24

Regan hated herself for what she was doing. She was giving in to his commands, and each step that she threw into the unfamiliar hallway, felt like a disillusionment of escaping. The walls were stony and cold as she followed Althea, yet she couldn't help a flicker of curiosity. 

She hadn't changed her clothes. On purpose. He was going to humiliate her, but she didn't care. She was going to show them she didn't need anyone's opinion. They rounded a corner, and Regan's eyes widened slightly when she saw the wide staircase. It was made of black marble, and the lamps light gave it a faint golden shade. 

She was no match for this place. She could almost hear the whispers from the monstrous paintings on the walls, as if they were alive, mocking her.

Althea stopped before an imposing set of doors, her hands trembling slightly as she pushed them open. 

The room beyond was vast, draped in opulence and elegance. A long, polished table dominated the place, decorated with candelabras and dishes that formed a well working kaleidoscope with the imposing crystal chandelier that hung above. The floor, that cold, black marble, weaved with golden rose lines, offered no cover of someone coming.

Nevertheless, the first thing she noticed there, was him, seated at the head of the table, watching her with icy eyes. And then the other people. Three women, dressed for a ballroom, in which the dresses weren't long and puffy, but oscillating between more moderns styles, with intricate details and designs. A man was there too, clad in military suit, with a stoic expression, talking to the demon lord, who kept nodding, though his eyes never left his target.

"Come," Althea mumbled, motioning for her forward. A blush crept up Regan's neck as she took in the sight in front of her. Even the servants looked like they had stepped out of a fairytale, with burgundy uniforms that seemed made of silk, their hair swept back in tight buns, not a single strand out of place. And here she was, in a tank top and sweatpants, as if she'd just rolled out of bed. She felt like an outcast. She was.

The two women's attention was drawn, their doll faces a mask of spiteful surprise. Regan recognized them, Allegra and Circe, the two witches who had been in her room before. But the third woman, she couldn't see her face. It was hidden behind long, blue hair.

The air was tense, the disdainful eyes and implications as clear as day. Their looks, so polished and sophisticated, were a terrific contrast to what she looked like.

Regan tried to straighten up, though his scrutinizing gaze caught her every movement, as it he knew what she was trying to do. As if she could never hide anything from him.

He waved his hand, silently ordering for her to sit on his right, right beside him and the blue-haired woman. Regan's throat was suddenly dry, her legs refusing to obey. But Althea took her arm gently and led her to the chair.

No, no, he's too close, Regan thought, her nerves jumping with alarm. It was the worst place to sit, being constantly under his gaze. But she knew she didn't have a choice. The disdainful eyes of Allegra and Circe, as heavy as the jeweleries that screamed of wealth they wore, scanned her from head to toe, recoiling back when she passed near them.

Regan shifted her chair to the side, biting her lip to not make any significant sound. She didn't know if the unmoving blue-haired woman would be pleased by having her sitting close. But anywhere better than near the demon lord. Althea gave Regan a sympathetic look before disappearing behind a corner.

The military man remained stoic, his expression never faltering as he spoke about the state's affairs with the lord. The lord brought his glass of wine to his lips, watching her like a hawk does to his prey.

But she didn't look at him, not at them too. Not only they were drenched in wealth, the women's attires were highly provocative, with necklines that plunged deep, leaving no wonder for what they were offering, flaunting their curvy, tall bodies. But no, she wasn't jealous. She could never be jealous of beings dressed like that.

So instead, Regan focused on how the plush, deep-buttoned chair felt comfortable, on how her sweatpants stuck at her skin, a sensation that cancelled out the first one. The woman beside her, was eerily quiet, the small white dress she wore barely covering her long legs. The other two kept whispering, a bitter chuckle escaping from Allegra's lips. It was obvious they were talking about her. Regan had never been so embarrassed before, so out of place.

The conversation between the stoic man and the demon lord went on, no one of them verbally acknowledging her. It was the only obvious sound in the room, apart from the irritating clinking of silverware against plates. Regan couldn't help but be actively aware of every movement, of how the tension kept rising, like a timing bomb. Her hands fidgeted with the silky table cloth, both in anger and anticipation. Indeed, he was humiliating her. Without even saying a word.

