She gained consciousness, as the ground beneath her heaved with motion. Her eye lids flickered, her surroundings a mystery as her eyes came to see only darkness. Heart racing in absolute terror, she desperately clawed at the binging on her wrists. Gasping for breath, as the sense of claustrophobia ambush her. Sweat poured down her eight-year-old face as she tried to unbind her hands and her feet.

Quickly realizing the danger, she stopped her motion. The bindings too tough, even for her. She tried to calm her breathing, but as her eyes flickered back and forth to get a sense of her surroundings, the darkness she got was a reminder. A brake screeched outside of the place she was in and she realized she was in a vehicle.

Gasping softly in horror, she tried to break her bindings again. The harder she pulled, the tighter they became. Groaning softly, she came to a complete statue using her other senses. She closed her eyes against the dark, the blindfold on her wrapped around her head. She concentrated hard, using her heightened hearing to capture what was going on at the front.

"...on the highway now.... Yes, my King..." the conversation was going in and out as the vehicle swerved through traffic. She felt her stomach flip but maintained to keep her bile down. Focusing on the conversation, she mellowed out. "She is unconscious as of right now, her body is in the trunk." There were a few moments of silence. "Yes, we doubled back to make sure we weren't seen or followed. We are three hours away; I will call you to let you know when we get there." There was a solid click of a button, and a soft thump of an object hitting something. A guy heaved out a sigh, gaining the attention of the other one.

"What is it, Scott?" The other growled, a hint of irritation in his voice.

"No need for that attitude, Mark," Scott grumbled, "I just wanted to ask if you know what will happen after he sees her. She is only eight."

"I don't know. I won't ask, we will find out," There was a pause before Mark spoke again, "Her brother would've been better."

"Jorge told him that, too," Scott agreed softly, "but look what happened once he suggested that."

"If she doesn't say anything worthwhile, he will declare..." the voices stopped. Her breathing had gotten radical, coming out as pants. Inwardly cursing, she kept still, wondering slightly what they are going to do now that they knew she was awake. A soft hiss erupted in the back; the trunk suddenly filled with an invisible spray. Coughing, she struggled to cover her mouth. Losing the fight, she felt her eyes burn and her mouth dry. Inch by inch, her eyes closed, and she lost consciousness.

∞ † ∞ † ∞

The eight-year-old stirred awake to heavier darkness. The chills that spiraled through her were coming from the ground below her. Shuddering violently, she realized she was only wearing a thin nightgown, that stuck to her like glue. Shoving herself up in a sitting position, she observed her surroundings, taking in as much details as she could. She couldn't detect much, the darkness blinding her.

Standing on her shaking legs, she pitched forward uncertainly. Her hands connected with a stone like wall, the rough edges digging into her palms. She withdrew her hands and balanced on her quivering legs, her whole body feeling stiff and tight. Rolling her shoulders to help loosen her muscles, she continued to make her way through her surroundings. As her hands danced against the walls, she could picture it in her mind.

Concrete walls were built all around her, no door seemed to be found, and the ground was a solid, smooth flooring. Convulsing in shivers, the cold sent daggers through her. Wrapping her arms around herself, the eight-year-old slid down the wall, exhaustion wearing down on her. Eyelids growing heavy, she slipped back into the warmth of her unconsciousness.

∞ † ∞ † ∞

She woke sometime later, her body slowly warming. She knew it wasn't a good thing. Hypothermia could happen at any time in the cold. Trembling in fear, she stood again, her bearings once again dampened. She reached out to touch the wall, the same frigid concrete sent a sharp chill down her spine. Tears slipped down her cheeks, the agonizing reminder that she had no notion of the day or time. She could've been out for days, even weeks. The wolfsbane that they suffocated her with didn't kill her, just subdued her. Sitting own her knees, she shook in small shudders, each passing minute she gained warmth. A soft noise made her head perk up, her eyes trying to see through the darkness.

