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She appeared utterly shocked, her eyes wide with a blend of surprise and distress. Her already pale face lost even more color, and her mouth hung open in disbelief. The shock was palpable in her stillness, her body rigid and motionless. Clearly, whatever I transpired, or whatever I had just said or what she heard, had caught her entirely off guard, rendering her visibly shaken.

"I know there's a lot of work in the palace, so you can help out too. I will only need one person and thank you all very much. I'm sorry," I say, trying to hold back my fears of them starting to gossip, or perhaps I was being rude by sending them away. Their eyes widen and they bow as the brown-haired girl speaks.

"Her Highness need not apologize; we will be heading out to assist the others, while she here can attend to you," she says politely, her voice steady despite the shock in her eyes. Her words are carefully chosen, soft yet firm. They turn to leave the room, their departure swift and silent. The door closes behind them, and the room is enveloped in a heavy, contemplative silence.

"How should I address you again? I'm sorry, I may have forgotten," I ask, breaking the silence. She bows deeply; her movements graceful yet filled with tension. As she rises, she gradually loosens her grip on her gown, her fingers unfurling from the fabric as though shedding the stress that burdens her. This subtle gesture reveals much—an effort to stabilize herself, to seize a moment of tranquility before responding. The strain manifests in her hands' slight tremor, yet her voice, when she speaks, is steady, exuding a quiet determination.

"Hyndrelle," she whispers softly, and a smile spreads across my face. She leads me into the bathing room, her movements careful and attentive. The room is warm, filled with the soothing scent of lavender, and the soft light casts a calming glow over the space. She assists me in undressing, her hands steady as she removes each layer, her actions marked by a quiet efficiency that puts me at ease. Despite her earlier tension, she handles everything with grace, focusing entirely on ensuring my comfort. As I sink into the warm water, her presence is a reassuring and supportive force nearby, continuing to assist with a calm, unspoken understanding.

"How long have you and your brother been in the king's service?" I inquire, not out of curiosity but merely to interrupt her daydream. She has been tenderly caressing the same spot on my back, and while I appreciate the gentleness, it does make me feel uneasy. At my abrupt question, she startles, the unexpected words snapping her back to reality. Her eyes briefly widen with surprise, as though she's been caught unawares. Gradually, she blinks, steadying herself as she shifts her attention back to the present, the remnants of her deep thoughts dissipating. The question lingers between us, and she takes a moment to compose herself before replying.

"My brother has been in the king's service since before I was born, so I don't know much about it; I never inquired," she explains with a slow, thoughtful expression. "As for me, I've been working here since I was fourteen," she adds. I turn to face her abruptly, as if trying to discern a lie, but she looks confused by my reaction.

"So young," I muse. At fourteen, I used to help my brother and father carry dry wood for our home to stay heated or go to the marketplace to purchase vegetables. However, it never occurred to me that others my age might be supporting themselves.

Sensing my state, she spoke softly, "We were very poor back then, and..." Her voice faded, imbued with a quiet sadness that revealed memories I knew she had long buried—or perhaps not. She paused, seemingly pondering whether to go on, her eyes betraying the pain of her past. When she continued, it was with a serene acceptance, as if she had reconciled with the struggles she had faced. "We had so little, yet we managed to make do." Her words lingered, echoing the resilience required to overcome those challenging times.

"Sorry,"

"Oh, your highness, you are too considerate. We have already passed that period. My brother worked so hard that he was able to make my..." She stopped again, and I knew she was on the verge of sadness, which I wanted to avoid.

"Do you know anything about an ignis?" I asked, and she nodded. I turned to face her completely, signaling for her to tell me more since Bluebell was unable to.

"Your Majesty," she began, her voice soft but steady, "Ignis is not merely a tool or a weapon. It is a force of nature, akin to the wind or the tide. It flows through the world, invisible yet omnipresent, awaiting those who can harness its power. It is not a matter of sight or touch, but of will and understanding. Ignis responds to intent, to the desires of the heart and the clarity of the mind. Those who wield it must be in harmony with their inner selves, for it is through their essence that they channel its power." She paused for a moment, looking at me, and I realized that she was not much different from Bluebell, always giving me time to understand or ask questions.

"And what if you do not possess it?" I had never considered or heard of people possessing powers. Was Mother aware of this? And what about Brother? He, or even Father, never once alluded to anything of the sort. Or was it that our family does not possess such things?

Her expression became thoughtful, her gaze resting on me with a touch of sadness. "Not everyone has the ability to wield magic," she explained. "It's a rare gift, not bestowed upon everyone. It's akin to having a special talent or a unique skill—some are born with it, while others are not. As for myself, I have yet to discover mine. My brother says it takes time or perhaps because of our lineage, but I no longer see the need for it," she stated in a matter-of-fact tone. She shook her head gently. "In most cases, no. Magic is often inherent, tied to the very essence of a person. While some can study and learn about magic, the actual ability to perform it is not something that can be acquired through knowledge or practice alone. It is a gift that must be present from birth."

