~ Our Blood: Part 1 ~

The slim man with black hair and eyes leaned against the buzzing bar, watching the woman who worked there mix drinks. Amongst the crowd of wild mercenaries and commoners with slurred minds, the man wore a heavy cloak covering his new expensive clothes that would stand out like a sore thumb.

The bartender cussed under the loud chatter as she clumsily spilled an aged bottle of liquor, before making her way towards the strange man. From afar, his dark hood gave off the impression that his face was one worth hiding. But up close, in the faint light of the candles and oil-lamps, she realized that she was very wrong.

She flushed as she smoothed her hair and apron, and then smiled seductively at the hooded figure. "What brings a fine gentleman like yourself to my small bar?"

She gazed at his beautiful face and found herself gasping for air. She'd never seen a man this breathtaking before. His eyes were sickeningly dark, almost as if she was staring into an abyss. There was a certain sharpness behind them that made her freeze in her place. She swallowed nervously as he studied her carefully.

"Can I get you anything?" She asked, lowering her eyelashes and running a manicured finger along the counter that separated them. "Anything at all?"

"Gin," He replied in a voice as sharp as breaking glass.

He thankfully wrapped his gloved fingers around the glass she slid over. He sipped the drink and savoured the bitter taste of liquid that burnt his throat and stomach.

"You," A voice called from behind him. "Who are you?"

The man at the bar counter smiled in response, drawing his glass to his lips once more. "You ask such a question when you and I both know the response."

The man turned his head slightly over his shoulder, staring at the cloaked boy who had been following him for quite some time now. The child glared at him with hostile eyes, shadowing his sentiments of hate and fire that floated just below their surface of silver.

Henrik huffed, "Speak now, unless you wish to die."

"You cannot kill someone who has already been dragged to hell," The man said with a ravenous chuckle. "If you sit, I'll tell you everything."

"I would rather die a million painful deaths than share a drink with the man who murdered my mother."

Lucaf gulped the brown liquid down, his Adam's apple protruding from under his skin as he swallowed. He had killed far too many people in his lifetime, but the murder of the Queen was perhaps the only one that he could vividly remember.

"Child," He spoke in a low voice, one that could hardly be heard against the harsh chatter in the bar. "If you have one drink with me, I'll tell you a secret about your mother."

Henrik's fist clenched, his eyes burning with a murderous aura as he spoke: "Who are you to speak about the Queen with such an indecent and casual attitude?"

"I am"—Lucaf's hand lingered over his now empty glass—"your mother's ex-lover and your father."

He let out a low-chuckle, gesturing to the bartender who watched him with fluttering eyelashes from the other side of the counter. She leaned forward over it, suggestively posing in a way to enhance her figure against the candle light.

"Get my little friend here something strong," He said with a wink.

The woman blushed, scurrying off towards the shelves of bottles in order to please him. Henrik watched the exchange with estranged eyes. He took the spot beside Lucaf at the bar, deciding to give in to his charade only for a moment.

"You expect me to believe such lies?" He asked, wrapping his fingers around the glass that had been placed in front of him by the bartender.

"No," The man replied. "I do, however, want to offer you a choice. You are my blood, after all."

"A choice?"

Lucaf's eyes narrowed and the right side of his lips tugged itself upwards creating a subtle sinister smirk that contorted his face. Amidst the chatter of men in the bar, the conversation was nothing more than an added layer of sound to the background.

Lucaf spoke slowly, his pupils almost entirely unnoticeable against his black irises: "You can stay here with me and learn about your mother. If you still hate me for killing your mother after you learn the secret I wish to share, then I'll give you a chance to kill me. That is what you want, after all. Is it not?"

Henrik nodded his head. That was what he wanted: a chance to kill the man who took his mother from him in the most painful way possible. He wished to be free from the shackles of guilt that tied him to his mother's death.

"And the other option?" He asked.

Lucaf paused. "You run off to the palace and save that Princess whom you cherish so dearly."

Henrik's eyes trembled with uncontrolled movements at the man's words. "Winter? What did you fucking to do Winter!?"

"Tsk, tsk," The man clicked his tongue with a venomous look in his eyes. "How could I harm her when I am here?"

"I can just kill you and save her. I won't play your stupid games."

Lucaf flicked a dark eyebrow up at his son, his hands fiddling with the clasp of his necklace. He placed the unfastened silver piece of jewellery on the bar counter. In the dim light, the pendant attached to the chain glowed a strange orange.

Henrik swallowed nervously, eyes shaking at the sight of the familiar object. It was the same necklace his mother used to wear when she was alive. She loved the necklace so much that they had buried her with it around her neck.