Shaking her head, she laid down on the hard stone. Her arms were littered with goosebumps from the cold, a gust of wind brushed over her. A skittering noise made her sit upright, knowing she heard something. Footsteps pounded, coming closer. Blinded by the night, Callista panicked, not even her heightened senses could tell her what was coming.

A light flared, making her eyes burst with pain, the light too soon and not enough warning. Blinking frantically, she squinted to see. The little light illuminated steel bars, caging her in. She blinked again, her eyes finally adjusting to the light. She knew those weren't there before. The light source came from a torch, mounted on a wall. She narrowed her eyes at it. She knew it was lit for a while; the acid smell that came from it too light for it to be lit right away.

A boy stood by the torch and for a moment she wondered if the boy had brought the torch, lighting it and mounted it. He stood by it, close enough for it to be true. But the eight-year-old girl could figure out it wasn't. The boy's pale eyes too frightened and filled with anguish that he wasn't seeing clearly enough. He stared at her, his eyes connecting with hers.

He jabbed a finger at her, his eyes narrowing in thought. "I know you." His voice came out tiny, like a whine. His eyes widen, shock building through his emotions. "You're Callista Shawcross, Princess of the Werewolves."

Callista bared her teeth at the boy, finally figuring out what kidnapped her. "You're a vampire, part of the Vampi."

The boy smirked, but his eyes were sad. He leans against the wall across her cage. "You aren't supposed to be here. He starts war, by taking you."

Callista acted on that, her fear taking over rationality. "Warn them. Warn my parents. Tell them to not start war."

The boy puts his hands up in a stop gesture. His pale grey eyes hardened. "I would be betraying my own kind."

She ran up to the bars, feeling the hard sting of the silver biting into her skin. Years of preparing for the effects of silver, Callista barely flinched. She reached through, towards the boy. "Please, they will be walking into a trap."

The boy looked at the ground. "I know. I heard the whole detailed plan," he whispered. He looked up again, his eyes filled with unshed tears, "Even if I warned your parents, they'll stop at nothing to get you back."

Callista felt the puncture of hatred, but she kept her voice calm. "I'm their daughter. I know they won't."

The boy shook his head. "You don't understand, Callista. I'm surprised your parents never told you," he stepped closer and took her hand still reaching through the silver bars. "You're special." He squeezed her hand and then let go. He walked away and a veiled wall fell into place, webbed with magic. Callista felt his touch but could no longer see him or anything. Not even the silver bars.

∞ † ∞ † ∞

The torch flared again, and this time two pairs of footsteps echoed towards her. Callista groaned, fighting off the wretched tiredness. Two voices spoke in low voices, too low for her to hear. She guessed the walls were soundproof due to the impossibility to hear anything outside the cell. Two figures emerged around the bars, a hulking figure of a man and a petite figure of a woman. Cowering in the corner, Callista felt a whimper escape her mouth and the voices stopped whispering.

The man came closer, the edges of his face lit up from behind. She couldn't see his face, not clearly. The woman turned towards the man; her arm shot to him.

"Careful, your highness." The woman said sharply. The way her voice sounded, authoritative and bold, made Callista think she was the infamous Queen of Vampi. The man turned his head at the woman, Callista couldn't image what kind of emotion he wore.

"Learn your place, woman. She is my prisoner," the man snarls towards the woman. "If we went with your plan, I wouldn't have a hostage." The tone of his voice made a sharp chill drop down her spine. Callista scooted further into the rough wall behind her, the terrain biting in her skin. The man moved swiftly towards Callista, his face set in triumph. Confusion warred through her as the steel bars still remained intact between them. He slipped through; a ripple washed over the bars. Callista flinched at the sudden intrusion. She had felt the silver bars in her clenching hands, felt the solid burn.

The man came closer, her eyes finally adjusting to the light enough to make out his face. But it wasn't pretty. A pale ghost face emerged; bright red eyes gleamed at her. He grinned at her; sharp needle teeth glared at her.

"Callista Shawcross, Princess of the Werewolf Royalty." the man hissed; his needle teeth pressed against his bottom lip. She looked up at him, her eyes defiant.