They were talking about borders and treaties, and she found herself listening, though it was no use to her. Their vocabulary, so diplomatic, rich and cryptic, felt almost mismatched in front of a commoner, a nobody like her. He was keen on speaking about these matters, although every response of his was terse and gruff. But his eyes were focused. On what, that was unreadable. She found herself studying his facial features much more closely since he momentarily wasn't looking at her. His sharp, chiseled face was very handsomely rugged, with little scars that weren't as deep as the one she had, though covered a great amount of his skin. He didn't have a greatly straight nose, but he didn't have a twisted one either. His eyebrows, matching the color of his hair, were furrowed, and she realized she had been doing a mistake when his eyes shot at her.

Regan's eyes immediately averted, dropping at the plate of food in front of her. It was clean, polished, carved in eccentric details, filled with what seemed to look like a steaming roast with a side of greens and potatoes, but she wasn't sure. And she couldn't even find the force to grab the fork.

Finally, the blonde cleared her throat, hardly trying to cover her contempt, "Lord Sirius," she addressed him, her empty eyes still on Regan, "What is this....thing doing here?"

Lord Sirius took his time, though a flicker of annoyance passed through his eyes, "She's here," he began, his voice cutting like a knife, "because I decided it."

Regan could feel the woman beside her tense, watching from the corner of her eye as her grip on the fork tightened. But she didn't dare move.

"But she's a prisoner!" Allegra protested, her voice way to high–pitched for the liking.

"What she is, it's none of your concern, Allegra," he said, his tone cold and clipped, "Unless you have forgotten your recent punishment."

Allegra fell silent, while Regan wondered what kind of punishment he meant. She could see witch's anger still simmering and she counted the seconds, wishing this would end as soon as possible.

And the woman beside, Regan couldn't help the curiosity. Her head was lowered, but it felt like her whole being was stiff with tension. 

"Why aren't you eating?" he asked, and she flinched slightly, mentally cursing herself. All eyes were on her, like needles pricking her skin.

"I'm not hungry," Regan answered, trying to sound calm, despite the tremble of her insides. Her stomach was rumbling, but the nature of this place, like a lamb in the middle of a wolves den, made it difficult to swallow anything.

Suddenly, the blue-haired woman shifted, the chair scraping against the black marble tiles as she stood up, her face still obscured. "I have matters to attend to," she muttered, her voice coming off way too strained and Regan could swear she had heard it before.

Sirius didn't even bother to say anything to her as she left, his eyes still on Regan, "Not hungry, huh?" his voice was sharp and mocking, eyes narrowing, "Is that how you pay for showing up here like an imbecile?"

Regan's hand tightened into a fist on her lap. How dare he? She was no imbecile. "If I am an imbecile, then why did you drag me here?" she snapped, holding his gaze when all she wanted was to shrink away.

"Ah, the fiery spirit," he mused, leaning back on his chair, playing with the glass of wine, "You never know how to interpret a metaphor, do you? How....straightforward. You've clearly sparked their interest, hasn't she, ladies?" he nodded at the two witches, his voice coated with a poisonous sarcasm.

Regan's eyes flickered to the two and back to him, a voice of rebellion, a voice of defiance telling her to take that glass from him and smash it on his face. But she didn't do that. Instead, she said, "I don't need anyone's validation. If their interest is sparked, it's their problem. Not mine."

"Oh, trust me, you're nothing worth of interest," Allegra hissed, using a napkin delicately. She stood up slowly, her eyes shooting daggers at Regan, "With all due respect, my lord, I don't think that creature is suitable for the setting."

"No one asked for your opinion," Regan's words slipped, her nails digging into her palms. Allegra's eyes burned with a bruised ego, while Circe's ones widened slightly at her response.

"You dare talk like that to me, you filthy—"

"That's enough!" Sirius interrupted coldly, raising his hand, "You're excused," he waved his hand dissmissely. Allegra's face became redder with indignation, and she gave Regan a look that she wasn't done here, before she turned and stepped away, her blonde hair swaying behind her. 