He could still recall the words his mother had spoken to him: "Henrik, my child. This necklace is something very important to me, so you should cherish it as well. One day I will give it you when you are old enough to protect yourself. When that time comes, you'll have to find the other person who has the same one, okay?"

"Still think I'm playing games?" The man asked, eyes flickering with malicious intent as he spoke. "So what will it be? Will you find out about your mother's death, or run off to save the Princess?"

The commoners and mercenaries in the bar drank to their hearts' content, unaware of the difficult choice given to the boy. They staggered about with unsteady steps and drunken expressions, each man isolated in his own world of bliss.

"Tell me," He finally responded after some time. "Tell me about my mother."

Some shackles weighed more than others. For Henrik, the one attached to Winter was nothing compared to the one attached to his mother.

~***~

"What's the matter?" Winter asked, noticing the uneasy atmosphere that surrounded her knight.

"Nothing," Ezekiel replied, his hand lingering over the handle of his sword. "I could've sworn I heard extra footsteps."

After leaving the greenhouse, Winter walked closely alongside her knight down the winding corridors of the palace. Their steps echoed against the high ceilings as they walked, slicing through an unsettling silence.

"It was probably a servant," She told him, glancing around the long hallway. "Although, the palace seems a bit odd today. I haven't seen many servants or maids around."

Ezekiel frowned, searching the dark corridor for the usual staff. Instead, he found himself left feeling uneasy at the usually cold atmosphere created by their absence. There was something in the air that made the corridor seem longer and darker than it usually did.

He heard the faint sound of an extra pair of steps behind him. Instinctively, he drew his blade in one swift motion. The sharp metal pointed directly at the neck of the person who had appeared behind them.

"What the hell?" Etrix asked with an annoyed tone. The papers he was once holding onto fluttered through the air and hit the ground as softly as snowflakes. "Have you gone mad?"

Ezekiel's eyes widened at the familiar sight of the mage. He stepped back, sliding his sword back into its sheath. Etrix clicked his tongue, bending down to pick up the scattered pieces of paper he dropped.

"I apologize," Ezekiel said, dropping to his knees to help gather the sheets. "I was on edge so I-"

"It's not his fault," Winter interrupted, retrieving a sheet by her feet. "Something feels off, so we were being careful."

Etrix rose to his feet slowly, tightening his hand on the pile of paper he had picked up. He paled in response to Winter's words, nose crinkling in disgust. The entire corridor smelt of metal and smoke. The scent wasn't just coming from Winter like it normally did. Instead, he could smell it all around him coating every nook and cranny of the hallway.

"It smells," He said, grabbing the papers Ezekiel handed to him. "It smells like death."

It was at that exact moment that Winter saw a glimpse of Niana's face mirrored in Etrix's expression. It was an unpleasant look- the same one Niana had made when she first smelt the omen of death attached to Winter's soul.

"Is, is it me?" She asked quietly, her chest feeling heavy with the memory.

Etrix shook his head. "No, it's coming from... everywhere."

He fiddled with his papers, thinking about how he had to re-sort his research when he returned to the tower. For now it would have to wait. Today his work was going to be a lot heavier than he had originally anticipated. Something else in the palace also required his attention.

Etrix spoke to Winter's knight with warning look in his eyes: "Sir Rothomore, take the Princess somewhere safe and be sure to protect her should the opportunity arise."

"Should I contact someone for you?" Ezekiel asked, grabbing Winter's hand hastily.

"No," Etrix replied. "I can handle this much, just focus on keeping the Princess safe."

Winter felt Ezekiel tug her by her arm, causing her to move hastily in order to keep up with his long strides. She turned her head over her shoulder, staring at Etrix with a worried expression as the distance grew between them.

He watched their backs fade into small blobs as they rushed down the hallway hand-in-hand. Before they left his sight completely, he saw Winter mouth the words 'stay safe' to him before she turned the corner. It felt wrong, seeing another boy leave with her while holding her hand, but her safety was the most important thing right now.

After searching the hallway for quite some time, he slipped into a door that was left slightly ajar. The door led to the servants' corridors, a network of walkways used by the staff to get around the palace. The scent of death was so pungent it made his eyes water as he walked. It was then when he saw it.

Lifeless corpses that were violated beyond recognition littered the dim walkways and stairs. He stared down at his feet which were surrounded by a pool of crimson red blood. His eyes stared back up at him from his reflection, glowing the same shade of red as the blood that was drained from the servants' bodies.