"King of Vampi, of the world's most disgusting creature." she spat the words.

Anger flashed across his face, leaning towards her. "Shut your mouth," he orders, "I can't lay a hand on you just yet, little girl," he paused as he looked her over, "you are my bait."

Callista lunged at him, all her anger in her eight-year-old body fueling her. He laughed, pushing her back down on her bottom. She glared up at him, her little body trembling. "What bait?" she asked, her voice shaking.

He looked at her, startled with expectancy. "What bait?" he repeated softly. He smiled again, this time no fangs to be on display. He crouched to her level, his eyes meeting hers. "Child, I'm going to start a war as soon as your parents cross my border, completely violating the law."

"But you violated it first!" she snapped, her eyes roaming the cells.

"Ah," the voice of the Queen startled Callista. "but we didn't. Kidnapping you was on the outside of your protective border." She smiled at her husband, who kept his eyes on Callista. "My king here isn't at fault at anything your parents do to attack him."

Callista felt her heart cave, the truth settling. Her eyes glazed over, frantic with worry. Her parents wouldn't start war unless they truly thought she was in trouble. The Heir was safe, hidden away in the mountains in the north. She was going over every possibility she could prevent this war, she almost didn't hear the king start to speak again.

"So now that you know our plans and I've left you to stir in the dreadful war plans. It's time to reset that mind." He reached for her, but she melted away from him.

"Reset my mind?" she prodded, her eyes slipping close. A soft hiss of gas releases in the cell. She felt her body sway as a toxin enters the cell, circling her. She coughs, inhaling more into her blood streams. She falls to her side before the king, his wife smirking down at her.

He grinned at her, his face hinting insanity. "I have other plans for you than to kill you, Callista. You're never going to remember who you are."

Thunder rumbles outside, lightning flashing through the windows of the old abandoned cabin. Shivering, Callista felt the ice pricks of cold. She wraps her arms about herself, rubbing her arms for warmth. Lightning flashes again, illuminating cell bars. Gasping in air, Callista reaches out with a trembling hand, but her hand only connects with a rocky terrain. Sucking in a sharp breath, Callista let her hand drop back to her side. Going in a slow circle, she tries to get her bearings.

"Callista," a voice booms around her, thundering like the weather outside. She backs up in surprise and terror, the voice familiar, but she couldn't place it, "Come back."

"Leave me alone!" she screams, her voice cracking at the end.

A chuckle surrounds her, the sound filled with malice. "I've waited so long for this time."

In an instant, the ground disappears from under her and she fell, her screams echoing the endless black hole. She felt the vicious winds tear at her, wanting blood. She cries out as she flew passed a branch, cutting into her side. Looking down below her, she couldn't see a thing. Then as she grew closer, the image of a thick branch swayed. Gasping as she let out a breath of relief, she reaches for it, her hand grazing the rough wood, but the winds tear her away.

A hand grasps her wrist, yanking her to a brutal stop, her arm aching. She is huffing, her whole body wearing down. She glances up, wanting to see her rescuer. A boy is crouching on the branch, his hands clutching her arm. A smile graced her lips, but the boy merely glanced up, his eyes blood red. He grins, sharp fangs slipping out. She screams, and he lunges.

Callista cries out and shoots up into a sitting position. Heart beating frantically, she puts up a hand to her chest to steady herself. Sweat clings to her, beading on her forehead. She sucks in a breath, the nightmare passing. She crawls out of bed; the soaked liners outlining her body. Shaking her head, she yanks the sheets off the bed, huddling it in her arms. Turning around, she feels a cold draft brush pass her. Flinching, Callista drops the sheets, and she catches the windows open.

The sun is peaking over the horizon, sunrise around the corner. The window lurks above the forest that surrounds her back yard and the neighborhood. The Wayland Forest stretches over a few acers, connecting to another town a few miles away. The forest leaves are an emerald green in the dim light of morning.

