Chapter Text
“Your Majesty, I beg you to reconsider your decision!” That voice comes from everywhere and nowhere at the same time, echoes of a past that refuses to lay to rest. Though the wording resembles a plea, the tone makes it clear that it is a demand.
“This incident proved that such an environment is unsuitable for our prince.” This voice is filled with a deep sorrow. It vividly evokes the image of a weeping woman, heartbroken for a child who has long since left the nest. “We must ensure Prince Malleus’s safety above all else.”
“First they disrespect him, foolishly mock on the Draconia name, and now they paint him as the villain for a situation they created themselves!” The fury contained in that third voice could easily be mistaken for a thunderstorm all on its own. It is hard to tell if that is the voice of a warrior or a lord who lost everything. “Those humans do not deserve to be in His Highness’s presence!”
A large door opens with a menacing creak, the result of years, perhaps decades, without proper maintenance. A small fae dressed in green armor hurries in, their head held low. They carry a silver tray in their hands. A couple of letters rest on it, each one with seals of different colors.
“Your Majesty, another letter has arrived. These are from the Queendom of Roses—”
“Preposterous!” The guard winces at the sudden outburst. Tears gather in the corners of their eyes as the voice rages on: “Wretched, self-serving creatures! What more do they want from us? After forcing our queen to humiliate herself for their own amusement!”
Despite their obvious fear, the guard falls to their knees in front of the throne, raising the tray in an offering. Their muted scent betrays their status as a Beta. “—and from Sunset Savanna.”
Oh?
Maleficia finally opens her eyes again. Really, fully opens them, and looks at the guard. A faint aura flickers around them. Their magic is sorely lacking, barely powerful enough to be considered a higher-ranking mage by human standards. Perhaps it will be enough to earn them an invitation to that school one day, when they are older and have more confidence in themself.
With a flick of her wrist, the letters float towards her. The envelopes open midair and the papers within unfurl without any need for her to touch them directly. She skims over the first letter, written in the, frankly, near illegible handwriting so characteristic of the Queendom’s court. The flowery calligraphy could be considered beautiful in and of itself, but the long text makes the letters seemingly blend together on the page. An outstanding piece in the art of nonsense, much like that country’s culture at large.
She can parse more demands and hidden threats. It does not matter that the incident ultimately ended with no serious injuries or lasting harm—at the very least, not as far as the great public has been made aware of—for these people indeed only care about their selfish gains. This situation gave them leverage against Briar Valley, both to try stripping it of power in the global scene and forcing it into disadvantageous deals.
Green flames glow in Maleficia’s eyes and that insulting letter burns to ash in an instant. She turns her attention to the second one. The paper and the calligraphy are much less refined but way more pleasant to the eye. There is a certain wild quality to every stroke, like a beast bidding its time for a successful attack. She reads through the contents. Her interest grows with each word written on the paper, and it must show on her face because all magic in the room flickers with uncertainty.
“Your Majesty, what is this about?” The weeping-like voice echoes, cautious beyond measure.
Maleficia does not answer. Instead, she thinks of everything she knows about the sender. None of the stories she had heard before would make her think of him as a possible ally. But, ah, perhaps Malleus’s overblot changed things between them? There is a certain level of companionship that can only be acquired through a shared experience, after all.
Although, even if that incident brought forth some good things for him, Maleficia is more than aware that she will need to reprimand Malleus once he returns home. Not because it was disgraceful nor because he tarnished the family name, but simply because he got too close to his demise. For now, however, she chooses to simply be happy that Malleus survived at all.
She already lost Maleanor to an overblot, and her Phantom left behind scars of destruction on the land that are yet to fully heal. Maleficia does not want to imagine what would have been of her if Malleus fell to that same fate. She is grateful to those hatchlings of retainers her grandson chose to stand by his side. More than anyone, they were responsible for saving Briar Valley’s future.
That is beside the point, however. Maleficia will have plenty of time to reward them for their services properly. Lilia, too. He earned so much. Maleficia only regrets that she could not have done so sooner, not without risking the frail peace they fought so hard for if she went against the Senate’s demands. And, in that sense… Malleus’s overblot truly was the best thing that could have happened to her. If nothing else, it reminded Maleficia of what truly mattered in all this—Malleus, not some twisted fear she still held in her heart for these ancient souls in front of her.
The letter vanishes into motes of dragon fire. Not turned to ashes, no, but simply transported to a safer place. “You need not worry about this,” Maleficia says truthfully. “It is simply a small request from an old acquaintance’s relative. A favor, if you will.”
“A favor?” The magical core floating in the air, the very thing anchoring this soul to their world, flickers with trepidation.
A snort comes from the second core, and that thunderous voice echoes again: “As if humans know how to ask for things. No, they take and destroy. That is all they’re good for.”
Four hundred years ago, Maleficia would have wholeheartedly agreed to that sentiment. Now, however, she knows better than to believe it. No species in this world are a monolith. Even among members of the same family, the differences could be striking.
Henrick Istvan led a war to Briarland, guided by his own greed and hatred. The Dawn Knight murdered Maleanor, blindly following the orders of a monster, but was still compassionate enough to allow Maleficia to say her farewells to her daughter. Queen Leah had put an end to the attacks against Briar Valley and attracted the ire of all other humans against herself as the price. And now, their son, raised by Lilia himself, risked everything he had to save Malleus and still devotes his life to serving him.
It would be foolish to indiscriminately hate even those who are innocent. Maleficia wants to be a better ruler than that—and, perhaps, she will be good enough that Malleus will be proud of her, that he’ll follow her footsteps while making this country the place he envisioned in his dreams.
“As I have said, there is no need for you to concern yourselves with this matter. This relative merely wishes access to some of the texts in our library, books related to the history of their country that they could not find anywhere else.” A most reasonable request, all things considered, and especially given that person’s role in her grandson’s survival. “I will personally see to it that they honor their word and do not touch any of the forbidden sections.” It is the least she can do for an incoming guest, and also for her own sanity. “Now, then, I believe we have discussed all pressing matters.”
