Witch Protectors

The grand dining hall shimmered under crystal chandeliers, their glow reflecting off polished marble floors. The royal table, adorned with gold-trimmed china and silver goblets, was laden with mouthwatering delicacies. Aromas of roasted meats and spiced wine mingled with the soft floral scent of lilies. Ava and Felix sat with the royal family, feeling both honored and a little out of place, as the King's strong presence led the graceful gathering.

The King clinked his silver goblet and stood up, the soft chime drawing all eyes to him. "This evening is dedicated to General Felix Hellstern and his wife, Ava Sideris Hellstern," he announced, his tone rich with appreciation. "Because of their bravery, Princess Tiara of Carinae is safely among us once more." He looked fondly at the couple, lifting his goblet in a sincere gesture of honor.

The Crown Prince as well rose to his feet with calm dignity, his voice steady and filled with respect. "A great honor to General Felix, our brave war hero," he said with a warm smile. "He not only showed incredible courage in battle but also saved my life and the lives of many soldiers. We will always be grateful to you, General." He lifted his goblet high, his hand steady as his words rang with genuine admiration.

Felix stood from his seat with an air of composure, though the faint gleam in his eyes hinted at the pride swelling within him. He raised his goblet back to them and said, "The pleasure is mine. And I am grateful that you all have invited me and my wife for this wonderful delight." His voice was steady, but a subtle glance at Ava revealed his gratitude ran deeper than his words.

"Me too, me too, me too!" Princess Tiara exclaimed, bouncing up from her seat, her childlike excitement lighting up her features. Her smile was wide and infectious as she raised her goblet awkwardly. "I want to toast as well. Ah-um…" She hesitated, tapping her finger against her lip as if trying to summon the perfect words. "I want to thank… ah… General Felix for saving me and uh… his…" She paused, her eyes darting to Ava. Her smile faltered slightly, and she rolled her eyes before continuing with a forced politeness, "wife." Her voice dropped on the last word, and the air between them thickened as her sunny demeanor clouded over. She sat down abruptly, her chair scraping softly against the marble floor.

"Thank you, Princess." Felix inclined his head with a formal smile, raising his silver goblet in acknowledgment.

"Indeed, thank you, Princess Tiara," Ava said, mirroring Felix's gesture with grace. Her tone was composed, her lips forming a courteous smile, though her gaze lingered on the Princess's face, seeking even the faintest hint of warmth.

"You are most welcome, General." Princess Tiara's voice brightened again as she turned her gaze toward Felix, her grin wide and almost dazzling. Then, as if remembering Ava's presence, her expression stiffened. She glanced at Ava, her lips pressing into a thin line, and added with an edge of reluctance, "And thank you as well."

The surroundings remained lively and cheerful, despite Princess Tiara's sharp shifts in mood toward Ava. Everyone else treated Ava warmly, including the Crown Prince, who occasionally stole glances at her. His eyes lingered on her radiant appearance, a soft admiration flickering in his expression. It was as if, had she not been married to Felix, he would have summoned every ounce of his courage to seek her hand.

One of the maids entered with a grand tray bearing a single large turkey, its golden-brown skin glistening under the chandelier's light. She placed it carefully on the table and approached the King, bowing her head slightly. "Your Majesty, should I proceed with cutting this turkey for your plate?" she asked softly, her voice low and respectful.

The King tipped his silver goblet, gulping down the last of the wine before responding, "Yeah, sure. Slice it beautifully and decorate it like a Thanksgiving gift," he said with a slight slur, his words weaving through a haze of indulgence.

"Your Majesty," the Queen whispered sharply, reaching out to grasp his hand. Her wide eyes flicked toward him in a silent plea for composure.

"Oops! Pardon me, my Queen," the King replied, his tone light with mock repentance. He took her hand and pressed a chivalrous kiss to the back of it. The Queen's cheeks flushed faintly, her composure slipping into a bashful smile. Ripples of quiet laughter and warm smiles spread around the table as their cute gesture eased the formal atmosphere with its lighthearted charm.

The scent of roasted meat filled the air, mingling with the faint hum of conversation as the maid worked, her hands moving with practiced grace, expertly carving the turkey into neat, precise slices. But suddenly, a sharp, unsettling prickling sensation crawled up the back of Felix's neck, his instincts kicking into overdrive. In a split second, his muscles tensed, and without thinking, he hurled his fork toward the King.

Gasps rippled through the room as everyone froze in shock, their eyes darting between Felix's face and the King's. The royal guards surged into action, their swords drawn and pressing against Felix's neck in an instant.

"Ah-um, Royal Guard Beregond," Princess Tiara's voice rang out, trembling slightly but firm enough to cut through the tension. She pointed a trembling finger beside the King, her eyes wide with alarm.