Callista feels the peace of nature flow through her as she makes her way to the window. The forest has always calmed her down when she was stressed. It makes her think it has something to do with her past. The dark spots in her mind have kept her in the dark about ten years. When she reaches for those memories, all she gathers from it is deep sated anger and agony.

Shaking out of the corrupt thoughts, Callista pulls the window down, shutting off the breeze that came off the forest trees. She walks back to the sheets, then reaches for her phone, on the table beside her bed. The alarm clock she had set last night is about to go off. She frowns, the dream details coming to mind. It has been happening to her the last few months, the cell bars, the crouching boy, and the disturbing voice. The blood red eyes seem to glare at her in her mind, staring her down.

Her alarm blares in her hand, dragging Callista out of her thoughts. Turning it off, she sets it on the bed. She walks to the bathroom, turning on the water. After taking a quick shower, she grabs some casual clothes for school; the exams around the corner. It is the first day back from spring break. She slips on a pair of light blue shorts and slid on a red shirt. Humming under her breath, she picks up the sheets off the ground. She leaves her room, listening for the scurrying paws of her German Shepheard, Fiona.

She hears them and a smile blossoms on her face as she rounds the corner where the steps are located. She hears her bark, and she laughs, stepping down them. She enters the living room, where a fireplace is aflame. The door to the kitchen is open, as her parents are awake before her. Fiona is by the stove, her tail wagging. Callista's mother stands there, flipping pancakes. Her long honey hair is pulled into a ponytail. Her father sits at the long rectangular table, reading a newspaper. Shaking her head, she walks to the laundry bin and dumps the dirty sheets in.

"Good morning, baby girl," her father greets, peering around the newspaper, his dark brown eyes twinkling, "How was your night?"

"It was good. I ordered pizza for supper." she says, grinning at him. He nods and looks at his wife, who shoots Callista a disappointed glare.

"Pizza is bad for your health." her mother grumbles to herself, dropping a piece of bacon to Fiona, who snatched it off the ground.

"Bacon?" she asks, finding her seat at the table. Fiona makes her way over to lay at Callista's feet, her tongue lolling out on the side.

Her parents are rarely home, their jobs taking up most of their time. Right now, they both wore their professional clothing, getting ready for another day for the hospital. She never could remember what their jobs were, the words too hard to pronounce that Callista just gave up. They have tried to encourage her to submit applications into med-schools they went, to follow in their footsteps. Callista dreads the conversation that is bound to happen, how she doesn't believe she is cut out for college. Something else in the world calls out to her, maybe somewhere she belongs.

She picks up the glass of apple juice next to her empty plate, taking a small sip. Her mother comes over and slips two chocolate chip pancakes onto her plate. Licking her lips comically at her father, she digs into the food. Her father laughs, putting the newspaper to the side as her mother reaches his. Fiona sShawcrossbles to her feet as Callista's mother brings the plate of bacon.

"No," she orders her dog, "sit. Good girl."

A ding fills the kitchen, and her father glances at a small black box beside his paper. He sighs and looks at his wife. She frowns and nods, when another dung goes off. Callista knows what that means, growing up with doctors. Her mother flings her a timid smile, their breakfast ruined as they start to grab their stuff.

"Sorry, baby girl. Work calls," her mother says, coming around to press a kiss to her forehead, as she goes into the living room to grab her jacket. Her father follows, giving her the same kiss. Callista watches them as they pile through the door. Before it closed, her parents look back at her.

"Have a good day at school, honey. We might not be home until late," her father calls out. Callista smiles to herself, as she heard the door close behind them.

"Just like every day." she says to herself, the words echoing the house.

∞ † ∞ † ∞

On the way to her best friend, Sasha Lloyd's house, Callista munches on an apple. The skin breaks as her teeth sinks into the side, the juice exploding in her mouth. She drags her phone out as she walks along the sidewalks, cars speeding pass to get places. Her phone blinks with the time and she groans as it falls closer to when class starts. She rounds a corner on a four-way intersection, heading toward a familiar looming house. The front door is propped open with her best friend sitting on the welcome mat, staring into her phone. Her bouncing blonde hair is blowing in the spring breeze. Callista grins as she nears the front steps, the sound of her on the sidewalk alerting Sasha.

