The heavy doors creaked open, echoing through the stone hall as Arthur and Derick stepped inside. Their boots clicked sharply against the polished black marble floor. In the center of the vast courtroom, King Alexander sat upon his obsidian throne, his presence enough to suffocate the air around him. He did not move when they entered, but his midnight-black eyes tracked them with the precision of a predator.
Arthur and Derick bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty," Arthur began, straightening his posture, "we’ve brought the witch."
They stepped aside.
A small, thin girl in a filthy dress stood between them. She looked nothing like the witches they’d talk about—no cloak, no staff, no aura of nace. Her dress was tattered, barely reaching her knees. Her pale legs were coated in dust, and her long dark hair hung in tangled waves that hid half her face. She slled faintly of burnt rosemary and smoke.
But her eyes—
Her eyes were a bright, unnatural red, glowing faintly even under the dim chandeliers.
She scanned the throne room with a mixture of caution and curiosity. Her bare feet shuffled on the cold floor. It was clear she had never stepped foot inside a castle before.
Derick cleared his throat quietly, nudging her elbow. "The king," he whispered.
She jerked her head in Alexander’s direction.
And then she froze.
Alexander did not rise. He did not smile. He simply looked at her in a way that chilled her bones.
He was composed, statue-like, regal and yet sothing about the set of his jaw, the stillness of his hands, the darkness in his irises—warned her that he was a man capable of unspeakable things without raising his voice or lifting a finger.
She wasn’t afraid of people. But this man was different. He radiated danger as effortlessly as other n breathed, as a witch she could sense the dark aura and blood path on him.
Her breath lodged in her throat.
She lowered her gaze respectfully. She would be stupid to challenge him here.
After a long, tension-filled silence, Alexander finally spoke.
"What is your na?"
She hesitated. She hadn’t spoken her real na aloud in years. It felt foreign, sharp, almost strange on her tongue.
"Faith," she whispered.
Alexander’s eyes narrowed slightly, catching the faint twitch of her fingertips. She was lying or hiding sothing but he let it slide. For now.
He rose from his seat with fluid grace.
"I need your help," he said. "Soone, my guest—has been cursed. Cure her. Whatever price you ask will be given to you."
Faith blinked. That was easy. Too easy.
"What’s her condition?" she asked.
Arthur and Derick exchanged glances. Her quick acceptance was suspicious, but they kept quiet. Witches were known to be cunning just like vampires so there was no way she could agree without anything.
Alexander didn’t answer. He simply turned and walked toward a side hall, expecting her to follow. Faith trotted after him, her bare feet pattering lightly.
They entered the dim guest chamber.
Serena lay on the bed, skin pale as moonlight. Her breathing was shallow, her lips tinted blue. Her long red hair spilled across the pillows like a river of light.
Faith approached her slowly—eyes widening.
"Wow..." she breathed. "I’ve never seen a rmaid in person. She’s beautiful. This is my first ti seeing one in my life."
Arthur stiffened and Derick’s eyes widen in surprise"How do you know she’s a rmaid? The king did not tell you—"
"I’m a witch," Faith retorted, rolling her eyes. "Not blind. Hush."
Arthur opened his mouth, but Faith silenced him with a sharp glare. Her eyes glowed brighter, and the room’s temperature dipped.
Derick’s breath hitched. Even Alexander watched her more closely as she leaned foward.
Faith placed two fingers on Serena’s forehead, whispering words under her breath—soft, ancient, but layered with a depth of power that did not match her ragged exterior.
A sudden force shook the air.
Serena’s eyes flew open, glowing with a violent mixture of white and red. The bed shuddered beneath her. Faith’s expression did not change; she simply tightened her grip, muttering faster.
A red symbol materialized on Serena’s forehead—glittering, pulsing like a living fla. It hovered above her skin, suspended in midair.
Arthur took a step back. "What... what kind of spell is that?"
"Sickness Curse," Faith answered calmly. "Only a skilled witch can cast it properly. Soone didn’t want her dead—they wanted her to wither slowly, helpless and suffering."
Her eyes flashed, eerily perceptive.
Faith snapped her fingers.
The symbol exploded into red dust, dissolving into the air.
Then she flipped her hand.
