltering stares, the loud displeasure radiating from them. The Dark General, if he valued his life, should be soaring up the stairs by now, sorting through every possible excuse to get himself out of the mess waiting for him with open arms.

The Umbra Warrior at my left was grinning as he took me in a sweeping stare, his mouth nothing more than a cut without lips, his teeth razor sharp. I had no doubt he could rip through raw flesh without so much as an effort.

I grinned back, noting the skeletal hand he placed on the oval-shaped table, a finger tapping in a slow, monotonous rhythm as his stare slid to the prince at my side, then at Lysithea and Aedis who took the opposite end.

"I've heard you ate the red-haired to the bones after the tournament.''

Good heavenly lords—even his voice could stop an army in place. Rough, rasping, and every word laced with shear madness.

I stared at him from the corner of my eye, an eyebrow slightly arching before I winked. The regional leader seated at the immediate side of the queen—facing his general—seemed to go many shades paler at once. And it was comical, all on so many levels, especially after the fact that he'd been there, that time when I'd blatantly tossed a head into his queen's lap.

Weyar was still smirking as he reclined his head, giving me a clearer view of Yesar whose face was hard, his jaws so tightly clenched they almost snapped. The perfect portrait of the man who was going to be punished because of his father.

Blake lifted a hand, and the newly appointed General Diyásh nodded her head to the leader obeying to her, the latter handing two identical, leather bound folders to the king and queen. There hadn’t been much past what was the Ardorian equivalent to a picture, a few notes, and all the names of those who had been butchered, piled up, and left to be pecked by the crows a few months back in Rimelia.

The king didn't linger much on the document before tossing it back, reclining in his seat, one elbow resting on the armrest of his throne-shaped seat. We'd gone over this murder before with a saturated cup of kavaer as we discussed some plans alone in his rooms. The scene Carter had planted was beyond perfect, not a loophole, not an item out of place. It didn't take much to convince Blake with our lies, not when everything clicked together so impeccably.

Lysithea slid the document back, a whisper of a smile curling her lips as both Armedeses eyed the general until her aura shriveled. That cold, hard face of hers disclosed not a bit.

''Good job, General.''

Diyásh nodded, her smile well tailored as she breathed, ''Thank you, Your Majesties."

Third to the general and his leader, Diyásh had been the servant. The one to get the dirty work done, the one to entertain them whenever they felt like it, the one to take the brunt of it whenever they were angered—it was the perfect motif. And the perfect crime scene.

Kill them all, then take the position. Live in all the glory.

She'd been offered position and wealth on a plate of gold and would have been a bloody idiot to deny it. No one would know what truly happened, no one would question it, not with the royals approval.

Dearcious took another glance at the clock, then at Yesar, then at the generals next to him, the leaders at the other side of the table. One by one until they rested on Mealin on his immediate right, nothing readable on his face.

I could almost see the wheels spinning, could almost see the displeasure materializing around us. He had planned on opening this meeting with Cantelot, Vemor especially, but Yenes hadn't arrived yet. His spy and hands in my home. His eyes and ears. The king's grunt was loud and clear as he mentioned at the General of Nevora.

A map appeared of thin air, spreading on the table, houses and forests and deserts rising from it as though it truly was the continent and not only ink on paper. Small figurines materialized, endless specks of black representing their forces as they rounded the edge of the capital.

Leon remained unbothered in his seat, bored almost even when I knew he noted everything. Every damn nook and corner the troops walked through, every possibility of attack. His continent, his mother's people—

Lysithea moved a finger before leaning in, head on a hand, observing as the soldiers changed routes as she willed. The Umbra Warriors moved as she desired, splitting and fighting , each movement well calculated. The five of them—Lysithea, Blake, Mealin, General of Nevora and his leader—did not lift their heads for a long, painful while.

More than a few sneers echoed between us as each tried to force their strategies, the remaining generals silent and still as stone.

The first hour clicked as I rolled my shoulders, the cape vanishing, the absence of its weight a relief.

Every word. Every name, I memorized them all. Each valley, each underground passage, each barrack, each leader, legion, soldier.

Aedis was tracing the patterns of the table, a completely uninterested body at the queen's side. I could feel the strain down our mating bond, could feel him biting on every word, on the wildness of his aura.

Yesar still hadn't said a word, didn't move a finger as we observed as the mass of soldiers barreling toward the southern side of the capital.

"They've already cornered us in the south,'' Mealin said, not bothering to look at the map. He'd walked through those streets, had walked through the palace for years, knew every corner of it. ''They've sealed the underground entrance.''

Leon remained silent and unbothered, not a breath out of order. He'd make him pay for all of it. Not only for his mother's blood, but for his people's too, for all those who fell as a result of these very meetings.

Lysithea made the soldiers shift roads again, splitting them in half. ''Then go through the northeastern one.''

"We'll be taken down.''

''Of course you will be taken down.'' Every word was mocking. Every letter was venom. "You should've broken through their forces more than three months ago.''

Mealin said no word, moved no finger unlike the leader who had reclined in his seat, unlike the general who had gripped the edge of the table so hard it almost cracked. She'd given them a piece of her mind then for their failure, and it seemed she wasn't far from doing it again.