Her best friend's head jerks up and her green eyes meet hers across the yard. Giving her a broad smile, she stands. Leaning into the doorway, she screams goodbye to her mother. Callista tilts her head as Sasha makes her way to her.

"Your mom is still home?" she asks as Sasha comes to her side. They start walking, the minutes striking down for when school starts.

"Yes," Sasha replies, but then she frowns and looks at her, "why?"

"Hmm, my parents were paged to the hospital on a trauma." Callista explains, her eyebrows wrinkling with confusion.

"Ah, that's why she wasn't answering me when I said good morning or good night." Sasha says, her voice fills with laughter.

Callista laughs, but her heart isn't in it. Something about the day seems off, like the calm before a storm. Shrugging the feeling away, she and Sasha keep walking in silence for a little bit. The trees fade away and gives them a good view of their high school, Gadon High. The building has six floors, each floor for each grade. The school has brick exterior with tiled interior. The yard is filling with student coming back from vacation for the new semester. Sasha hums under her breath as they notice a tall, light-haired male making his way through the students, toward a small group off to the side.

Parker Murphy tips his head back, laughing as a guy on his right spoke. His dirty blonde hair falling forward as he looks back at his friends. His eyes flicker up and meet hers across the courtyard. Ocean blue, with green around the pupil. Her heart slows as they stare, the moments coming to a stop.

"I could cut this tension with a butter knife." Sasha says, whistling sharply. The guy Parker is speaking to, catches her eyes and looks back at Parker. Scoffing, he claps his friend's shoulder, successfully gaining his attention. Once their connection ended, Callista looks back at her best friend.

"It's awkward now," she says, her voice low, "We said it wouldn't be. That we could still be friends."

Sasha rolls her dark green eyes, lopping their arms together. "You broke up with him. You guys were doing great. In a week, you aren't anymore," she explains, dragging Callista along toward school, "He has to adjust to not being with you anymore. You guys were together for three years."

Callista nods, her eyes focusing on the sliding glass doors of the school. Her school director stood at the entrance as they walk inside, the cool air surrounding the two girls. He is middle aged, with wrinkles around metal blue eyes. He smiles at them, the wrinkles more prominent.

"Hello, Ms. Malik and Ms. Lloyd. How was your break?" he asks, folding his hands behind his back.

"I learned more on art by Ms. Drake," Sasha explains, her voice filling with excitement, "She said I won't be needing any more lessons soon."

The principle laughs, his hands coming back to clap. "That's amazing, Ms. Lloyd," he praises. His eyes turn to Callista, who looks away, "And you?"

"Well, not much. I haven't figured out my choice yet and my parents were on call all week." she says.

He sighs, his eyes hold disapproval. "You are a bright student, Callista. I wish you could see that."

She smiles at him, but Sasha grabs her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. They say goodbye to the director. The halls fill their vision, the dead end has a table with labeled folders in a box. They reach it and look for their names, schedules and lunch times on them.

"Ah," Callista exclaims, pulling the tan folder out of the box, "Found mine."

"I got mine." Sasha says, a smile blooming on her face.

They bring their schedules together to compare classes. Callista notices first they have second, fifth and seventh hour together. They have lunch together as well. Laughing, Callista slips the schedule into the pocket of her bag as they go sperate ways to their first lectures. The first class is English IV and the last of her high school experience. She reaches the class just as the first bell rings, indicating class. The teacher pulls the door open, her eyes catching Callista in the hallway. She gestures her inside and give her a piece of paper.

Callista goes inside the classroom, looking for her seat. She came across her seat, the o e she usually sits in, but like always, Parker Murphy is right next to her. Inwardly groaning, she places her bag by the chair, her heart in her stomach. Callista settles into the seat, taking out her notepad and pencils.