"Are you referring to witches or dark witches?" I inquire, eager to learn more from her. She seems to possess knowledge beyond what I've read in books.

She sighed, perceiving my growing curiosity about the dichotomy between witches and dark witches. Leaning forward, her eyes mirrored the seriousness of the subject. "Witches and dark witches are two sides of the same coin, Your Majesty, yet their beliefs and actions place them worlds apart."

My brow furrowed in thought. "They have beliefs too," I mused. "But if they both wield the same kind of magic, what truly distinguishes them?"

"Yes, they possess the same inherent magic," she conceded. "Yet, what distinguishes them is their method of utilizing that magic, and crucially, the reasons behind its use. Witches, as we have explored, are typically harmonized with nature, the elements, and life's rhythms. They apply their powers to heal, safeguard, and sustain equilibrium. Their sorcery is anchored in reverence for the environment and an aspiration to uphold concord."

my expression darkened slightly without knowing why. "And dark witches?"

Her voice took on a somber tone as she spoke. "Dark witches have abandoned the balance. They are driven by their own desires—for power, vengeance, or dominance. They contort the natural course of magic to fulfill their own purposes, frequently causing significant harm to others and even to themselves. Their magic is corrupted by their dark emotions, thriving on the turmoil and pain they inflict."

My eyes widened slightly; that's not what I had learned from those books. "So, they wield the same magic, but with completely different intentions?"

"Exactly," she affirmed. "Magic is inherently neutral, not inherently good or evil. It's the intention behind the use of magic that determines its character. Witches employ their powers for healing and protection, whereas dark witches wield them to cause harm and exert control. This decision fundamentally influences their connection with magic and their interaction with the world."

Leaning in, my curiosity piqued, I finally voiced the question that had been burning within me. "What are these problems?"

Her expression turned grave as she pondered my inquiry. "Your Majesty, the dynamics among witches, dark witches, and the kingdom are intricate and filled with challenges. Each faction faces its own set of issues, and these often overlap, forging a precarious and at times perilous equilibrium."

She started with the witches. "The main issue for witches is trust. Even though they use their powers for benevolent purposes, many in the kingdom are afraid of what they cannot comprehend. Witches are frequently misjudged and distrusted, perceived as odd or perilous simply due to their capabilities. Such mistrust can result in seclusion or persecution. Witches are compelled to continually demonstrate their allegiance to the kingdom and its citizens, all while preserving the fragile equilibrium of magic."

I nodded, acknowledging the challenge of being feared despite benevolent intentions. "What about the dark witches?"

"Dark witches pose a more direct threat," she continued. "Their thirst for power and readiness to employ dark magic to fulfill their ambitions render them dangerous not only to the kingdom but also to the very essence of the magical realm. They are frequently the culprits behind curses, plagues, and various malevolent spells that can ravage whole areas. Their deeds erode the efforts of benevolent witches, exacerbating the distrust between the kingdom and the magic practitioners." She halted, swallowing the words she was about to utter, and gazed at the water. Kneeling before me, she took one of my feet and gently swept a washcloth over it.

"If you find it difficult to speak, we can stop here," I tell her softly, trying to make her comfortable. We don't know each other well enough for her to share, and she has already done so much by detailing the witches.

For a moment, silence prevailed. Then, she raised her gaze to mine, her eyes softening, the tension in her shoulders relaxing slightly. I noticed the shift and offered a comforting smile. "Currently, the kingdom is in such a state that we cannot trust either dark witches or witches, as they are all labeled simply as witches. Some regions of the kingdom are suffering immensely because of them. They kidnap children and sell them to human traffickers, who then return their bones for curses and trap their souls for reasons only the moon knows. The worst part is that the houses responsible for protecting our land do nothing but close every case. The king, preoccupied with the current ritual, cannot be blamed; he is trying to handle what the High House and the House of Carpel cannot. Yet, there are still children dying senselessly," she said. I don't know why, but I joined her in her tears. To kill is the gravest of sins, but to harm children—who could be so depraved?

"But are there any solutions to stop this?" I ask through my tears. She lifts her head to look at me as if I've just told the funniest joke she's ever heard. She scoffs, her gaze slicing through the room like a blade. She drawls, her voice saturated with mockery, yet it emerges so sorrowful that it feels like she's mourning for the whole world.

"There are no problems without solutions, but would you fight people just to risk others' lives? We have been in conflict with them for ages, and the only improvement came twelve years ago after the king's ascension to the throne. He truly listened to the cries of his people. We can't risk his life, yet we know he must act. But things have spiraled out of control, leaving us feeling hopeless," she says with an exasperated sigh. Suddenly, the door to my room swings open without warning, and the king enters with all his graciousness.