There is a sense of finality to her words that leaves no room for argument. She had already been called into this fruitless meeting and wasted several hours of her night for nothing. Maleficia does not wish to lose any more time in this room, with these souls who do not know when to move on. And as such, the Senate quickly disperses from her sight. It will not be long before they return, demanding that she obey their whims but, for now, Maleficia will accept this temporary peace with grace.
She lets out a long, heavy sigh. Her body feels much heavier now that the main source of her tension is gone.
“My Queen.” Another voice that comes from everywhere and nowhere echoes in her ears again. This one, at last, brings a smile to her lips. “What beautiful schemes are you plotting this time?”
Maleficia cracks her eyes open. A shadow has made itself comfortable perched on the back of her throne. Lustrous black feathers ruffle every time her new companion moves and keen yellow eyes glisten with mischief.
“I do not need to plot anything,” Maleficia retorts. “I am merely fortunate that my wishes have come true without requiring any effort on my part.”
She thinks of the letter. On the surface, there was nothing amiss about it. A reasonable request, certainly. But Maleficia is well acquainted with the subtleties of languages—the letter itself was written in the language of Briar Valley, but some of the wording choices felt off at first glance. Not wrong per se, but dissonant with the remainder of the letter. Sometimes too archaic, sometimes too casual.
Truly, it only made sense once she ignored those specific words and read the true message for what it was.
A request for a meeting, an offering to end a long-standing problem for both sides, and a promise of support in the international scene that Maleficia sorely needs at the moment.
How could she say no to this?
“Diara, I have a small mission for you.” Maleficia watches as her companion hops down to perch on her legs instead. She states her wishes as she slowly, almost gently cards her fingers through the raven’s soft wings. Diara’s eyes look at her dubiously, almost as if asking are you sure this is your idea of no effort? Maleficia pets under her familiar’s beak, and all discontentment instantly disappears from Diara’s body.
“Fine. I’ll do it for you, but—” Diara stops herself mid-sentence, carefully reconsidering her words. “Well, just do the usual.”
Which entails an unsightly amount of treats and quality time together, if Maleficia’s many centuries of experience around her are anything to go by.
“Everything will be ready once you return,” Maleficia gently reassures her.
With that, Diara flies away, disappearing out the windows. Maleficia sighs into the sudden silence. She strengthens her grip on her staff, leaning against it heavily as she stands up. She wants to believe she manages to retain some dignity as she straightens herself and starts walking towards her personal office. But, ah, the loss of one’s wings will never become easier to deal with.
Not that she regrets the decisions that led to this outcome, of course. She fought for her country, for her grandson’s safety, and ensured her beloved daughter’s legacy would no longer be corrupted by that wretched creature’s doings. It hurts to think she will never be able to reach the skies with Malleus, but it was a small price to pay to have a future at all.
Maleficia locks herself in her office for almost the entirety of the next two days. She writes a reply to her incoming guest even though, truthfully, she does not need to. The only visible request in the letter was about the books; the visit in and of itself was talked about as a given, down to the expected arrival date laid out for her. The mere idea of someone brazenly inviting themselves to another’s home is one that Maleficia cannot comprehend at all. Such rudeness truly knows no bounds… And yet, somehow, it also amuses her to an extent.
Such brashness is not something she sees every day in Briar Valley. People respect her here. Fear her, even though her powers have been so significantly reduced after the loss of her wings. They would never even risk getting her in a bad mood.
Perhaps, this is simply another sign that she took the right decision by allowing Malleus to continue attending that school. If there are people fearless enough to address her in such a way, she can only assume they are more than willing to treat her grandson as an equal as well. And, now that she knows just how lonely Malleus truly was all these years, Maleficia could not ask for anything better than this.
On the third night after her last meeting with the Senate, Maleficia steps out of the palace decked in fine silk and delicate silver jewelry. Her robes may look plain at first glance, but if someone were to look closely they would notice the inner side of her wide sleeves are purple, with subtle sparkles that come and go giving the illusion of fireflies trapped in the fabric itself. A marvel that combines the magic and sewing skills of Briar Valley’s best seamstresses. Maleficia doubts anywhere else in the world has something like this. She wonders if it will impress her guest, or if she will be met with indifference.
She would be lying if she said she was not curious. It must show on her face, for Baur’s expression turns a little strange when his gaze falls on her.
“Your Majesty,” the Alpha greets with a deep, deep bow. Maleficia merely gives him a subtle nod in acknowledgment. “My apologies if this sounds rude but… Did something happen?” So many centuries have already come to pass, and Baur still wears his heart on his sleeve.
Maleficia’s expression softens slightly at Baur’s words. She cannot help but recall how he was when he first arrived at Briar Valley—little more than a hatchling, trembling in the face of fear and despairing at the slightest show of disapproval. For that Baur who had left his home and everything he knew behind, to be rejected by the fae would be a fate worse than death.
He gained much more confidence over time, and earned the trust of those around him. Even before the war, Lilia never hesitated before vouching for Baur’s strength of character. He had also played a key role in bringing the egg safe to Black Scale Castle… For that, Maleficia will forever be in his debt.
“A guest is set to arrive soon,” she explains, “and given your origins, I believed it would be appropriate to formally introduce the two of you.”
Her words seem to bring Baur more questions than answers. Before he can ask anything else, however, a portal appears in the middle of the courtyard. Its light is almost blinding, and a gush of wind seems to accompany the whirlwind of sparkles. Maleficia can hear the subtle rustling of leaves and petals all around. Malleus would be happy seeing his roses in full bloom again.
The first thing that catches Maleficia’s attention is the stylized lion imprinted on the newcomer’s left arm. At first glance, it looks like it was made with common ink. A real look tells Maleficia an entirely different story.