A tiny glass bottle appeared—filled with shimring pink liquid identical to the one Zelda once brought. Faith uncorked it with her thumb and allowed two drops to fall into Serena’s mouth.
The bottle vanished.
A silver bucket appeared in Faith’s other hand.
Serena choked—then lurched upright as thick, black blood spilled into the bucket.
Arthur gagged. Derick turned away.
Alexander did not flinch.
Faith supported Serena gently, but her eyes were sharp, analyzing every reaction.
After several seconds, the black blood turned watery, then stopped. Serena’s breathing eased. Her skin regained color. Her vision cleared, and her gaze t Alexander’s.
"What—" she tried speaking but nothing ca out. Her voice had left her.
"How do you feel?" Alexander asked.
Serena nodded weakly.
Faith clapped her hands together, making the bucket vanish. "She’s too weak to speak. She needs rest. Her internal wounds will heal by morning."
Alexander moved closer, lifting Serena carefully and lowering her back onto the pillows. His usually cold voice softened just slightly.
"Rest. I will return soon."
Serena managed a small nod and closed her eyes.
Alexander straightened, his cold expression returning as he turned toward Faith.
"Let us talk."
---
They returned to the throne room. Faith kept her hands tucked behind her back, acting casual, but Arthur noticed sothing unsettling—her eyes never stopped moving. She was studying the palace architecture, the exits, the windows, the guards. As if mapping the place.
As if preparing for sothing.
She stopped in the center of the room.
"I only have one request," she said.
Alexander turned, raising an eyebrow. "Speak."
Faith took a breath. "Let stay here. In your palace."
Arthur stared.
Derick nearly choked.
"What?" Alexander’s voice dropped, low and sharp. "Do you think this is an inn? You healed one guest and already want to take residence in my palace?"
Faith bit her lip. "Not sothing fancy! You can throw in the dungeon if you like—actually no, don’t do that but anywhere else is fine. I just... I need a place to hide."
"Hide?" Alexander repeated.
She nodded quickly. "Those people who attacked , he knows about it, he t one. "She said pointing to Arthur. "They know where I live. They’ll co back. I don’t know when, but they will. And I can’t outrun them again. Not alone."
Alexander’s expression remained unreadable.
"Ask for sothing else. I cannot fulfill that."
Faith inhaled sharply and dropped to her knees.
"Your rmaid guest was cursed by a witch," she said firmly. "A skilled one. It wasn’t random. It was intentional. Soone wants her dead, and it wasn’t a beginner who did it."
Alexander’s jaw tightened.
"I can help you trace the caster," Faith continued. "There is no better witch tracker than another witch. Let stay and i will be useful."
Alexander leaned forward on his throne.
"Your offer is tempting, but your motives are unclear. Why do you truly want to stay?"
Faith’s stomach growled.
Loudly.
Everyone froze.
Faith’s expression went blank with embarrassnt. "Honestly... I’m starving."
Arthur blinked. Derick looked away, How crazy was this witch acting in front of the king, he wondered.
Alexander stared at her as if she had spoken a foreign language.
"You want... food?"
Faith sat down on the floor cross-legged. "Yes. Food first. Then we can discuss witch hunters, I would not disclose anything unless you let stay here."
Alexander closed his eyes briefly.
This girl...
This strange, bold, starving witch...
He exhaled slowly.
"Fine. Give her food."
Faith lit up instantly. "Really?!"
"And after eating," Alexander added, voice turning cold again, "you will answer every single question I ask."
Faith swallowed nervously but nodded.
"Deal."
Arthur and Derick guided her toward the dining hall. The palace staff hurriedly prepared a spread—bread, roasted chicken, soup, and fruit. Faith sat at the end of the long table, swinging her feet like a child.
She didn’t just eat.
She attacked the food.
Arthur whispered to Derick, "Is she truly a witch?"
Faith looked up mid-bite. "I can hear you. And yes, I’m a witch. A hungry one. Continue whispering though—I enjoy the comntary."
Derick coughed awkwardly. They watched as she ate everthing without leaving a single drop of food behind. Derick didn’t like the witch one bit but he had to admit they needed a witch’s help in this situation and maybe just maybe she could also help them more in the future.
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