Kaelith's finger found the ring in her pocket once more, feeling its cool weight. The ring had marked her in more ways than one. She couldn't sleep as her name reverberated in spaces which had been long silenced while the dead started coming to life.
The very next day, she stowed the ring in a soft velvet pouch and tucked it behind a brick in her fireplace.
Exactly what I needed.
Because it was then the Queen Regent sent for her.
No title. No reason. Not even a single formal ceremony.
I need you. That's all.
Kaelith donned a lace veil black mourning attire. What was once her execution's aftermath now turned into armor. Her gait was measured through the palace's courtyards, where everyone held back commenting.
The high solar was occupied by the Queen now.
Dominating, regal features surrounding an unreadable expression.
"Your Grace." Kaelith murmered.
"Leave it," the Queen continued. "We're far into the discussion."
"Still, I beg," she paused, "why do I have to endure this meeting?"
There, on the table between them was Kaelith's answer. A teacup, one of two steaming slightly, the untouched cup placed before her.
"It's a test, one that you either pass or die by." The Queen said simply.
Kaelith did not hesitate. "You have tried to kill me once kay."
"And you lived. That made me curious." The Queen said.
"That girl only tried to age herself whilst drinking tea." Kaelith remained motionless.
"I heard a rumor, and I cannot validate reality, as it is too absurd," the Queen continued swirling the cup. "You've been digging through the east wing ruins. Surely you have much more to offer."
Kaelith's heart raced.
"So tell me Duchess, why do dead screaming birds signify the end?" The Queen leaned forward slightly.
There was silence now.
She now regretted not declaring all-out chaos sooner. It was dangerous to have her manners before the wrong feline shaped covenant. As much she wanted to rise back into a balanced overt world, thing was that she only wanted blood.
Kaelith prepared herself to flip into the queen's arm for charm before untangling dogmas.
"None," she finally relented, concealing Edens latest invention.
Clearing the mechanical motion pause wasn't enough maneuver amphibious gaze last checkmate.
Minutes turned cold once more.
"Careful, Kaelith. You've crawled out of a grave once. Don't make me put you back in."
Kaelith's composure broke only briefly—a flicker of breath, a tightening of her jaw.
The solar.
The Queen was observing her too closely now.
Outdoor…
The window for subtlety was closing.
His Chambers had Theron waiting.
He tossed a small pouch on the table.
"What's this?" she asked.
"Poison. The Queen's favorite. Buried in crushed orchids and nightroot. It's what she uses on her enemies. I slipped it from one of her private stores."
Kaelith opened the pouch and took a slow breath. Deceptive…
The scent was faint—floral and sweet.
"She tried to poison me at tea," she murmured.
Theron nodded grimly. "And the whole palace would've believed it was natural causes. A weak heart from the gallows."
Kaelith looked at him. "We have to strike first."
"I thought you'd never say it."
That evening, Kaelith hosted a quiet supper for a few 'safe' allies.
Viscount Renel, who owed her for saving his daughter's inheritance. Lady Mira, who loathed the Queen, but served on the Queen's council. And—
Crown Prince Corven.
He arrived last. Late.
And alone.
"I wasn't invited," he said dryly.
"You were expected," said Kaelith.
A lighthearted conversation ensued for the next hour while music played in the background and wine was served.
But just like there was a hint of chess between them, the kindness concealed nefarious intentions towards a common foe.
At the head of the table Kaelith had stood retaining her goblet deep in thought as she spoke:
"A toast," she said "It could be for anything, really, but for the purpose of this toast, let's make it for truth. Vengeance, and the inferno that purifies everything it's given ruling, burns everything it's given reign over."
They drank except Corven, who at the time was fixated on the centerpiece of the table, a bouquet of black roses, which he at first failed to realize.
After dinner, Corven confronted her.
Why now? was the first thing to spill out of her mouth, followed by an attempted answer - together?
"My reasons are simple," declared Corven's question, "the Queen is close to making her move."
"And you're seeking a shield?"
"Rather, a sword."
Corven truly examined her as he spoke, what seemed like an illusion surfaced over her —something dangerous.
"I am the illusion," she revealed in a whisper. "And my aim, is to show it."
As Kaelith looked around, Theron stood in the west tower awaiting the strike, and blurted out -with confidence, might she add - that it was close, and he was absolutely sure of it.
Right after that, Kaelith focused her attention rather intensely to the moon slowly rising.
"We will be three steps ahead by the time the Queen decides to make a move."
Deep within the palace dungeons, a servant girl sobbed quietly while curled up in a prison cell.
Her fingers shook dramatically while holding a tattered piece of silk—a fragment of Kaelith's veil.
"You saw too much," said the jailer's voice.
Crying, she begged, "No, I did not say anything, I swear!"
"I know," replied the jailer, "but she requested for you to be quiet."
The scream that resided within her never got a chance to reach the outside world.