Magic.
Maleficia’s fingers itch to reach out, to probe and feel until the nature of that magic unveils before her eyes. She reigns that desire back and raises her gaze to meet her guest’s eyes. The eyes of a lion, of a beast, are already staring at her, like they are trying to see straight through her soul.
“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Your Majesty.” A deep bow accompanies that surprisingly pleasant voice. Maleficia cannot detect any pheromones coming from him, but she knows him to be an Alpha just like herself based on the stories Malleus shared in the past. “I did not expect you to indulge my selfish request. For that, you have my gratitude.”
“You made it quite hard to refuse.” Maleficia feels no need to respond to those pleasantries. The politeness, the deference, the respect—they are not genuine. His eyes would not look so cold if they were not. “I took the liberty of inviting an old friend to join us for our first meal tonight.” She glances at Baur. He wordlessly steps forward. His eyes are fixated on the guest, on that strangely captivating mark that also caught Maleficia’s interest. “This man is my former general, Baur Zigvolt. He lived in Sunset Savanna around six hundred years ago.”
She watches as the man’s ears perk up at her words. They are indistinguishable from the ears of wild lions. Maleficia cannot help but think they look distinctively soft to the touch, as well. A shame that felines never quite liked her, though, so she has no way to know if that impression is correct.
“Zigvolt, you say?” The question is a little unexpected. Maleficia was under the impression that Baur’s origin would interest this man more. Then, he smiles, a hint of sharp fangs flashing before they disappear again. “No wonder your grandson detests me so much. Must be so hard for him to accept his idol has anything to do with me.”
Oh. Right. They all attend Night Raven College together. And given the stories Maleficia heard from Malleus and Lilia… Ah, that dislike certainly makes sense. Especially with this attitude. Amusingly, sarcasm looks good on Kingscholar. Maleficia wonders how honesty would look on him, if it would mar those sharp, handsome features with innate despair.
“This is the second prince of Sunset Savanna, Leona Kingscholar,” Maleficia adds, hoping to clear some of Baur’s obvious confusion. “He will stay with us for some days, looking into our archives about his country.”
“Oh. I understand now.” Baur turns his full attention to the prince. He bows lightly, just enough to show due level of respect. “In that case, I will do my best to aid His Highness in this search.”
Kingscholar’s tail flicks sharply. Much to Maleficia’s surprise, a faint frown has appeared between his brows. She wonders if perhaps Sebek’s dislike is not entirely one-sided if Kingscholar’s own distaste for the fae goes beyond that conflict with Malleus in the sports tournament.
If that is the case, however, Kingscholar does not speak on it. Instead, “Thank you. If you’re willing… I would also like to hear stories about the Afterglow Savanna.”
Sunset Savanna has not always had that name. It had changed at some point in recent centuries for reasons that still elude Maleficia’s comprehension. They did not face war like Briar Valley did, nor were they forced to change due to a significant change in their way of life… Maleficia forces herself to focus back on the present conversation before she loses herself to the flow of time once more.
“Of course,” Baur replies right away. Then, he pauses, “But, well, I suppose you can imagine my tales aren’t exactly grand or even positive.” Baur left the savanna for one single reason, after all—to escape the hatred against fae that was already rising around the globe.
One would think that beastpeople, having inherited so many traits from their animal ancestors, would know better than to ostracize others for their species. But perhaps because they craved the acceptance of the majority, to be deemed as one of the good ones by humans, they became some of the worst perpetrators of that mindless violence.
“That’s exactly what I need,” Kingscholar says firmly. “The cold, dark truth is what I need most.”
“There is still some time before duskfast—”
“Duskfast?” Kingscholar’s frown deepens considerably… But then it goes away, and his expression morphs into something similar to consternation. “Of course. Nocturnal fae. My apologies.”
“Mm. I am the nocturnal one—Baur is also a child of the sun.” Partially, at least. If Maleficia had to take a guess, she would say that he is mostly active around dusk and dawn, with long periods of sleep through day and night both. She recalls Lilia mentioned Baur’s greatest struggle during the war was the sunlight deprivation. “You will have plenty of time to catch up during the days. Now, do you want to go to your room or the library first?”
Maleficia looks Kingscholar up and down. She finally realizes that something is clearly missing: there is no baggage with Kingscholar whatsoever. Maleficia supposed he would bring a small bag at the very least, but Kingscholar has nothing on him but the clothes on his back.
Perhaps noticing her confusion, Kingscholar shrugs. “Almost everything I own is enchanted with tracking magic.”
Oh. So this visit is not something Kingscholar wants King Falena to know about. Maleficia cannot help but wonder why. She knows from a myriad of different accounts that the relationship between the two brothers is fraught at best—King Falena himself has admitted as much in one of their past meetings. As to why things are this way, or why Kingscholar is so avoidant of him that coming with no possessions at all would be a preferable option, Maleficia truly has no idea.
“I’d like to see the library first, if it’s okay,” Kingscholar adds a moment later. “The faster we start, the more I can learn.”
And so it is decided.
The walk to the library is filled with idle chatter between Baur and Kingscholar. Maleficia walks ahead of them, setting a pace she is comfortable with as she listens in. As it turns out, Sunset Savanna did face its own war three hundred years ago. Back then, there was not yet a centralized government in the country. Instead, several prides divided up the land and took care of the subjects in their territories. Each of them had their own so-called king.
Not all kings were against the fae, as it turns out, but they were extremely aggressive towards outsiders. Once the king who ruled over Baur’s tribe turned against them, he had nowhere in the savanna to flee to. They would not accept him, because he grew up and supposedly still owed his loyalty to another monarch. That is the sole reason he chose to cross the sea altogether.
Things suddenly changed when one of the kings decided he wanted more power than the others, however. He was extremely gifted with physical might and magical power both, governing over his territory with iron claws. A massacre followed his decision, and in the end, a single king was crowned the ruler of the entire country—the one who stopped that madness.
