Glythia was sitting in one corner, pouting, his unfocused gaze pinned to the ground as though he might find a lost dime. He supported his chin with his knuckles. Opposite him, Morven’s hooded figure resembled that of a grim reaper under the dim orange light of their usual dining room.

  Afia’s golden eyes shimmered with tears as Clythia craned her neck, gesturing for more wine. The servant, gripping a silver decanter as though her life depended on it, trembled visibly as she poured it into the gold cup. Vina’s hand coiling around Afia’s arm was what stopped her from overfilling the cup, as she had been lost in her thoughts. She gave Clythia an apologetic look before standing behind her. The Lady of Hypercas narrowed her eyes at Clythia, questioning what Afia’s lack of concentration was about. A glance toward the vampire king was all it took for Vina to understand, pressing her lips into a tight line.

  If a stare alone could strip someone bare, peeling off skin and flesh, Modyr’s gaze would have done so. His catlike eyes zeroed in on Clythia, sending a chill down her spine. She had felt his eyes on her since she entered the room; after the bathroom encounter, she was more aware of him hiding in every dark corner, like a predator waiting to pounce at the right time. He hadn’t come close since then, but his eyes were far from looking elsewhere. Even as he ate his food, he didn’t seem to glance down at its contents. Why was that faerie brain of his thinking so much about her? What was he planning to do? The creep looked like he was obsessing over her.

  And obsessive men did dangerous things.

  Despite the thought unnerving her, she lifted her chin and boldly gawked back at him. It had little to no effect, and before it turned into a staring contest, her eyes returned to the bread before her.

  The clank of plate against the cutlers were the only thing breaking the silence that blanketed over the rulers. The followers observing their gloom rulers kept their heads down, consuming their meals in subdued silence, afraid to even inquire their well-being.

  A ring of laughter boomed in the room, drawing everyone’s attention to Kay. Usually, that sound made her roll her eyes or reminded her of how little she thought of the human king. But now, a deep dread sank into her stomach—she feared him. No that was an understatement, she was terrified of him-a thought she didn’t want to acknowledge out loud, but was true nonetheless.

  Who did she fear more, the host or the dweller? The dweller was so sly that it had stripped the Sovereign of her powers, making her a captive. And the host was the face of the Shadow, the force that was devouring Zyvern and poisoning its bloodstream.

  With the wisest one, a pact was made... the second line had said.What if the Sovereign had made a pact with the human king, and he had convinced her to leave her sanctuary so that he could gain more power? From what Vina disclosed, he had made the Sovereign surrender. He was human; he was flair, the weakest of them all, yet the wisest. The poem wasn’t talking about the Shadow. It was clear that there had been animosity between the human king and Tiyus. And for some reason, Tiyus was cluing her in on how the human king had done it. But why? Perhaps that could be a starting point to find the Sovereign before the human king became aware. It felt a little too late, but if she had known earlier, she would have exploited the strain between Kay and Tiyus.

  When the human king sauntered into the room, Clythia saw him in a new light; he was a force to be reckoned with. What could he really have to offer to trick the Sovereign? Even if she switched off her omniscient side, she could have seen through his ruse. Unless he offered her something she couldn’t possibly refuse.

  Kay furrowed his brows as he took his place, the three humans flanking behind him and murmuring to one another.

  “Is someone dead?”

  His question was met with silence. He shrugged and started helping himself to the sausage and bread.

  “Afia dear, can you pour me some wine?” Kay raised his glass. Afia’s face turned crimson, but even then, Morven didn’t move. He remained still, like a statue in a graveyard—a grim reaper waiting for a command from the great beyond in the corner.

  “She is not your maid,” Clythia said harshly. A dangerous gleam appeared in Kay’s eyes—a silver gleam. “But since we are kind...” Clythia lightened her tone and gestured for Afia to pour him the wine. As his gaze was averted, she cast an alarming look toward Vina. The Lady of Hypercas had noticed it too.

  “Your eyes looked silver for a moment there,” Glythia commented.