People pile into the room, laughing and talking about their break. Everyone finds their seats and most of them are split up. Callista eyes the door from the corner of her eyes, waiting for the familiar man to walk through the doors. When he did, Parker is talking to a girl around the same height as he is. She is blonde and curvy, with a tight blue dress on. She giggles, throwing her hair to the side, while biting her lip. Parker sends her a smirk, which makes her cheeks tint red. Callista feels a flame of jealous spike through her.

One week. That is how long it took him to move on. The blonde bimbo is Kayley Linc, the flirtatious one in the school. Parker hated her once, but Callista guesses things change. Parker meets her eyes, his smile slipping, but Callista shakes her head, glancing at her notebook. She hears footsteps near her, and he slides into the seat to the right of hers.

She begins to doodle, waiting for the ten-minute late bell to ring, indicating class to begin. Callista isn't much of an artist, but it is easy to make out what she is drawing. Her eyebrows furrow, as her hands seem to have a mind of their own. She draws a crescent moon, filling it with swirls. Then a crown with a heart shaped top. The bell rings in the middle of her drawing, but she is too drawn into her sketching. The teacher begins to talk, indicating class session. She looks up, her whole-body trembling. Her head begins to pound with shocks of pain. The drawings are familiar. May be because she drew them many other times, the same dizziness and feelings flooding her.

"Callista, are you okay?" The teacher looks at her, worry adamant on her face. Callista opens her mouth to speak, but total dizziness took over. She gasps, her body tilting in the seat. Her teacher rushes forward to catch her before she faints, but strong arms came around her, familiar. Parker.

The darkness sweeps her up as he lifts her from the desk, the low murmuring off the teacher lulling her to close her eyes.

Julius Flynn flies into a dark cell, the rough terrain digging into his back. Snarling to himself, he pushes off the ground. The guards close the gate with a loud bang, smiling at him through the bars. Blood drips down his cheek, the scratch not healing as fast as it should be. This isn't normal circumstances. He throws himself at the bars, wanting them to break. They burn as they come into contact with his exposed skin. Hissing, Julius stands back, glaring at the two leeches.

"Aw is the Prince having problems?" one mocks, his voice grinding together.

"Is the King letting his lackies get more room on the leash?" he growls back, his voice deep with hatred.

The creatures sneer through the bars, their eyes sparking a yellow green color. Bastos's are cruel, inhuman beings. They wore black robes, that seem to melt into the floor. Julius has no idea where his father had the idea to get control over them. The Cruel Fae are not to be used for any situation. Ever since his father has got control on half of the Supernatural Realm, he seems to be taking the rules and breaking them. The creatures growl lowly and back of the bars, letting a hulking figure fill the space. Julius leans against the wall across the opening, his eyes meeting those of his father's. His face is pale, drawn taunt with years of stress etched onto his face. His deep, dark grey eyes zoned in on his son. The silver crown rests upon his brow, on top of his black hair. He crosses his arms over his massive chest, his eyes taking in Julius.

"So, you leave the palace, for the village," his father starts, his voice rough and gravely, "and this is how you look?" He clicks his tongue, a mocking look crossing his face.

Julius bared his teeth at his father, anger rolling through him. "I left the Prisom for a reason, Father."

His father tilts his head, considering his words. His lips twitch as he leans forward, his skin a breath away from the bars. The Bastos behind him chitter and scuttle away, their laughs echoing the cage.

"Ah, yes," his father murmurs, clearing his throat, "to be out from under me, am I right?" Shaking his head, he walks toward Julius, his whole-body glides through the cell. Julius scowls and stands straight, his back against the wall. The King looks down on him, his seeming to glow a blood red in the dark cell. "What am I going to do with you?"

Julius looks up at him, the height difference a foot about. "Get rid of me. Kill me." he snaps.

His father lets out a snort, the air visible in the cold air of the cell. He strode through the cell to a step in the wall and gracefully sits, leaning his back against the concrete walls. His cloak fell to the side, revealing his Vampi Kingdom armor. Julius starts, his eyes roaming the fresh dents in the metal. A sadistic smile came to his lips, making his face seem dark and cruel. Julius feels his hands automatically clench, anger taking over any other emotions.

