Nahlaya stood in the center of the pavilion. Her eyes tilted up towards the skies as she looked over the gray skies filled with clouds. She heard nothing but the sound of the wind, and her body shook with the chill of the air. Her lips were warm, her neck was cold, and her fingers felt like icicles. She could not stop shaking because it was cold.

Her throat flexed with a swallow as she stepped across the stone, not looking down, not looking around. She stepped up onto the balcony, her foot planted on the stone as she lifted herself, shivering as wind seemed to fly upwards into her face. Her face heated with a crimson blush. She could hear something at that moment. Sounds of war.

She opened her eyes wider and took it all in. The white castle where her father’s head was on a pike in the bloody courtyard. Blood painted on all the white stones from the massacre of her people. She smirked slightly as she heard her mother and sister. They were probably going to be just fine, she thought as she stepped forward and let the wind carry her. She fell forward, her hands flying upwards towards her face as she dropped towards the ground beneath. She would not die. She would fall, for a long time and then fall into the plunging water. People did it all the time, but now it was cold.

An arm wrapped around her waist and she was yanked backwards, gasping as she fell to the stones, tumbling to the ground as she was thrown against the bloody stones. Her face immediately covered with it as her long black hair flew around her. She grunted as she pressed her hands into the stone, her eyes narrowing as dizziness overwhelmed her. She had already been suffering from a fever for days. She frowned in annoyance as she raised her head, her brown eyes meeting a dark visor.

The man standing before her was tall, but he was just a soldier. Some sort of knight of Bringdon, the kingdom that had just attacked out of nowhere on the damned island of Woreden. She wondered if the attacker was out of his mind or just lucky.

She pressed her hands against the stone and rose slowly, her legs straightening. He was not alone. A moment later there were three soldiers surrounding her with their spears trained on her. She glanced at them with a bored expression, her eyelids unable to lift high enough to meet their gazes. She walked towards the man that stopped her and he raised a hand to stop her from going another step, so she did stop. She did not understand the words they were blabbering at her because all she heard was buzzing, and she did not understand what they were gesturing to but a moment later the soldier grabbed her necklace and raised it. He said something and he grabbed her arm, roughly yanking her down the long walk towards the front of the castle. Her bare feet splashed against the blood as she walked, her white ruined gown gathering new blood to drink.

She smiled as she tipped her head back and began laughing, her eyes closing as she laughed again and again, shrieking hysterically as the bodies of the dead stared up at her. She laughed when she saw her father’s severed head on a pike, and she laughed when she saw the knights strung up on the wall, their blood streaking down the white walls to the ground to create a picture of chaos. She laughed harder and the birds began to stir, cawing loudly. The crows began to gather, and the gray skies held an ominous promise.

She shouted loudly, her hands raised as the guards shoved her to the ground, “Ith crowthen fer mith blither hail!”

Which in the witch's language translated to, "I have waited for this my whole life."

The guards grabbed her arms, dragging her up to her feet as they hurried her into the courtyard through the gates tainted by life of man. She was dragged around the large fountain flowing with red blood, the bodies floating in the water and all over the green trim grass. She was dragged through the broken front doors, pulled across the bloody ground, and taken into the throne room.

She saw the knights standing on either side, watching forward but they turned when they saw her, their eyes narrowing. She smiled, unable to hide it as they dragged her forward and she was pulled through the crowd, leaving bloody footprints across the white tile as she was taken to the front where Duchess Sayala was standing to the side with her daughter Immor next to her. Her supposed stepmother, and stepsister.

She smiled at them, taking in their pale faces. Sayala stared at her in horror, wondering what sort of sick mind could take in what was going on with a smile. Immor silently took her in, anger in her eyes because she had been the one to sacrifice everything to get Nahlaya out of the castle to begin with.

The man standing on the dais was the one that captured everyone’s attention. He stood with all the power of a man of his age. Twenty-one of age, and the fourth prince of Bringdon, expendable but undefeatable prince of devils. His red eyes watched Nahlaya with an expressionless face, his brown hair brushed back over his fine features.