“My family has ruled the country ever since,” Kingscholar explains. “The Mwangi clan—the descendants of the Mad King have been shunned to the outskirts of the country, stripped of all the power and influence they once held.”
“Why not just kill them?” Maleficia asks before she can think better about it.
It sounds logical enough for her. They committed a massacre and became a public enemy. Execution was an entirely fair punishment for their crimes. It would also have helped the new rulers strengthen their position while setting an example for others. Unless… The Mwangi clan had something they could not give up on, something they desperately needed for the country’s survival.
“Could it be because of their magical power?” Baur guesses out loud.
Indeed, the Mad King was said to possess great magical aptitude. It would not be a stretch to imagine the entire clan did, too. It certainly makes sense, but it is still not enough to convince Maleficia.
Kingscholar hums lightly. “You know how, sometimes, members of the same family will awaken similar signature spells?”
“My family is like that,” Maleficia says. “Though they are not all identical, all of our signature spells manifest alongside thorns.”
It was a trait they inherited from their most notable ancestor, the Fairy of Thorns herself.
“The Mwangi clan has a signature spell that has seemingly been passed down for many generations.” Kingscholar’s voice sounds remarkably displeased. “It allows them to find water anywhere within the country. It has become a vital resource for the survival of our people through the long periods of drought.”
“I never heard anything about that spell,” Baur says, and Maleficia can hear the concern in his voice. “The Mwangi clan was still relatively new when I left the savanna. Not many wanted to associate with them because of their color. I never thought…” Baur trails off.
Maleficia glances at the two men over her shoulder. “Why was their color relevant?”
“Most lion beastpeople have hair and fur the colors of wild animals. Sand yellow, red-brown, dark brown… Muted colors like that are the majority,” Baur explains. “The Mwangi clan is comprised exclusively of white lions—I heard some of them were whiter than snow itself.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” Kingscholar confirms. “The Kingscholars aren’t that different from them in that regard. All of them either have red or orange and yellow hair. I heard some of our ancestors ended up becoming nomads before they ascended to the throne because of the distrust from other prides.”
Now, Maleficia cannot say her interest was not picked. Especially because right here in front of her is a Kingscholar with remarkably dark hair. If all of them come in shades of red and orange, then what does that mean for Leona Kingscholar himself?
A thin, somewhat rueful smile curls Kingscholar’s lips. “My mother came from a distant pride,” he says, answering Maleficia’s unvoiced question. “I’ve been told I’m her spitting image.”
She nods slowly. Indeed, Kingscholar rather resembles the previous queen in appearance. They have the same dark hair and green eyes, and the same wild aura of a beast awaiting the perfect moment to attack. She cannot help but wonder how that late queen would feel seeing her son now.
They finally arrive at the double doors of the library. They open on their own, revealing a room that feels much bigger on the inside than it does looking from the outside. And it is. Spatial magic comes with many advantages and Maleficia is more than content to make full use of them.
She guides them toward the section of the library that concerns Sunset Savanna. Most of these books were written centuries before the country’s change of name, brought by faes who fled the country alongside Baur and preserved here. There are some more recent copies as well, but they deal more with the country’s cultural and geographical aspects than its politics and history. Those were gifts from Lilia to Malleus.
“You may peruse everything you wish from this shelf,” she says. “Do not touch anything else without explicit permission to do so.”
“Whose permission?” Kingscholar asks right away. “I doubt Your Majesty will stay with me the entire time.”
Of course not. Not even Malleus has such honor most of the time—not by Maleficia’s own choice, of course, for she would love to spare more time for her family—so Kingscholar certainly won’t get it.
“I trust Baur’s judgment on this. And if he is not present, feel free to summon one of the servants. They will know what to do.” A sudden shadow passes over them. Maleficia raises her gaze to find her familiar flying just outside the window. From the agitation in Diara’s body language, Maleficia can already imagine what manner of news she brings with her. “I shall leave the two of you to it now. A servant will come to fetch you when the meal is ready.”
A low hum is Maleficia’s only indication that Kingscholar heard her. His eyes are already focused on the many, many books in front of him. Baur bows respectfully. The look in his eyes makes it clear that he intends to fulfill his role to perfection. And, for the time being, that is enough to soothe Maleficia’s worries.
Diara catches up to her as she crosses the hallways with far more confidence than she feels. The phantom pain of those old wounds is starting to rear its ugly head again. And Maleficia, ah, she wants nothing more than a break from all possible headaches now.
As she expected, Diara does not bring good news. “The Senate isn’t happy with the guest.” As to how word of it reached them so fast, Maleficia has no idea. That in and of itself is a curse on its own. “But I guess they’ll play nice until he leaves.” Of course, they will. They maintain their power by playing the meek, wise, nice counselors in the eyes of everyone not directly involved in the royal family. Even Malleus has caught up on their act, which is as good as saying that it is blatantly obvious at this point. “That’s not the issue I came to tell you about.”
The issue, as it turns out, is a letter waiting for Maleficia. The seal on the front is undeniably the royal seal of Sunset Savanna. And that is… Interesting, for sure. Much like the other letters, this one floats in the air and unfolds itself for Maleficia as she sits down at her desk. Maleficia cannot help but be fascinated by the difference between Little Kingscholar’s and King Falena’s handwriting.
Whereas Kingscholar’s had felt like a beast preparing for its deadly striking, King Falena’s makes Maleficia think of wolves willingly stepping into sheep clothes. Defanged, declawed beasts attempting to make themselves more palatable at the cost of their own identities for rewards that could hardly be worth it.
It is impressive how much something as small as one’s handwriting can tell about their personality. Maleficia starts reading the letter itself:
‘Your Majesty, Queen Maleficia Draconia,
I hope this letter finds you well. Given the recent events, I can only imagine Your Highness is working harder than ever before at the moment. I pray that your health remains strong and that you may find adequate support to get through this hard phase.