"War is a gracious thing," his father states, siting forward to fold his hands in his lap. The king merely looks at him with distaste, his eyes seeping with disappointment. "We come from a long line of War Commanders, Julius. You are my Heir, the one who is to take my throne."

From you. Julius adds to his monologue. The throne can only be taken by the Heir if they challenge you. But he keeps his mouth shut and keeps his eyes on the black armor, the sign of their kingdom carved into the breast plate. Three circles overlapping with a deeper V in the middle. He hates the fact that war is how his father got control of half the realm. First the war with the Royal Were and then the war with the Fae. He wasn't there for any of the wars, shipped away to an isolated island to learn the ways of Vampire Kings. He is soft-hearted and weak compared to the other Heirs that studied there.

"So," the king continues, allowing Julius to come back to reality, "the rebellions you are in charge of, need to be stopped. Your mother may have sworn me to never killing you, but there are worse things, my son." He stares down his father, never backing down. His hands hold a week-old wound on the inside of his arm; the healing process slowed due to the curse on their land.

"I can not do that. Those people are counting on me," he argues, the feeling of hatred in his gut, "You started all of this."

The king stares at him, his eyes going blank. "Excuse me?" Julius bit back any remarks while meeting the eyes of his father's. He could see where he fucked up. The instant attitude he snaps back with enrages his father, the disrespect that hangs on his tongue. The king stands up, his figure looming over Julius, "Just because I am the most powerful, doesn't mean they should disrespect me the way they have!"

Julius clamps his mouth shut, his lips tingling with pressure with the force he is using. He keeps his anger in check before he sets the king off further. "I apologize, my king." he says, loud enough for it to echo the cell. The king backs down, his eyes a bright red, the color of their kings.

"You are my informant as of now. I want you on the Fae territory and giving me the locations of their next attacks," his father commands, his voice booming throughout the whole prison. Heat snags at his gut, the images of his friends in the Fae territory flow through his mind, "Go to the meeting bridge and find your own way to Silver City. Get them to trust you and then I will bring them to their knees." The order strings between them, hooking to the connection that is in all of them. Julius's mind starts to reject it, but he calms the resentment that fills him. His father could feel any rejection or denial.

"I accept." he forces out, the control over his feelings waivered as the words left his mouth.

His father leaves the cell, his body slipping pass the bars with ease. Julius starts to follow, but the bars became solid again, burning his flesh as he presses himself against it.

"I accepted!" Julius exploded, his anger coiling around him. He slams his palm into the bars, the pain keeping him focused on the male before him. The king froze, his hands stretch out toward the wall. He whirls around, his eyes darkening to a black. He has a dark, cruel smile twisting his face.

"No blood. Let him out in eight hours." he orders the guards lurking by the dungeon entrance. Chitters of excitement fills the jail.

"Father!" he yells, watching as he stalks away, his cloak flying around him. Julius grips the bars, letting the pain draw a scream from him. He flinches away when his father is out of sight, the creature staring at him, their expressions flat.

∞ † ∞ † ∞

Jacob Lux stands before Julius, his hands clenches at his side as he tells his story. His best friend and second-in-command look at him with easy contempt. Their king is something they always agreed on. His best friend is the shortest of their village, about five foot three. Julius always has to look down on him. He is wearing his training outfit, with their symbol printed on the chest. He looks away as Jacob opens his mouth to speak. They are standing outside the training facility, a wooden building a little outside the village. The trees surrounding them, secluding them. The trees are a darker color, filling with a magic that grows within each tree. The shadows hunker around them, the sky is filling with red, orange and purple. Julius brings his eyes down to meet the dark green eyes of Jacob.

"We haven't been to Silver City in three years, man," he says, "How the hell are we supposed to do this?"

Julius groans and shrugs, stomping his feet to shake the feeling of something entirely wrong. "I do not know. I need to talk to them, discuss our options. I just can't throw them under the bus."

His friend nods, looking at the building beside them. "I know. They are not going to trust you."