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as he stepped forward, his large bloodied brown boots pressing into the white stone as he rested one powerful hand against his double-edged sword.

“What is this?” he asked softly, his voice not rising above a low growl.

The soldier bowed, “I found her jumping from the wall, your majesty. She seemed…to wish for death, but her necklace signifies she is part of the royal family.”

He smirked slightly and turned to look at her with narrowed eyes, “You wish for death?”

She did not answer, her eyes narrowing slightly as a smile ticked up her face and she stared at him as if she was locked in a dream.

Immor stepped up and fell to her knees, her hands clasped, “I beg of you, spare her. She is my sister.

“Spare her?” he asked with a raised eyebrow as he stepped down the step and looked at her with a curious expression, “Was she not the one that wished for death, little girl?”

Immor gritted her teeth, her crimson lips parting as she raised her blue eyes to his, “All I ask is that you spare her from your blade, you slithering black-hearted bastard.”

The captain who had been standing behind her and her mother moved forward immediately to her and grabbed her black hair, pulling her hair back. He shook her, making her grunt deep in her throat though she did not look away from Galadan’s red gaze.

The captain hissed, “Shall I kill her now, your highness?”

He smirked as he looked down at her, “Peace, Lance. Maybe later…after I give her to my hounds to play with.”

She sneered as she stared up at him, almost daring him to.

Nahlaya chuckled softly and shook her head as she laughed again, “Your sister?” she asked with a raised eyebrow as she looked at Immor who looked at her with a pained expression, “Holy water would not be able to cleanse that heart of the man before you, stepsister,” she lowered her face towards her and murmured, “A heart to a heart, he would never spare any of us.”

Immor frowned as she said angrily, “Get your bitch to get his hand off my hair.”

The captain tightened his grip, “Your highness?”

She laughed as she looked at Galadan, “My apologies, I did not mean to offend your lover.”

“Your highness, your hounds would not want to play with her, let me strike her dead!” he shouted in anger, his face going red with embarrassment.

“Only guilty ones scream in embarrassed rage, you poor fool,” she groaned as he pulled her hair harder, “Pulling my hair only gets me excited.”

He let her go with disgust, shaking his hand as he glared down at her, “You sick bitch!”

“One to another,” she said with a laugh, her eyes narrowing as she looked up at the prince again with a tight smile on her face.

Nahlaya laughed again, her eyes narrowing as she stood slowly to her feet, ignoring the guards as they raised their spears in warning, “Nahlaya fer nith,” she pointed at him with a crazed smile on her face as she whispered, “I have a gift for you.”

The prince stared at her as if he was absolutely finished with the entire conversation. He stepped down the stairs and grabbed her hand, pulling her towards him as he looked over her face. He took in her small nose, the full pale lips, and her fevered face. Her eyes were glassy, though he could feel the fever radiating off of her. She would probably be dead before he could have some sort of fun with her sordid expressions. She looked at him as if she was insane, and he did not doubt that maybe she was.

He smiled and looked towards Immor, “Your sister is ill.”

Immor stared at him, her eyes devoid of emotion as she refused to answer. She knew that Nahlaya was insane, that was why she had gotten her out.

Nahlaya was only sixteen years of age and she had been born from her father Duke John, and a witch named Ahlaya. Her father named Nahlaya to be the opposite of her mother, being the most unwelcome, as her name meant. Immor did not blame her father for cheating on her mother, she would have done so if she had been him. She had tried to keep her sister safe, even if she had been born insane.

Galadan stepped forward, his hand sliding down Nahlaya’s neck, “She is not as beautiful as you, but I suppose that is because your mother was beautiful,” he glanced at Sayala, “In her time, mayhap.”

Sayala gritted her teeth, anger in her eyes, “How dare you!”

Immor wanted to shut her mother up, because it was definitely not the time to be speaking of looks at the time. She felt her fingers itch to rip Galadan’s face apart if he continued to touch Nahlaya.

Immor felt her hands tremble as she glanced at her sister and looked at Galadan, wondering what he was going to do. She did not know what he meant by his hounds, but the captain seemed amused and she had seen no dogs in the battle. Maybe he meant to drag them back to his country in disgrace.