On this note, I am truly appalled by the actions of my young brother, Prince Leona Kingscholar. It has always been like this. Even after all these years, I cannot fully comprehend the ins and outs of my brother’s thought process. To impose on Your Majesty at a time like this is simply unacceptable and I will ensure that my brother is made aware of it in due time.
My sincerest apologies for all this trouble. I will see to it that Prince Leona returns home by the morning (…)’
Maleficia sets down the letter at that point. She already saw everything that matters from this much.
Somehow, King Falena was made aware of his brother’s intentions despite Kingscholar’s obvious attempts at avoiding that specific scenario. How? Maleficia can only suppose that King Falena has allies keeping a close eye on his brother at the school. And, if that is the case, Maleficia can only feel sorry for Kingscholar.
No one should have their movements monitored every waking moment. Especially not someone with a desire as innocuous as to find out more about his country’s history—although, if Maleficia’s reading of Kingscholar’s initial letter was correct, that is not all there is to this visit. No matter the case, however, she feels disgusted by the very notion of treating a family moment in such a way.
And, well, it does raise the question of how much King Falena actually knows and what his true intentions are. Is he aware of Kingscholar’s request in full? Could it be that there is something in their history that he does not wish his brother to find out? Or does he simply not wish Kingscholar to strengthen his relationship with foreign royal houses? And, if that is the case, why? What does he stand to lose from this?
Too many questions and no one to answer other than Kingscholar himself… If he is even the correct way to refer to that man.
King Falena did write as much, after all: ‘It has always been like this’. Usually, Maleficia would have assumed it to refer to the situation itself, but something has opened her eyes to a different possibility. Earlier, there was one moment when Kingscholar truly seemed uncomfortable. It was right after Maleficia formally introduced Kingscholar to Baur, and Baur proceeded to assure them that he would do his best to help. On both turns, they had referred to Kingscholar as him.
Maleficia has met many fae who did not conform to the notions of gender that humans at large seem to follow so rigidly. Most of them came from a blatant disregard towards those notions, and a lack of care for how others perceive them. Pronouns are unimportant in the face of their freedom. But, ah, is it truly so strange to believe that some feel the opposite way about their gender?
However, she does have to say that it is the first time she has met someone who prefers to be referred to in the same way a thing, an object, or an animal would have been. And, again, what does that tell her about Kingscholar itself?
She is perfectly aware that the chances of meeting that man again are slim at best, and thus her curiosity will lead nowhere productive. It will not matter. Maleficia should save her time and energy for things that do impact her life and that of her subjects—but, ah, Maleficia is not like the Senate, eternally frozen in time with one single emotion governing her every action. She is a living, breathing dragon, and she also feels curiosity, interest, and excitement over discovering new things.
With such thoughts in mind, it is all too easy to come up with a reply. Maleficia kindly and elegantly reassures King Falena’s worries about his brother’s behavior, stating that Maleficia stood to gain even more from this visit than Kingscholar itself ever could and that is something she welcomes with open arms. She also states that she will ensure Kingscholar will be sent back to school safely once the weekend ends.
The message should be clear enough. Do not come, your intervention is neither needed nor wanted. Maleficia seals the letter with the Draconia family’s royal stamp before giving it to Diara. From here, her familiar will ensure the letter reaches its final destination by the end of the night.
Maleficia leans back against her chair. Deep down, she can only hope that she is correct and that whatever Kingscholar has to offer will indeed prove itself to be valuable to her. Otherwise, the ire of the Senate that is sure to come will all be in vain.
“You better be worth it, child of beasts,” she whispers under her breath, watching the lonely moon through her window. “Do not disappoint me.”
It turns out that Leona Kingscholar has a penchant for throwing off people’s expectations of it.
Maleficia first realizes this during their first duskfast together. Although she ensured the chefs would prepare only the best for her guest, Kingscholar seemed entirely uninterested in it, quietly excusing itself as soon as it finished the main dish. The servants present in the dining room seemed extremely displeased with its actions, but Maleficia was merely curious.
It was Baur who rather helpfully provided an answer to her unvoiced question: “Its Highness found a couple of tales about its mother’s original pride. I presume it’s eager to dig through the texts.”
A reasonable explanation. If Maleficia’s memory serves her right, the previous monarch of Sunset Savanna, Queen Zuri Kingscholar, passed away over ten years ago. She does not recall what caused her death, or if it was made public at all. Her memories of the late queen are far and few between, polite greetings and exchanged looks from afar. She cannot begin to imagine what kind of person Queen Zuri was—but, ah, if her child is so eager to learn more about her ancestry, Maleficia can only assume she may have been a good mother.
Then, “Its Highness?”
And Baur dutifully answered once more: “That’s how Prince Leona asked me to refer to it… I don’t really understand it myself, but I saw no reason to deny that request.”
So she was right about Kingscholar’s view of its gender. Maleficia kept that strange satisfaction to herself until her next encounter with the beastman… And that, too, was nothing like she imagined.
For over a hundred years, this library had kept Malleus entertained through many days and nights. Maleficia has lost count of how many times she passed by to find him surrounded by piles and piles of books. Looking back to those days, perhaps she should have entered the room and actually talked to him during those occasions. Even if their talks were short, it would still be a memory worth creating. And, perhaps, Malleus would not have grown to feel so lonely if she had.
As she enters the library this time, however, she does not find neat piles of books and a promising young man hunched over ancient texts. Instead, she finds several pieces of furniture pushed away and crowding the sides of the library, and an utter mess on the floor itself. It is akin to staring at a whirlwind of yellowed pages and delicate scrolls, all their secrets laid bare for the eye to see. Kingscholar is sitting right in the middle of this absolute chaos, eyes trained on a book precariously balanced over its right leg while it takes notes on a piece of paper with a pen that does not belong to the castle.