The male curses, starting to pace. His hands coming behind his back, joining together. "I left them five years ago when my father mentioned to go to war with the Fae. I thought they would be safe."

"You left because of personal reasons, too," Jacob points out, his voice edging with ice, "She won't forgive you."

Julius waves the warning away. "Mikeal is the only one I need to see about this. She isn't included in the War Conferences."

Jacob and him turn to go into the building. When Julius enters, he sees another male hitting a bag in the center ring. Denis looks over his shoulder, his almond eyes flashing with a blood red color that took over his eyes. He grinds his teeth together as they near him, anger pumping into his bloodstreams. Hunger rips across his abdomen, the mark settling for a total of three hours since his last feeding. Denis's long blonde hair is tied into a bun, nothing coating his skin. He wore tape and he is only in black shorts. The male snorts, taking in Jacob's anger and Julius's attitude.

"The King finally caught you?" he asks, his voice filling with a knowing tone.

Denis is the Informant of the king. He was sent to Julius eight days after he ran away from the Prisom. For the last five years, Denis has been nothing but a thorn in his side. And now, standing there in the training building, Julius knows just how the king's lackies found him.

"Shut up," Julius snarls. The male raises an eyebrow at him, anger running across his face. He points to the tape, side-glancing Jacob, "Jacob needs training. You are his opponent."

Denis scoffs, his brown eyes rolling. "A villager? He is training at this age for a reason."

Jacob bares his teeth at the ignorant male. "Why? Because I didn't grow up under the Cruel King?"

The male shook his head, his hair flying out of his bun. It settles along the structure of his face. "I'm not trying to be prissy, Jacob. Me and Julius grew up under strict trainers. He's doing his best to train you, but what for?" he asks, waving his arm around, "You can't face off the Yelkites, they've trained for years. Hell, they are still training. They are the best in the Supernatural World. Why do you think the 'Cruel King' stays king?"

The words made sense, but Julius knew once he took the throne, when and if he did, he wants those he trusts to be around him. He needs them trained and know the protocols of the kingdom. Jacob shakes his head and meets Julius's eyes. He nods and the other male sighs.

"Still, train me. Give us a better education of the trails you endured," Jacob asks, "We might never be as good, but we can sure try. Julius has a better vision of the world, Denis. Can you seriously be blind to the king?"

Denis whirls around to fully face them, an angry red burn on his chest. He growls, low in his throat. "The king is a cruel bastard. I do not deny that, but what you are asking is treason!" his throat went taunt, stretching the skin over the muscle. Julius listens with an emotionless face, keeping his mouth shut. "I now am bind to tell the king what you have uttered to me."

Julius took over, knowing that they are losing time. "I can break that. He will have to believe you dead, for any connection he feels severed dies."

Denis manages to look shocked. "You are not serious. I'm obliged to obey him."

Jacob shakes his head. "We can make so you do not have to be," he explains, "We can never severe the ties or orders he bestows on us. He will know if we are not alive. If I get severed, Julius will be asked to return and learn the truth. Since Julius is known Heir, he will be murdered in public."

"Why can't Julius be severed?" Denis asks, doubt written on his face.

He sighs, the question is always bound to pop up. "I would lose my place as Heir. That is in the contract and why no one other than the Royal Flynn's can take the throne. Anyone can challenge, but the crown has to accept you. For decades-"

"They've only accepted Heirs. I know," Denis interrupted. He comes closer and leans against the rope that surrounds him. He looks back at the two males, his eyes blooming with thought. "It would work?"

Julius smirks, his eyes meeting Jacob's. "Of course. It happened already."

The male's brown eyes widen and he straightens. "What?!" he growls.

Jacob nods. "The moment you asked if it would work, the spell acted. The moment you start to accept the possibility, it severs it."

A genuine smile blossoms on his face, his pale lips stretching. "Okay. Training at high noon tomorrow. You need to start training in direct sunlight. This sun is nothing against the mortal sun. If anything should put you out there, you need thicker skin."