As if following the trail of smoke, the other witch excused herself too. Regan felt a strange sense of power in that moment, at the thought that they had left because of her. But she didn't dare call it a self-praise, she wasn't so confident of her situation.

The tension was still there, just an imperceptible glimmer dissipated from the witches departure. The stoic man in military suit remained that, his posture neutral. But Regan couldn't help the knot in her stomach.

Sensing her discomfort, Sirius set his glass on the table with a thud, exchanging cryptic glances with him. He nodded curtly and stood up, leaving on his heel.

And now, she was alone with the demon lord. Regan's eyes were anywhere but on his, and she was acutely aware of his cologne, and her own anxious breathing. He sat there quiet, the food on his plate untouched. 

She picked at her food, but every movement felt observed, like she was a bug under a microscope. "Stop looking at me," Regan finally said, not standing it anymore, but not looking at him either.

"Tomorrow you'll begin your lessons," he said abruptly, voice calm and measured, expecting a response.

"Lessons....?"

"Yes, lessons. I will send a mentor for you. She'll teach you the basics," he replied, stretching up the gloves he was wearing.

"What basics?" Regan asked, her mind racing. Was this some sort of disciplinary school?

"Power basics, Regan," Sirius said with a cold, detached look, "But if you still have doubts, let's try it then. Stand up."

But she didn't stand up, she was glued to the chair, her eyes darting around, wondering what he meant. His chair scraped and he was on his feet, a mischievous smirk curling his lips.

"Ah, so you're scared of me," he remarked, his voice smoother than the velvet curtains.

Regan's eyes shot up at him, her teeth gritted together, "I'm not scared of you," she said, standing up too and shoving the chair against the table, "And I don't want to try anything."

"A little magic won't bite," he sneered, watching as she stepped away. He didn't move closer, instead walked across the room, and stooped, turning at her again, "Go there," he instructed, watching as she stepped away. He didn't move closer, instead walked to the door that opened without him even touching it, revealing the cold hall where she had come from.

"Come here," he ordered, meaning for her to follow him outside the dining room. Regan took a deep breath, though it did little to calm the tremble in her chest. She followed reluctantly. He was now standing at the far end of the hall, a smug look on his face.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, her voice echoing in the chill corridor. He didn't respond, brought a hand up, and started to twirl his finger until a whirlwind of a flame hovered in the air. "Oh my God," she whispered to herself. The sight was mesmerizing but she wasn't going to let that show.

"You think I'm going to do that?" she said, her voice laced with skepticism, crossing her arms tightly.

"No, you're not there yet," he answered darkly, the flame a stark contrast to his icy eyes, "But you're going to defend." And then, without a warning, he threw the flames at her.

Regan was totally unprepared for that, the flame shooting like a bullet, her heart skipping a beat as she covered her head with her hands. But she felt no pain, just the heat of his fire and slowly opened her eyes, flinching slightly as she saw the vortex hovering just inches away from her. With a swish of his hand, it disappeared, but the bewilderment it left behind didn't go unnoticed.

"You blocked the attack," he said, his smugness never faltering. He stepped closer, as if he had achieved something.

Regan swallowed hard, trying to hold her composure, "You're playing with me," she hissed. She had felt only fear and panic in that moment, nothing like 'electric currents' or a 'surge of power washing over her'.

"Why?" he raised an eyebrow and before she knew, he had gotten close enough, "You think I wouldn't have hit you?"

Regan took a deep breath as she stepped away, her heart suddenly racing, "That's not what I said."

"Then what did you say?" He looked at her intensely, closing up the distance. 

Regan felt a chill down her spine. He had seemed miles away before. She took another step back, but met with a hard surface. She had hit a wall.

He towered over her and a flush crept up her neck, as if she didn't know any better. The cold smirk was still there as he looked down at her, demanding an answer.

"Move away," Regan finally said, her her eyes avoiding his. 

His smirk grew wider, "Or what?" he taunted, "You'll make a scene?"

