"I'll never say such a word again, my lady." The maid's voice cracked, sweat dripping from her face.
"Now, get out."
The maid didn't wait to be told twice before she scrambled to her feet, dashing out of the room.
After the maid had left, Plum walked up to Agnes. She didn't bother to hide the dissatisfaction in her eyes. "My lady, why did you choose to raise the child? He cheated on you, and now he wants you to raise his bastard?"
"He is the Emperor, Plum. He can have as many wives as he wants, that's not my problem. Instead, why would he give me the child to raise when Artherine is there? Raising another prince would give her more leverage over me, and she wouldn't miss the chance of getting another supporter for her child," Agnes said, as she gently rocked the child in her arms.
Plum's brows furrowed. "Now that you've mentioned it, it really does seem fishy. Is something wrong with the child?"
Kaelith blinked his eyes, glaring at the women brought nothing but pain to his eyes. 'Could the child be a weakling?'
Agnes' hand slowly moved over the baby, white energy formed in her palms as she muttered incantations.
Her brown eyes widened slightly. "He was born mundane. He can't practice magic." Her lips pulled downward. "What an ill fate he has, to be born without magic in a magical world. Where power rules."
"That explains why Artherine refused to raise him…" Plum paused, her voice lowered. "We can take him to a special place where he wouldn't feel different and mocked…"
Agnes shook her head. "I'll raise him as my own child. I will protect him, and besides, Kael needs a brother."
'Says who? I don't need one, and definitely not a weakly.' Kaelith sighed. Born mundane— that's the worst fate anyone could ask for.
"Since he has no name, I'll give him one. My second son shall be called Scarlet Pendragon. Born with pain and weakness, yet beautiful as the morning sun. He will be called Scarlet."
Plum sighed. She wasn't too pleased with Agnes' decision, but she was willing to follow her command and obey her decision.
"So I'm now a godmother to two kids," she said dryly.
...…
Meanwhile, far away from the Empire's warmth, a land buried beneath thick snow and unforgiving winds, there was a cave hidden behind jagged rocks. The sky was gray, the air was harsh, and the cold crept into every breath like invisible claws. Inside that cave, lit only by a flickering torch wedged into the wall, a little girl stood barefoot on the cold stone floor.
She was nine years old, her black hair tangled from days of rough handling, and her brown eyes wide and hollow. They had taken her. Dragged her here a year ago with barely any explanation. Her body ached from all the training, and her lips were cracked from thirst. But none of that hurt as much as the worry gnawing at her heart—the worry for her baby brother.
She hadn't seen him since they arrived.
A group of masked men surrounded her. Their eyes were cold. One of them stepped forward—a tall man with a long scar running down the side of his face. He looked down at her, then at the man kneeling before her. The man on the floor was gagged and tied. His arms were bound tightly behind his back, and fresh blood stained his shirt.
The scarred man shoved a sword into her hand. Its weight made her tiny arms tremble.
"If you want to see your brother again," he said, voice low and heavy, "you'll do it."
Matilda—though they never called her by that name anymore—looked up at him with confusion.
"Kill him. That's your test," he added. "You want to protect your brother, right? Then prove it."
Her hands shook harder.
"Do it, Raven," another voice said from behind. That was what they called her now—Raven. Not Matilda. Just Raven, like her name didn't matter anymore.
The scarred man knelt beside her and whispered close to her ear, his breath warm against her cheek. "Your brother is the star of doom. A curse. A threat to this world. If you don't act now, we will hand him over to the mages. They'll gut him open and erase him from existence."
Her heart dropped. She wanted to scream, to run, to cry, but she knew all of those were useless. She stood unmoving like a statue. The image of her baby brother's small hand gripping her finger flashed through her mind.
She still remembered his cries. Her heart tugged with longing. She just wanted to see him, even if it was just once. But in order for her to do it, she needed to take a life.
The men around her watched in silence, their expressions unreadable. Not a single one looked away.
Tears filled her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. She tightened her grip on the sword, her knuckles turning white. She stepped forward slowly, her bare feet scraping against the cold stone floor. Her eyes locked with the man kneeling in front of her.
He looked up at her, his mouth covered, but his gaze was calm, with a hint of sadness dancing behind the calm façade. He didn't struggle or plead for her to spare his life. Maybe he knew there was no escape.
She raised the sword, her arms shaking violently. She swallowed. She had to do this to protect her little brother. She would do anything to make sure he would not fall into the hands of the mages.
Her gaze grew cold, and before the blink of an eye, she swung the sword across the man's neck. Blood splattered across her face, her heart sank in her chest.
The man swayed, falling to his death as blood pooled underneath him.
The sword in her hand fell to the ground, the clanking of the blade filled the air.
Then the people began to clap for her, as if she had done a great job.