"Good morning, Your Grace," Hyndrelle said, rising instantly to greet him. He approached her with a raised eyebrow, dismissing her greetings and stood close, towering over her frail form. I watched her intently, yet she seemed neither scared nor intimidated, but rather composed and relaxed.

"What happened to you? You don't look well. Is there a problem with Hydrus?" At the mention of her brother's name, she flinches and shakes her head in fear.

"No, it's nothing. I just don't feel the need to eat right now. Does His Highness want anything?" she asks, trying her hardest to avoid his intense gaze. He reluctantly drags his eyes away from her and stares at me beneath the shallow tub of water. Instinctively, I sink deeper, attempting to cover myself, but he just smiles. His gaze travels from my face to my shoulder, and as it lowers, I press my legs together. The idiot smiles, and he looks at me with a raised brow as if he heard the insult, but I don't care—idiot, idiot, perverted idiot. This time, he scoffs loudly, drawing the girl's attention to him, then back to me, puzzled.

"We will be leaving in an hour; we can't waste more time," he says, his gaze fixed on me. I attempt to stand, but he raises his malicious eyebrows, and I back down. Lowering my gaze, my cheeks warm with an uncontrollable blush. The words I want to say tangle in my throat, and all I can manage is a soft, hesitant sound.

 "why" my voice barely above a whisper. the word almost lost in the quietness of the room. 

"I've already mentioned that we have no time to waste, and the sooner we arrive, the better. I understand Bluebell is someone important to you, so let's make haste to your mansion."

"That's not my mansion," I snapped, the words tasting bitter. He frowned, mirroring Hyndrelle's expression. I stood there, words eluding me, my thoughts a jumbled mess. The urgency to respond weighed heavily upon me. "I mean, I don't possess it anymore; I gave it to my brother, and now I live here... or maybe not." He moved to the end of the tub, near my feet, and just as I realized his intent and was about to pull away, he seized my left ankle and pulled me closer. Hyndrelle's faint gasp was audible to my ears, and I could infer her thoughts, which she confirmed with her next words.

"I will excuse myself for now. If her... highness needs anything, I will come back," she managed to say, her voice hurried and uneven, betraying her desperation to leave. Clearly struggling, she rushed to the door; the sound of it closing was faint, yet my gaze remained fixed on the monster clutching at my legs.

"Every day since I met you, it seems you have different prefixes and suffixes for me. What could I have possibly done to deserve such attitudes?" he slowly slides his hand to my thigh, and I close my legs trapping his hands on the middle looking at him trying to ask without uttering a single word why he was doing. "Why? can't I do what I want with what belongs to me?" he pulls me close placing his large hands on my back

"What are you doing with your..." I attempt, but he interrupts me.

"Are you trying to provoke another stage of grief from me, Saltanat?" he threatens, pulling me dangerously close, using the hand on my back to grasp my head and jerk my face closer to his. "Saltanat," he utters as if in prayer. I gaze at him, surprisingly not scared or angry, but concerned for this man, and he raises his eyebrow, the only gesture he seems to do well. "Why are you concerned for me, woman?" And now, I am the one to frown. 'Woman?' That's new.

"I have a question for you, man," I say, and he sniffs a laugh, but I remain serious, looking into his eye. He stares back at me, his gaze drifting up to my wet hair, which he rubs gently, the warmth in his hand contrasting with the firm hold on my thigh, even amidst the hot water. He nods. "Do you read minds?" I already know the answer to this question, but-

"Then why do you ask?" he says, his gaze locked on my lips, the words escaping his mouth almost absentmindedly, as though pulled by some silent thought. The intensity of his stare causes my heart to flutter, lending a heaviness to the ensuing silence. "I also have a question for you," he says. "Why do you act shy and scared in front of others, but aggressive and angry with me? Is it because I am not that intimidating, or do you have unfinished business with me?" and with that he licks his lips and without a warning he sticks his tongue out and lick the side of my lips. The touch is fleeting, yet it sparks a profound reaction within me, sending a jolt of electricity throughout my being. My breath halts, and momentarily, the world dissolves, leaving only the fierce heat of that contact. It's as though every nerve has been jolted awake, throbbing with a blend of astonishment, intrigue, and an irresistible draw towards him. The feeling persists, my lips buzzing, and a part of me yearns for more amidst the tempest of feelings churning within.

"What did you do?" I manage to ask, but he only smiles and repeats the action. This time, he sucks on my lips, sweet as candy, and in a blink, his eyes turn a bloody red. But when I blink again, they're back to brown.

"Your eyes," I point out, touching his pupils. He doesn't shy away, seeming to enjoy the contact. We stare at each other, the air charged with an intensity we can't deny. His gaze searches mine for something unspoken, while I try to calm my racing heart. Time stretches, laden with the weight of the unsaid. In our silent exchange, words are unnecessary. "Caeruleus what is happening with your eyes?"