Regan's blood boiled at his mockery, her pulse heard in her ears, "If you don't move, yes I'll do it," but her voice shaked slightly and she wished she hadn't spoken at all.

Sirius leaned in closer, so close she could smell the faint hint of wine. "How interesting," he drawled, his eyes narrowing slightly, "and what exactly will you do to me, little girl?"

The air, or the space between her and him grew charged and Regan's temper wasn't dissipating. But she felt also a sensation of lightheadedness if she looked at him. "I will-" she began but was interrupted when she saw the man in military suit appear, clearing his throat.

"Excuse me, my lord," he called from behind. Sirius's expression darkened with a hint of annoyance.

"What is it?" he barked, his eyes still on Regan.

The man's expression didn't change as he spoke something about a traitor being caught.

Sirius sighed, stepping away to look at him, "Fine," and then turned at Regan again, "Go to your room." He commanded, his tone now cold and unyielding.

Regan bit her cheeks in anger, glaring at him. She didn't even know the ways around the castle, let alone how to get to her room.

"I don't take orders from you," she retorted. 

His expression darkened further, "Follow me," he ordered sternly.

He turned on his heel and walked away without another word, leaving Regan no choice but to follow. He took several turns and twists, leading her deeper into the castle. Regan didn't remember coming from this way. Her eyes scanned the hallways, taking in how they were more ornate, more drenched in grandeur. But eventually they became darker, more suffocating. And it was then she found herself before her room.

"Get inside," Sirius snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument. Regan was still angry, her heart racing.

"I'm not going to stay here for eternity," she said, folding her arms across her chest.

"You are," he said, his voice a growl, "you're staying here until I decide otherwise. And if you keep acting like that, you'll see me more often than you'd like." His words were cold, but held a dangerous hint.

Regan couldn't help but roll her eyes at his threat, though she knew it was far from a bravado, "We'll see about that," she muttered, turning away from him. She stepped inside the room and the door slammed shut.

***

After he had dealt with the traitor's matter, he was back to his chamber, his raven hair disheveled as he ran his hand through it. He removed his long coat and draped it over the chair. The mirror lay there on the desk, its enchanted glass glinting in the candle light.

There was a certain amusement in watching her from it, no matter how twisted it was.

He sat on the chair and grabbed a book from the shelf, the words a blur of political intrigue and war strategies. Yet his mind lingered on the girl, and he couldn't help but feel a something of frustration. For what, he didn't know.

He didn't know why he had ordered her to the dining room. Perhaps it had indeed been a humiliation game, a way to show that she's a mere pawn in a much larger scheme of things. Or a way to show what she's been missing.

And her sharp retorts, so emotionally charged, it was obvious she was affected. He smirked at himself, closing the book with a thud. That wasn't even the beginning. She had no idea where her roots were. It'd be easier if she never found out, but he wasn't one to back away from a challenge.

He reached for the glass of wine and took a sip, the crimson liquid igniting a fiery path down his throat. Nevertheless, it did little but warm his frozen heart.

A knock on the door stole his attention and he called for them to enter. It was Vesper, her face a mask of frustration and indignation.

"What was she doing there?" Vesper demanded, stepping in the room without much words, electrical charge coursing through her blue hair.

"You're in no position to demand answers from me," Sirius said flatly, his eyes narrowing, "But since you're so curious, let me enlighten you."

Vesper shook her head, closing the door behind her, "I don't need enlightenment, Sirius. I just can't believe how you allowed that....weak, pathetic thing on your table."

Sirius smirked but it was a cold one, devoid of any warmth, "That weak, pathetic thing is a princess, if we're speaking about titles."

Vesper's face paled and she wished he was doing the usual sarcastic remark. But his expression wasn't sarcastic, just a frigid, calculated one, "Princess?" she exclaimed, "What princess?"

Sirius paused for a moment, placing the glass on the table, standing up and walking over to one of the windows that wasn't shrouded in velvet, "You remember Avalon, right?" he said flatly.

Vesper's eyebrows furrowed, "A kingdom you destroyed," she conceded, "What about it?"

"She's the last true heir to its throne," he revealed, tone still detached, eyes gazing at the dark forest of Silvertide. "The one with the same power I hold."