All eyes followed Princess Tiara's pointed finger to the maid standing shakily beside the King. Blood poured from the deep wound in her neck where Felix's fork had struck, staining the delicate fabric of her dress in dark crimson. One trembling hand pressed desperately against the wound, her fingers slick with blood as she fought to stifle the bleeding. Meanwhile, her other hand gripped the knife, its blade gleaming in the soft flicker of the candlelight, hovering dangerously close to the King's throat—a silent, deadly threat ready to end his life in an instant.

Beneath the bloodstained sleeve on her wrist, a faint yet distinct purple tattoo marked the nerve-checking point. It resembled a chant, its intricate design pulsing with a sinister energy, a silent testament to the dark magic that seemed to seep from her very being.

The King's face was ashen, his chest heaving as he realized how close he had been to death. The knife slipped from the maid's grasp as she faltered, and the guards quickly restrained her. Relief washed over the room, the tension dissipating as the Queen and the Crown Prince rushed to check the King for any injuries.

The royal guards lowered their swords and stepped back from Felix, bowing their heads. "We are extremely sorry, General," Royal Guard Beregond said, his voice heavy with contrition.

"What was that?" Princess Tiara asked, collapsing into her chair, her chest rising and falling with deep breaths.

"Witch protectors," Felix replied curtly, his jaw tight as his eyes flicked toward the door where the maid had been taken.

"Witch protectors?" Tiara leaned forward, her interest piqued despite the lingering fear in her voice. "You mean, like, real witch protectors?"

He didn't answer in words; instead, he simply nodded.

"How come I didn't notice that? I guess I should behead the librarian who sold me books on the history of the witches of Carinae," Tiara said, pouting. "It was a total waste. Five thick volumes, and I still couldn't recognize a witch protector."

"Your Highness," the Queen interjected sharply, her voice cutting through the air like a whip, her brows furrowing as she set her goblet down with a deliberate clink. "How many times must I tell you? Do not talk about witches."

"Forgive me, Mother," Tiara murmured, her fingers nervously tracing the intricate patterns on the goblet's stem. Her gaze dropped to the table, her lips pressing into a faint pout. "One last question," she said, raising her hand to her head level in a gesture almost feline in its grace. Her lips quirked in a playful smile. "I promise it shall be brief," she added with a tilt of her head.

"Fine, speak your mind," the Queen replied, sighing as her fingers pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly exasperated.

"Is it just me," Tiara began, leaning forward with a spark of curiosity in her voice, her fingertips drumming softly against the polished edge of her plate, "or does this so-called protector of witches seem rather dull-witted for attempting to strike Father in such a public setting? Were I in her place"—her voice took on an air of theatrical cunning as her eyes narrowed—"I would wait for a moment when he is more... vulnerable. Perhaps in the solitude of his chambers," she mused aloud, her imagination running unchecked. "There, I would slip in quietly," she added, her expression shifting to a strange mixture of innocence and wickedness—innocent because she seemed blissfully unaware of the gravity of her words, and wicked because her imagination was undeniably wild. "Then, with nothing but a pillow, I would press it firmly over his—"

"Tiara!" The Queen's voice rang out, sharp and commanding, echoing off the walls like the toll of a bell. Her palms struck the table, and her eyes blazed with indignation. "What madness possesses you to utter such treasonous thoughts? Do you grasp the gravity of your words? They are enough to warrant a swift execution!"

"My deepest apologies, Mother." Tiara's shoulders slumped, her fingers curling around the edge of the tablecloth like a child seeking comfort. Her gaze stayed fixed on her lap as she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I was genuinely—"

"His Majesty!" A royal guard's urgent shout cut her off. He burst into the room, his boots thudding heavily against the marble floor, followed closely by several other guards. His face was flushed, sweat glistening on his brow as he stumbled to a stop before the King.

"What is the meaning of this commotion?" the King demanded, his deep voice steady, though his hand tightened imperceptibly on the armrest of his chair.

"Your Majesty," the guard panted, his breaths labored as he tried to compose himself. "The purple globe... it is no longer in its place," he said, his voice faltering with the weight of the news.

"I was right, see!" Princess Tiara exclaimed, clapping her hands together with an odd mix of triumph and disbelief.

"The attack was a decoy," Felix muttered, his voice low and laced with tension. He stepped forward, his arms crossing over his chest as his sharp eyes scanned the room, piecing together the puzzle in his mind. "Their true aim was the globe. They sought to divert attention with the assault upon His Majesty."

Ava, seated beside him, felt her breath hitch, a sharp intake of air that seemed to echo in her chest. Her fingers instinctively tightened around the folds of her dress, grounding her as her eyes fixed on Felix's tense profile. Though she barely understood the significance of the purple globe, an odd, unshakable familiarity tugged at the edges of her mind. Her heartbeat quickened—not only from the chaos around her but also from the unsettling feeling that this purple globe was somehow connected to her.