A brilliant marigold gem glistens on the tip of the pen, reflecting the pale moonlight on Kingscholar’s face. This must be Kingscholar’s magestone.
And, somehow, the mess is the thing that shocks Maleficia the least. It is the fact that Kingscholar is sitting on the floor in nothing but its pants that truly takes her aback. Its shirt has been discarded and now hangs from one of the many chairs in the room. She has no idea where its shoes have disappeared into and, truthfully, she is a little scared of asking at this point. Its hair, too, has been bunched up and tied into a rather unrefined updo.
The lack of elegance is truly staggering. And yet, somehow, it is also fascinating.
“Have you found what you were searching for?” she asks. Though her voice is low, the silence in the room means it echoes louder than it technically should have.
“Nope.” Kingscholar clicks its tongue. It seems it has given up the pretense of politeness when it accepted this state of undress. “But the stuff here makes up for it. You got some interestin’ things here, y’know? Things I’d never find anywhere else.”
A small surge of pride swells in Maleficia’s chest. “Believe it or not, the foreign texts I have here still pale in comparison to what Malleus amassed in his personal collection.” A good portion of his acquisitions happened over the years, coming in the form of gifts from Lilia’s travels. Malleus has been going out of his way to expand it beyond his own imagination since he started attending school, however. Maleficia can only imagine his hoard room looks closer to a full labyrinth at this point.
“So I’ve heard.” Kingscholar does not raise its gaze from the book. Its expression looks a little softer than before, however. What an intriguing discovery. “He doesn’t have what I want either.”
“You asked him.”
“I wouldn’t have bothered Your Majesty if I had another choice.” The answer comes right away. The choice of words, too, greatly interests Maleficia. “I dunno if you know but… There was a very long drought, once. In the savanna. And it was followed by some devastating storms. Most of the country was flooded an’ we lost a lot of our records. Took a bunch of time an’ effort to get back things texts from foreign libraries and stuff, but even those efforts were halted durin’ the Mad King war.”
Maleficia nods slowly. She can vaguely recall such an event happening long ago. The Afterglow Savanna was hardly a player in the international scenario back then due to its previously unique government system and Maleficia herself only knew about it because so many fae had left the country for Briar Valley around the same time. And, as most things involving the history of other countries, that even had slowly been forgotten by her and most of those old enough to have lived through it.
A chair comes floating to her with a casual hand wave. Maleficia settles down, her back perfectly straight and gaze sharp on Kingscholar’s face.
“Is the information you are searching for related to the Mad King?” The number of times Kingscholar brought up that historical figure cannot be a mere coincidence.
Kingscholar finally lifts its gaze from the book. Its eyes narrow at her, while a cold grin tugs at its lips. “You’re allergic to contractions or somethin’?”
That is not what Maleficia expected to hear. “It is merely how I have been taught to speak,” she says truthfully. Not just because she cannot lie, but also because she does not see the need to hide the truth.
“Malleus doesn’t speak like that. Didja not teach him?” Despite its almost bored tone of voice, Maleficia can sense a slight intensification in its aura. Interest, plain and simple. Perhaps even a sign of eagerness—for what, Maleficia cannot begin to fathom.
“There were others to help me raise him. He picked some verbal habits from there.” Maleficia rests her hands on her lap. Her staff is nowhere to be seen today. Instead, a brilliant magestone adorns her tiara. “You have not answered my question.”
A beat of silence. Kingscholar sighs.
“Yeah… Yeah, it’s ‘cause of him.” It runs its fingers through its hair. Maleficia notices deep bags under its eyes. Did it sleep at all since it arrived the day before? “Remember what I said ‘bout the Mwangi’s signature spell?”
“They can locate bodies of water, if I recall correctly. That is why they were spared.” And, even now, Maleficia struggles to believe things are that simple. Even if the explanation makes sense, it does not explain why they would agree to help the clan that ruined their name and stripped them of power. “I suppose… They did not lend their power out of the goodness in their heart.”
Kingscholar snorts. It is an inelegant, humorless sound. It sets its pen down. When it does, Maleficia notices thin lines on its wrists. She does not appreciate the implication they carry with them.
“As if. They had a lotta demands. Good house, permanent support, food and water for free… All the stuff. The entire clan lives in a mansion all for themselves, with plenty servants attendin’ to every whim and wish of theirs.” Kingscholar does not agree with that treatment, it seems. If anything… It looks almost murderous just talking about it. “An’ they demanded that at least one of them be included in the court life, through marriage. The one with the signature spell has always lived in Sunrise City as a noble ‘cause of it.”
Preposterous. Utterly disgusting. Maleficia cannot comprehend how in the world some people can be so shameless. They committed a massacre driven by their hunger for power, and still demanded to be treated as respectable nobles, drinking and eating from the same parties and tables as the royal family itself.
“Is that why? You wish to put an end to this?” Maleficia asks softly. If nothing else, she can fully sympathize with this desire of Kingscholar’s.
“It’s part of the reason, yeah. Traitors should be punished.” Its gaze flicks to one of the windows, and suddenly all the anger morphs into nothing but the purest form of exhaustion Maleficia has seen in her long, long life. “But, see… My grandfather found something extraordinary. A lioness who yielded the same signature spell as the Mwangi clan. A lioness with hair almost as dark as the night itself.”
Oh.
“Your mother.”
So someone had attempted to break free from the Mwangi clan’s hold, and they seemingly succeeded for some time. Queen Zuri reigned in the savanna for decades and gave birth to two healthy princes during those years. By all means, it should have been considered a great step forward in the right direction…
But she is no more, and the savanna’s reliance on those unique powers could very easily lead them right back to where they started, if not in worse circumstances than they originally were.
Her suspicions are proved correct when Kingscholar continues: “They weren’t happy, y’know? An’ now they’re demandin’ their spot in the court back. With a bonus, to top it off.” Kingscholar looks back at her, a smile dripping with sarcasm on its lips. “Wanna take a guess?”