Our rebelling forces—our people that had resisted and plotted against every move. Leon had supervised their movements, had lead too many battles with them and came out more victorious than not. And when it hadn't been him commending the forces when the courts were gathered before we left the Ether castle…We won that battle. Held our grounds. But too much blood had been spilled, too many forces had been lost that could've been saved.

Dearcious pulled the forces farther from the capital—the heart of the revolution—assessing every entrance to the city. To the palace and the secrets it held. All of Estelle's remaining studies that Mealin hadn't been able to destroy, guarded day and night, silently being transferred to the Ether Castle without their notice; not even our court members knew about this.

Even if they ever made it that deep, if they ever got into the palace, it would already be too late.

Hundreds of soldiers were parted, quarter of their power redirected toward the south. Toward the most predictable point. And then the rest of the forces cut north through the Sadarian Desert a good few days—weeks, even—on foot from Amlisha.

"Busy them where they await us. Send full armies to keep them diverted for days. Weeks.''

For the first time in so long, Lysithea didn't aim her forces toward the vital points, the ports, the prosperous lands, the mines she still landed her hands on. They wanted Amlisha. Terribly.

''Make them believe it is real. Give them false hope, false victory then slaughter them all. To the youngest babe. ''

Leon might have been a heartbeat away from chocking her with his bare hands.

Lysithea steered the army—a small number of figurines that represented more than a thousand on land. They trailed, then went below ground through the tunnels they'd built. She wasn't Dearcious, she wasn't a thousand years old. But she was ruthless. And so damn smart. For years, she leaded those armies. For decades, she plotted against our forces. For centuries, she worked until she snatched the crown from her father and fed him to the dogs and vultures of the castle.

The war on Arelesia, the assaults on the continent…It had been her, from the start, Dearcious more often busy in bringing his god back. I would be a damned fool to ever disregard what she could do.

She'd earned that hate burning in my blood far before we ever stepped foot here, she'd earned it through months of running from continent to continent, her grip on her forces almost immaculate.

The black soldiers came barreling around the palace, down the road Mealin had marked with red ink, Weyar keenly observing as the battle unfurled. Red and white fell, black marching through them down to the gates, the Umbra Warriors barely faltering their pace.

It was most likely how it would happen with Leon here not being able to alert anyone, to change rotations, to pull our forces back from the barracks they were marching to. A trap. The commotions going back to a month back had been a trap. A backup plan.

Our numbers were little. So, so little in front of the army Lysithea was ready to send. Some of Estelle's researches might still be in the capital, but if Amlisha fell, if they took down every trooper and rebel—

Nevora would be lost. And with war so close, it would be impossible to get it back.

And yet Leon remained calm and cold, head tilting back in boredom, sweeping over the many faces, the closed, window-less walls. He wouldn't dare move a soldier, wouldn't gamble it all with Mealin here. Aedis was not Leon, he was a warrior, the type that slaughtered and butchered without a blink, not a war analyst.

The general and the leader remained quiet as Lysithea and Blake and Mealin and Weyar moved their armies, utterly useless and silent, nothing more than puppets to get the bloody work done.

I rolled my head from side to side before picking at a claw, looking everything bored out of my mind.

The palace crumbled down, a puff of smoke and dust erupting from the map. The soldiers stopped moving.

I stared at the map, the well played battle. Stared and stared and stared and—

And then laughed. Hollered until hoarse.

Aedis smirked, arms still crossed, head still tilted up as his mind spun with mine. Spun and spun and spun.

I scattered the small figurines, the palace reconstructing in a blink.

Once out of here, once back home, I would personally scout down who had been leading these forces. Would personally strangle him or her with my very bare hands. Leon's orders had been clear before leaving, the map, the strategies, the backups—he'd planned for every single damn possible move this war council could make. He'd left a way out for every ambush.

And my father and Court Leader weren't morons. They would've seen how ridiculously easy it would be to take the continent. It had never been Ayaz interfering with our military matters—he's powers didn't run so deep.

There had been someone else, we knew that from so long, leaking what was happening from the very heart. Someone sending false orders, replacing the official papers.

I made the show of being hilariously amused as I reclined in my seat, still smirking as I stared at Aedis then at them.

"They've kept us a secret for decades.'' I pointed at the white soldiers, the White Troopers. ''They march by orders. Do you think they'll be fooled so easily?"

Lies. All of it this mess was just that: a storm of lies to get ourselves out of here with the less damage possible.

"And what do you suggest, Cohar?" Still grinning, Weyar was still grinning it had started to pull on my nerves. He'd been waiting for just that: to see what could come out of the famed Cohar of the Windreapers.

And so I moved the soldiers, splitting them—

The doors slid open, the entire map vanishing as the clinking of heels on marble filled the air.

It should've been a relief. It had been so for the first heartbeat until I realized in what skin Yenes had entered.

I wouldn't forget that face, wouldn't forget the soft, singsong voice.

Aria Fairlon.

My professor at the Norm. One of the most highly praised professors.