“Nervous?” he asked with a smile brushing against his lips, “I would be if I was you.”

“No you would not,” she answered with a lifted chin, “You would be just as you are.”

His smile disappeared and pulled Nahlaya closer to him, his fingers tightening around her throat, as he hissed, “We are nothing alike, princess.”

“No,” she agreed, “I am not a princess,” she said with a slow smile as she stared at him with mirth.

He studied her with a frown as he shoved Nahlaya away from him, letting her fall to the floor, “You think you are so clever? I cannot wait to see you scream,” he turned with a sigh as he walked back up the dais.

Nahlaya began muttering to herself, her hands clutched, “Gift for all of you…” she murmured, her eyes flashing as she looked up at Immor, “I hate you.”

Immor felt her body shudder as she frowned in confusion, “Nahlaya, how could you say that to me?” she reached for her, wishing to comfort her as she always did.

“I do not care!” she spat, “I hate you!” she smiled, “I have to.”

Her eyes widened in confusion and it seemed everyone watched with smirks on their faces. Some of the knights began to chuckle amongst themselves, murmuring to each other that she was insane. They were mocking her, Immor thought, they were cruel beasts, mocking a poor girl who had no sanity.

Nahlaya stood, her hand raised as she grabbed her necklace and ripped it off her neck, “I curse you with this word,” she pointed at Galadan as he studied her with a raised eyebrow, “I curse you…with everything in me…with the power of my mother, with the name of a dead father, with the fate of a hated sister, and on that of a brother…” she began whispering in a different language, her eyes rolling as she reached out with a scream her hand grabbing hold of the captain of the guard's sword.

Immor screamed her hands outstretched towards Nahlaya as she pulled the blade from the captain and swept the blade across her throat. Time seemed to hold still and suddenly Nahlaya was falling, blood pouring down from her throat. She stood for a moment before she fell into Immor’s arms.

Immor gasped, her eyes wide as she held onto Immor’s body, her eyes wide as she stared at the blood that was covering her white throat. She was dead the moment she slashed her throat, all her warmth gone in an instant. It was impossible, she thought, was there nothing left in a body when it was dead?

Galadan raised an eyebrow and sighed, “Pity,” he lowered his hand from his sword, “I was going to enjoy quartering her,” he looked at his captain, “Lance.”

The captain fell to his knees, his eyes wide, “I…I—”

Galadan interrupted him, “Forget it,” he turned with a roll of his eyes, “Try not to be so careless.”

Immor screamed, her body lurching from off the ground as she grabbed the fallen sword and swung it in a full arch as she cast her body towards Galadan. She would have been able to do it, but it was like she never had a chance. His eyes flashed red and his hand gripped her throat. The sword fell from her grasp and he pulled her close to him, squeezing her arm as he glared down at her.

Her knees went weak as she stared up at him, all the hatred in her eyes as she clawed at his hands, making sure to dig her fingers in his flesh before she reached out to grab his face, but he threw her down to the ground at his feet.

She sobbed as she fell, her elbows catching her against the ground as she panted for breath.

He smiled slightly, “And here I thought that you were intelligent. Now I know you are just as fun as your sister,” he looked at Immor, “Were just as fun.”

Immor sobbed, her hands drawing her up as she glared at his boots, “If I must make myself mad, then I will,” she threw herself forward, her shoulder slamming into the back of his knees.

Galadan hit the ground, but she misjudged his fall and he fell right on top of her, his teeth gritted as he grabbed her hair, pulling her back as he wrapped his arm around her throat, yanking her back against him as he waved his guards off.

Immor tried to struggle, her hands finding the blade but not the handle. She grabbed the ***** steel anyway, raising it as she tried to fight him but he choked her off and she fell into oblivion as the sword fell to the ground in a clatter, her mother screaming in fear in the background as the knights laughed in mockery.

...“I hate you,” Nahlaya’s voice whispered, “I have to.” ...

Immor felt warm. She frowned slightly in confusion as she shifted her body against the soft feeling beneath her. She frowned as she opened her eyes realizing where she was. She had been put in the clothing room. Someone had probably thrown her on the furs that were meant for the seamstresses.