  Tiyus was not being careful, and he wasn't someone to have a slip of an action. He wasn’t hiding himself anymore—that was no accident. Her heart thrummed faster.

  When Kay looked up, his eyes were brown again, and furrowed his eyebrows, “Pardon?”

  It took the werewolf king a moment to respond as he assessed him. “Peculiar.”

  “What’s peculiar?”

  If Clythia didn’t know better, she could have believed the confusion marring Kay’s face. He was a con through and through, using his humanity as a trait of dumbness. And they had bought the facade for too long. Even Casarda, the spy of DavinSaw, had played part. How much of information and secrets had she exposed to the humans?

  Traitor bitch.

  “What are we waiting for in this barren land if we can’t find the Sovereign?” Glythia raised a hand in protest. “I am tired of waiting around here for nothing!”

  “I know where the Sovereign is,” Kay said.

  That was when Modyr was pulled out of the hypnosis he had created over Clythia. “What?”

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  Why did the human king decide to reveal this to all of them right then and there? It took Clythia back to that victorious smile Tiyus had earlier that day. Whatever it was, the host and the dweller had aligned, or there could be a goal that would benefit them both somehow.

  “How?” Morven took off his hood. “Where?”

  “Relax, everyone. She is paying her due.” Kay wiped his mouth with a piece of cloth. For a moment, everyone expected him to elaborate, but he didn’t.

  “Her due? To what?” Modyr raised his voice.

  “To all the shit she ever did. For being unfair.” He yawned. “I’m tired. I have to go to sleep. It’s past my bedtime.”

  Glythia rose to his feet, towering over the small door. “You are not going anywhere. Tell us everything you know now. How did you know about her whereabouts to begin with?”

  “I have my ways.”

  “Like you have your ways to make the locals look the other way when you arrived? I wonder, how does the human king get to have such influence in a land no one dares to cross?”

  Kay moved closer, his hand clenched. “You sound like them.” He pointed a finger toward Clythia. “A dog is a best friend of humans. I expected better from you, you bad dog.”

  Glythia’s hand flew, ready to make a history of Kay’s teeth, but it met an invisible wall midway. The werewolf king couldn’t believe it as he stared at his hand in disbelief. He looked around the room, but when he saw no one wielding magic, his gaze fixed on the human. “What are you doing?”

  “Put your paws down,” Kay said in a tense voice. Glythia struggled to barrel through the invisible force. His other hand followed, but a clunking sound made him let out a pained groan and drop his hands.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Modyr stood up. “Since when did humans wield magic?”

  “Of course, a power you don’t understand equates to magic,” Kay snorted.

  “Science?” Morven asked, half-convinced.

  “Something like that.”

  “You can keep your tricks for another time. Now you better tell us where this Sovereign is and why we aren’t going there right now instead of watching your shitshow,” the faerie king said, rising to his feet as well.

  A slow smile grew on Kay’s face. “You will be disappointed then. I’m only getting started. And my shitshow is the only way you’ll get answers. Since I’m in a merry mood, I will bend to your demands one more time.” The human king looked around the room, his comrades smirking as well. “Follow me.”

  As Kay left the room, everyone followed suit one by one. A murmur broke out among the group. A strong hand coiled around Clythia’s arm, whisking her to the side. Modyr’s sudden action triggered her soldiers, who raised their palms in preparation to weild magic. On some of their hands, rays of blue and green appeared, the unsolidified theme for any defensive or offensive magic.

  Before she could say anything, the faerie said, “Why were you so quiet in there? You didn’t look surprised. You were shocked, yes, but you came to terms with whatever trick Kay pulled in there too quickly. Let me think... hmmm... Perhaps it was his timing, not the information, that unsettled you.” He tightened his grip. “What do you know?”

  Clythia tapped into her InnerSense and sent a wave of heat to where the faerie’s limbs were squeezing her arm. He released his grip immediately, wincing.

  “Answer it!” Modyr demanded.