The words sank in like a ton of bricks, and Vesper took a sharp breath, "You can't be serious," she said, her eyes wide with shock, "She can't have survived the war."

Sirius's jaw clenched, but it wasn't anger. It was a bitter reminder of his own actions that had led to this day. But he didn't owe explanations to anyone.

"She did survive, Vesper," he replied coolly, face black as an unwritten paper, "And now she's here. Under control."

"But that.... that's impossible!" Vesper said, her mind racing with thoughts. "She can't be a princess! She's from Earth. She's so....different."

"Different, similar, it doesn't change who she is," Sirius's voice was still cold but held an internal musing to it that had nothing to do with Vesper here.

"But she doesn't know about it," Vesper's eyes narrowed, "She can't know."

"She'll know soon enough," it was a response she had never expected from him. 

Vesper took a step closer, her voice now incredulous. "You're making a grave mistake if you plan to tell her."

"Grave mistake?" Sirius turned at her, raising an eyebrow, "Why, what do you presume she'll do?"

"She's a liability!" Vesper countered, her features twisting in frustration at his calm, calculated demeanor, "You can't just tell her that!"

"I have reasons for everything I do, Vesper," he said cryptically, his voice now carrying an evident tone of irritation, "Reasons that aren't yours to comprehend. Now leave."

Vesper's hands curled into fists at his words, but she obeyed, though she didn't let him say the last, "I don't trust this," she muttered, her voice loud enough for him to hear as she left.

Sirius sighed and locked the door with a flick of his fingers as soon as she was gone. He walked over to the desk, the mirror reflecting the faint chandelier above as if it was its life source. But seriously, that mirror had been forgotten in the closet before the girl appeared.

Vesper, on the other hand, turned back to her quarters, finding her sisters seated, Allegra with a mocking grin, while Circe sipping at her drink. 

"What happened, dear sister?" Allegra asked with a sneer, twirling a strand of her blonde hair around her finger, "Did he push you away?"

Vesper's jaw was clenched, her nostrils flaring, "It's none of your business. And no, he didn't push me away." She sat down on the couch, crossing her legs, not bothering to lower the dress.

"So we're just going to pretend we didn't see that thing who sat down with us?" Allegra quipped, leaning forward, "That it never happened? Is that a self-lying mechanism for you both?"

Vesper's eyes shot at her, like too sharp blades, "I'm not going to talk about something unimportant," she snapped back.

"Unimportant you say?" Circe chuckled, both amusedly and sarcastically, "If that's so, then why would he send her these red roses?"

The question was like a whip and Vesper stood up, her eyes flicking to the two of them, "What are you saying?" she demanded, her voice barely containing her anger.

Allegra leaned back, eyes glinting with satisfaction, "Some birds here know how to sing in our tune," she said, her smirk never faltering as she grabbed a glass from the table.

"You've heard it wrong," Vesper hissed, though her voice was less convinced than before, "And even if it's true, it doesn't mean anything."

But Allegra and Circe were beyond listening, "Maybe he likes her, who knows?" Allegra suggested, exchanging a knowing look with her sister, "After all, we've never seen such behavior from him before."

Vesper's fists clenched even tighter, her sharp nails digging at her palms, "You're pathetic, Allegra," she spat out, her voice rising up higher, "Didn't you see what she looks like? She can't even make a troll look at her, let alone someone like Sirius."

Allegra's smirk faltered slightly, but only for a more sharper expression to take place, "Maybe, but that's not what I saw at the table."

"You're seeing things," Vesper said through gritted teeth, "And if you're so sure of yourself, why don't you go and say that to his face?"

"Wow wow, calm down, Ves," Allegra chuckled mockingly, "I'm just saying. And Circe saw it too, didn't you, Circe?"

Circe nodded, her eyes narrowing, "Yeah, it could be more than he's letting on."

Vesper looked like she was about to break something, but she took a deep breath, "Keep dreaming, you fools," she muttered angrily, "You don't know any better, do you?" And with that, she turned and left, stomping on the

floor as if it would provide relief somehow.