“A bonus?” Maleficia hums, deep in thought. The Mwangi clan had secured marriages of high status over three hundred years. Their presence in the court of Sunset Savanna was a given no matter what. So a step up from that would be… “… A royal marriage.” Her gaze falls on Kingscholar. “You. They want you.”
Everything makes significantly more sense with this information in mind. It is no wonder that Kingscholar is so intent on putting a stop to the Mwangi clan’s influence. If they get what they want, not only will it be forced to marry the descendants of an old enemy, they will be the closest to the crown that they have gotten in centuries. And, if Maleficia is not mistaken, the current crown prince is still a small child…
She knows very well that there are too many people more than willing to hurt children for their own personal gain. The very notion of it makes her nauseous.
“Is there anything else I can do to help?” Her question seems to take Kingscholar aback. Maleficia’s hands close into loose fists. “Do not take me wrong, child of beasts. You promised me your support. I intend to ensure you are capable of fulfilling your end of this exchange properly.”
There is simply no way she can count on Kingscholar if Sunset Savanna’s royal family is infiltrated by usurpers. And its promise is something Maleficia has been looking forward to. This much she can say with no falsehood. However, such concerns are the last thing on her mind now. All she can think about is the monstrous Henrick Istvan and his attempts at turning fae children into his slaves. Even her grandson was only able to escape that fate due to Maleanor’s sacrifice and the Dawn Knight’s unexpected kindness—a story that Lilia had told her in full many centuries ago.
She is not sure if the safety of the crown prince is of any concern to Kingscholar, but it is to Maleficia. Children must be protected no matter the cost. And, now that she knows, she cannot simply do nothing.
Something must have shown on her face, or perhaps Kingscholar has other ways of reading people, for its expression softens considerably. For a moment, Maleficia looks not at the calculating, cold, and capable second prince of Sunset Savanna, but at a lion full of gratitude and warmth.
“I wish I knew, Your Majesty.” And for the first time, Maleficia can hear genuine respect in the title. “I think they might be lyin’ ‘bout their power but couldn’t find anythin’ to back my suspicions at all.”
“You mean their signature spell?” Kingscholar hums. Maleficia frowns. “Your mother possessed a signature spell with the same properties. What makes you think theirs is a lie?”
“You answered that yourself last night.” Kingscholar carefully closes the book it had on its leg and sets it on the floor before reaching out for another one. Its hands are stained with ink, the result of its carelessness while writing, but the way it handles the book is almost reverent. “You said your family’s signature spells share common traits. They’re similar.” Maleficia nods, silently urging Kingscholar to continue. “The thing is, the Mwangi clan claims to have members of several generations awaken the exact same spell. Like it’s somethin’ they inherited from their ancestors.”
Ah. Maleficia understands where it is coming from now. What that clan claims is not the reality at all.
A mage’s signature spell is a reflection of their soul, their lived experiences, and their ambitions. Family members may awaken similar spells for their shared experiences; and, in the Draconia family’s case, the fact that every egg receives so much magic from their parents also plays a factor in it.
It is not an exact science, however. It is not as simple as inheriting someone’s physical traits. That is simply not how magic itself works. At the very least, not without an outside force at work—like a curse, perhaps.
“But they have fulfilled their end of the bargain all these years, so the ability itself is not entirely fake.” She glances at the books Kingscholar spread out around it. Most of them have to do with magic. “As far as I am concerned, there is no such spell capable of accomplishing such a feat.” The way Kingscholar’s ears droop at her words almost makes her feel sorry for the beast. “Every tracking spell I know of requires the item of interest to have been marked by magic beforehand.”
“Yeah. A classmate of mine has a spell that works like that.” The way Kingscholar all but growls out the word makes it abundantly clear that it does not like said classmate at all. “I guess I just… Maybe if it was an ordinary old spell, then everythin’ would be fine. We wouldn’t need ‘em.”
Maleficia does not point out that they do not need such power. There are many ways to ensure there is water for all in the modern world. Malleus’s tales of his trip to the Scalding Sands taught her that much. But, ah, Kingscholar is a smart man. If the technology available to children of men was an option for them, they would have used it long ago. There must be a reason for it, a reason that is not hers to know.
Instead, “There is another possibility.” Maleficia thinks of everything Kingscholar and Baur have shared about the Mwangi clan. One thing stood out to her the previous night, and it does again now. “You said they have an unusual color for a lion, as do your mother and yourself.” Kingscholar nods, though there is displeasure clear on its face. Perhaps because it does not wish to be lumped in with them. Maleficia can sympathize for quite unrelated reasons. “This phenomenon could be easily explained by magic. Oftentimes, an overabundance of magic could lead to unique physical features, among other things.”
This gives Kingscholar pause. Its gaze falls to the floor. “I… S’ppose you have a point.” Its fingers flex and relax again repeatedly. Its discomfort is so hard to miss that Maleficia has to avert her gaze to afford it some amount of dignity. “I’ve had my signature spell for as long as I remember. They told me I was born with it.” Kingscholar glances at her again. “I’m guessin’ that means we’ve fae blood in us?”
“It is possible. The savanna was home to plenty of fae species in the past. Even if that ancestor has lived a long time ago, the blessing in the bloodline would not wane no matter how long passes.” She supposes that the ancestor might have come from Queen Zuri’s side of the family. “It may skip one child or another, or manifest differently, but it does not disappear.”
She is aware that King Falena, although a powerful magician on his own, is not powerful enough to stand out among the fae. His brother, however… While Maleficia cannot fully measure Kingscholar’s power, its appearance, perceptiveness, and fearlessness are all clear signs for her. Perhaps it descends from a child of the night. It would explain why it feels so… At home here at Black Scale Castle, and why it shows no reservation even when its opponent is Malleus himself.
Or, perhaps, that recklessness is merely a shared trait among students of that school. It is hard to say for sure. No matter which it is, Maleficia is grateful for it.