  “Dickhead,” she muttered before leaving him with his guards. And her followers immediately closed in on her, circling her as she walked so that the faerie king won't infiltrate.

  Clythia was lost in the void of her own mind, not thinking of anything in particular, yet dissociating from her surroundings with every step she took. The sound of footsteps and murmurs blended into a monotonous thread, weaving seamlessly with her vast, dark mind.

  That was how her mind felt nowadays—it expanded and expanded, the darkness getting thicker, threatening to swallow her whole. There was no doubt in her that it would; the only thing she didn’t know for certain was the “when” of it—when it would claim her entirely and she would lose her autonomy along the way.

  At last, they arrived at the dais where they had been offering the Tithe for two millennia. If not them, then their ancestors had upheld this ritual—save for Morven who was as old as the stone they were stepping on. The stairs were carved from granite, adorned with ancient writings that Clythia didn’t recognize but resembled the inscriptions they had seen in the cave.

  “Can you read it?” the werewolf asked Morven.

  “Don’t come without being summoned,” the vampire replied with a harsh tint to his tone.

  “Pardon?” Glythia asked, his voice carrying a trace of offense.

  Clythia didn’t turn her head to see what was happening, but she could feel the irritation between the vampire and the werewolf behind her guards.

  They had no animosity towards each other, but they were both projecting their grief onto one another. The werewolf had lost his pack; the vampire had lost his...love. They were like a ticking charmed object, a stroke away from explosion. One would expect traveling together would have made the strain between races diffuse a bit, but it only made it stronger. Clythia didn’t want to worry herself about what the future among them might entail because an inevitable war was around the corner.

  “It says, ‘Don’t come without being summoned,’” the vampire repeated, irritation growing in his voice.

  In the center, there was a slab of stone with a silver sword on top of it. The sword stood on its tip, an invisible force keeping it immobile. Vines of rose coiled from its tip to its hilt, making it look like a valiant sword out of a romance novel. However, the reality was far from it. It was before this sword that the First War of Zyvern ceased. It was before the sword that the seven continents swore their allegiance to the Sovereign for prosperity and peace. It was before the sword that a new era began. It was placed by the Sovereign, and its power was tied to her.

  The sword was dual. It was Death. It was Life. Reaching out to the sword without it glowing first was a death sentence, and that only happened when the Tithe was offered. It was also the source of life for Zyvern. The planet wasn’t habitable—not for them, anyway. In the era before the Sovereign, only the Beasts of Surial festered on the planet. Humans had to submit to them for clean air, and magical races relied on air magic, but the Shadow’s magic had limitations. It drove many to madness, thus forcing them to rely on their captors for supply.

  It was when the Sovereign helped them win the First War of Zyvern that clean air became accessible to all, and the anchor was the sword. However, defiling this place... there was a great chance that none of them would get out of here alive. But the Sovereign was captive of the human king—something Clythia couldn’t wrap her head around; she wished she could wake up from this nightmare. But the chill racing down her spine was as real as the breeze fluttering her hair.

  More real than any lucid dream.

  “You must all be wondering why I brought you here,” the human king’s voice cut through the confused murmurs and silenced the crowd. “I am not good at speeches, Denise,” he said, turning to the woman with silver hair and feigning a nervous chuckle. She was the one who had given Clythia the coldest stare after she had killed Hilin.

  Hilin.

  Clythia had completely forgotten that she had killed one of Kay’s companions. He had promised she would pay for it. Was she paying for it already? No. Being chained to Tiyus was not Kay’s decision. It was also foolish to think the human king had forgotten what she had done. If he could make her black out with the slightest move of his fingers…

  “Alright, let me rip the band-aid off,” Kay said, moving his shoulder in a circular motion. Clythia didn’t know what a band-aid was, but from the frown on Morven’s face, it didn’t sound good. While she was lost in her thoughts, the vampire moved to the front, possibly keeping his distance from the werewolf.

  “I am the Sovereign.”

  A hush fell over the crowd.