She shifted her legs, hearing more than feeling the chains around her ankles. She raised herself on her hands, eyes narrowed as she looked her situation over.

Sure enough, she was sitting on the pile of furs her father had hunted and sent to the seamstress She hated it then and she hated it now. She wrapped her arms around her knees and looked around the small stone storage room. It was cold to keep the furs fresh and clean so no bugs would be able to get into them. The chains were around her ankles without shackles, and they were digging into her skin. She frowned down at them, noting that the chains were linked to a large iron ball.

Immor stared at the front of her dress, her eyes taking in all the blood covering the light white layers of cloth. It had been her favorite dress, and she had worn it because she thought she was going to die in it. She wished she had.

She pressed her hand to her face, “How could she say she hated me? The only one that loved her? I did not pity her…” she sobbed, her hands covering her face as if forcing the tears back into her body.

Immor brushed her tears back, breathing deeply as she tried to figure out what had happened and piece everything together. That morning, she thought, what had happened that morning? She breathed in slowly and leaned back against the furs.

She had woken up to enjoy the morning before the sun rose as she always did. Nahlaya liked to sleep in until the sun was hanging far into the sky, so she did not disturb her sister sleeping in the room next to hers. She dressed in a plain gown and ran out to see if she could find the cooks to teach her another pastry for breakfast. She had been doing the same thing all her life, waking up and learning to cook one new thing. It had come to a stop when she was fourteen and went to finishing school, but the moment she came back three years later it had resumed and the cooks acted as if she had not left.

She did not find the cooks that morning, but she heard plenty of noise. She had gone back up the stairs to the war room where everyone was in a hurry and that was when the trouble had begun.

The war ships of Bringdon were at the front steps of Woredon. The people had fled in the night when the fight had begun in the south and now, they had arrived. She had no idea that they were there, and her father had said nothing. Her mother would not be woken up, telling everyone to give her poison to let her die in bed.

Immor was not unwise, but she decided to stay and fight till the death with her family. She was not willing to give up the only person she loved. She had woken her sister Nahalaya up and packed her a bag after telling her to dress and eat what she had prepared for her. She told Nahalaya to run as fast she could to Woreden woods and find her people who protect her. She knew that witches were a close pack, and she was sure they would take her in. At first, Nahalaya seemed to be happy to go. The attack was coming from the sea, and Woreden woods were on the other side of the castle where it had not been breached. She had taken her down the secret passage, said farewell, and bid her go.

Nothing ever went her way. After dressing in her favorite gown without the hoops and decorations, she had grabbed a sword and gone to her mother’s door to stand firm and not let anyone through. She hated her mother, but it was the duty of a daughter, as her father kept reminding her all her life. She hated him as well.

The soldiers tore down the walls surrounding the city. They destroyed the temple that was sitting before the castle and ripped through the knights as if they were nothing but wooden dolls. They destroyed everything across the bridge, and down the long pathway towards the castle until they had destroyed the royal guard and the knights. Most got away through the woods, though there were terrors enough in there.

Then it was the worst part. They took the courtyard and beheaded her father without trial, staking his head on a pike and putting in the middle of the pavilion. She did not doubt that her father deserved worse, but she did not care. For her, evil did not fight evil. Only good could make it right, and there was nothing good in Bringdon.

The prince of devils swept in and attacked her family, taking out her cousin and only heir to the Dukedom of Woreden. Then he destroyed the knights and knocked her down as if she was nothing no matter how hard she fought. She had been trained for something and could not believe that he could have knocked her down so easily. She felt humiliated and angry, but he did not kill her. He had grabbed her by the hair and dragged her down to the courtyard while his guards captured the cowardly duchess who shrieked the whole way down. It was not a short way and her scalp ached.

Then the worse happened. It had been hours since she had gotten Nahlaya out. Yet, her sister had returned without her bags or coat or shoes. Then she had killed herself. The only person she had wanted to see alive and well was now dead.

Immor breathed in slowly and closed her eyes in resolve. If that was the way it was, she thought, then what was the reason she was still alive?