“Naturally, there is no way to verify the accuracy of this theory.” They cannot trace back the entire genealogy of both clans, and even if they had such records, they likely do not discriminate between species. “But if we are correct in our assumption, it might explain how that so-called inherited spell came to be. Many fae are highly sensitive to certain natural elements, after all.”
Which means that water attracts the white lions. Not because of some incredible spell or something of the sort, but simply due to their own instincts.
Perhaps they do not even know why they are in such a way. It is possible that they truly believe this trait to be a unique power only they possess—which, in turn, could easily become an additional reason for their increased demands. They now know they are not special. They could be replaced at any time, as long as another person with the right powers appears. Thus, ensuring that they infiltrate deeper into the court, from a spot they cannot possibly be removed, is the best course of action for them to maintain their power.
A power that they should not have to begin with. A power that comes with too many threats to make it worth the risk. Lives could be in danger as they speak, and yet…
“So there’s nothin’ we can do, huh.” Despite its words, Kingscholar does not seem particularly distressed. Resigned might be the right word to describe it.
“You tried,” Maleficia says, her voice kinder than she expected it herself. “That effort on its own is commendable.” Kingscholar does not reply. Maleficia has no idea what is going through its mind. Taking bets at this point will not help either, so… “Baur told me you found recordings of your mother’s pride.” Kingscholar looks back at her. Maleficia cants her head to the side. “You may take it home with you.”
Oh. That open, soft look is not an expression Maleficia could have imagined on Kingscholar’s face before this. Though she cannot fully discern the emotions in its eyes, she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is the most vulnerable Kingscholar has looked so far—a look that exposes way more than its state of undress ever could.
It visibly swallows. “Thank you.” Its voice trembles. Maleficia does not point it out. “For what it’s worth… I don’t think you guys’re bad. You or your grandson.” Maleficia breathes out slowly. “And I don’t have a lot of political influence in the savanna, but I know people. An’ I know secrets. Stuff that’d make ‘em shut up. It ain’t much, but it’s yours.”
“Do not say foolish things, child of beasts,” Maleficia gently admonishes it. Any support, any help, no matter how small, can change the tides in their favor. And what Kingscholar is offering is everything it can do—how she not appreciate that, especially at a time when the very Senate that is supposed to help her is turning on her a little more each day? “You are enough.”
Unfortunately, Maleficia could not have known this would be their last conversation. By the time the Sun set on the third day of Kingscholar’s visit, Maleficia was surprised with news that the prince had already left. Instead of a goodbye, it left a note behind.
The words written on the paper carried just as much personality as that first letter did. The wilderness of the savanna, the restless spirit of a beast who does not know when to give up, all contained in elegantly careless brush strokes. Seeing them made Maleficia feel a little less nettled by its lack of manners. The words themselves were equal parts cheeky and cruel, unashamedly telling her to use the disgrace of another as a weapon for her own benefit.
She cannot help but think that, perhaps, Kingscholar would know just what to do to send the Senate into a frenzy. An interesting idea, for certain. It did not tremble in the face of Maleficia; in fact, it was fearless enough to show absolute discourtesy and an unforgivable lack of modesty in front of her. She struggles to believe such a beast would cower in the face of ghosts of the past.
“You’re in a good mood,” Diara points out, comfortably loafed on Maleficia’s lap. “What kind of nefarious scheme are you hatching this time?”
Maleficia exhales softly. And here is another quite fearless little thing. Perhaps, she is simply fond of fearless creatures, those who can look her in the eye and tell her what they truly think.
“I was merely thinking,” she replies in a quiet voice. “There may be a way I can solve Kingscholar’s situation.”
“Well, yeah, there’s veeery little you can’t fix.” Diara’s entire body shudders. Oh. Right. The back of her neck is quite sensitive. Maleficia ought to be more careful with her nails. “But, like… Why would you? That big kitty isn’t your responsibility.”
“It is not.” That much, Maleficia cannot argue. “But I would be foolish to not recognize the potential it has.” The resolve to learn, the wisdom to guide, the power to control—no matter how Maleficia looks at it, Kingscholar has all the necessary qualities to become a satisfactory ruler. And, above everything, it knows to be cold and cruel as needed, something her grandson sorely lacks.
That is not a flaw of his. Malleus’s compassion and kindness are exactly what Briar Valley needs to keep moving towards the future… However, much like the Senate, many still crave revenge, who yearn for the flames of war. People who wish to see the Draconia family fall. Because of them, Malleus will have to make difficult choices. To protect that which is dear to him, Malleus will have to stain his hands with blood one day. But, ah, that day does not have to come this soon. Maleficia can allow Malleus to bask in the privilege of ignorance for a little longer… Even if it means burdening Kingscholar with those pains instead.
Diara stares. “My queen, you’re not planning to… Oh, you absolutely are!” Despite the words, Diara sounds almost ecstatic about it. “They’re going to hate this.”
She does not need to elaborate for Maleficia to understand who ‘they’ refers to. Maleficia’s crimson lips curl into a small, smug smile.
“It is still too early to celebrate, my dear.” Maleficia’s gaze falls to the sky beyond the windows. Thick clouds extend as far as she can see. This time, the storm has nothing to do with her mood. “There is still one major obstacle to clear before we achieve our goal.”
Maleficia knows King Falena well enough to know that he is both immensely stubborn and an extraordinary coward. With the threat of the Mwangi clan hanging above his head, there is a very real chance that he may ignore everything she has to say. It would be a great shame… Which is precisely why Maleficia must prepare herself properly to face that foolish king.
She snaps her fingers. A servant immediately hurries into the room. They bow deeply, awaiting her command. Thunder strikes outside, its light aggravating the stark shadows and pale silvers that make Maleficia’s figure. Her words echo with startling clarity despite the incoming storm.
“Bring me Lilia Vanrouge.”
Her wish is forever their command.