His Divine Queen

Bombshell

The walk was long, quiet, and bewildering. Alaric had prided himself on being able to navigate the countless tunnels after a few trips with Abi, but after numerous turns and long passageways of the endless maze he was utterly lost. He could have sworn that they were walking in circles.

Rosina and Sofia were leading the way, their contrasting hair colours illuminating occasionally in the light of the hanging lanterns that they passed. Abi was at his side, walking silently and stumbling every now and again. Occasionally, he could feel her stealing glances at him, the weight of her stare heating the right side of his face.

He tried to ignore her, he did, but when her hand slipped into his own and gave it a gentle squeeze, his attention was solely on her. He could have been walking into a trap, heading face-first into his own demise, yet he was glad that she was there by his side. He squeezed her hand in return, taking a quick moment to appreciate how right it felt in his own before she dropped the connection to move behind him.

They soon came to the end of the corridor, and the walls fell away into the room that Alaric was brought to on his first day in the coven. The same imposing woman, the dux magorum – Imelda, Alaric deduced – was seated once again on her miniature throne.

She was looking up as they arrived, clearly expecting them all, and gave a crazed half-grin as her gaze fell on Alaric.

“Ahh!” She cried happily. Clapping her hands together, small ember-like sparks flashed into the dark air and disappeared just as quickly. “Puer regem! How happy I am to see you again. I hope that Abi has been treating you well?” She asked.

Alaric watched from the corner of his eye as Abi joined the two other Witches to stand behind their leader against the far wall. He cleared his throat, returning his attention to the older Witch that was looking at him expectantly. “Yes, everything has been great, thank you. Abi has been most attentive to my needs.”

“I’m sure she has,” a quiet murmur came from Rosina. To this, Abi blushed his favourite shade of pink, and Sofia – in between the two – gave a sharp elbow to Rosina’s side, to which the latter winced.

Imelda ignored the jibe behind her, sending a smile to him. “Well, I am glad,” she replied, “now! What is it you wanted to know, dear boy? I’ve been told you have some questions for me.”

“Yes, I do,” he began hesitantly, “but I would prefer if we could speak in private.”

Imelda looked at him for a moment, eyes roving his face as if she were searching for something. She must have found whatever it was she was looking for, because she nodded, waving a hand in the air to dismiss the three Witches behind her.

They all left silently, but not before Abi gave one last smile to Alaric that had his heart racing and his pulse jumping. He tried to hide it, acting as if the action had not affected him, because his feelings just didn’t make sense. It must be some Witch-y spell she had put on him. That’s all it was, just a spell. Soon, he was alone with Imelda, and the older Witch clapped her hands excitedly.  

“So, what do you want, Alaric?” She asked him, settling deeper into her chair.

“I have many questions,” he started, “like what is happening to my Kingdom and why you brought me here in the first place. But I have a feeling you won’t answer those. But I hoped you could answer at least some of my questions. Like, what am I?”

“You’re still you, Alaric.” She answered soothingly, “still a therianthrope – a shifter, as you would say. But now you have more abilities, which I’m sure you’ve started to become familiar with.”

He nodded. He had noticed changes during his initial escape from the vampires, including his enhanced eyesight and increased strength. “So,” he asked, “what does this make me?”  

“There’s no real word for it. You could call yourself a hybrid, but there haven’t been any in written history to discover more. I’m afraid, puer regem, it is up to you to find out for yourself.”

Her answer confirmed his initial suspicions. But hearing that she couldn’t tell him anything else was a blow he wasn’t expecting. He had hoped to get some answers on what other transformations he should be expecting. Regardless, he moved on. The dux magorum seemed to be a busy woman, so he did not know when he would next be able to get his questions answered.

“What did Rosina mean when she said that we weren’t always fighting?” He inquired after a moments hesitation, “For as long as I have known, our kinds have hated each other. So, what did she mean?”

Imelda flinched slightly, barely noticeable if he hadn’t been paying attention. Then just as quickly she sighed, seemingly covering for her momentary lapse in self-control. “Always Rosina, isn’t it? She is always running her mouth, never knowing when to keep quiet.” She said, eyes flashing mysteriously in the blue light of her fire.

“But what did she mean?” Alaric probed. From the way the older Witch reacted, he knew that this must be a sensitive subject, but that only made him want to know its answer more.

“Our kingdoms used to coexist peacefully, both living off the land and benefiting off the skills of each of our kinds. But that peace was lost, rather abruptly and recently. Just one silly mistake, and so we try not to dwell on the past…” She tapered off, eyes staring unblinkingly at the wall above Alaric’s head. Lost in her thoughts.

Alaric opened his mouth, ready to bring her back to the room, to now, when she pulled herself from her chair.

“Now,” she gave her signature crazed half-grin, as if she had never been affected at all. “If you’ll excuse me, I am needed elsewhere and must attend to it rather urgently.”

Her blunt dismissal did not go unnoticed, nor did her spritely walk that in a matter of seconds brought her near the exit of her room. She was surprisingly quick for an older woman, Alaric concluded.

“One more thing,” Alaric blurted, turning around to face the retreating Witch. “These things that I’ve been feeling, about Abi… Is this some spell that you’ve put on me?”

Imelda stopped mid-step and turned to face him again. She smirked, her eyes crinkling at the corners as if he had just told her a funny joke. “That’s no spell, puer regem, no spell at all. Oh – how history repeats itself! No, I’m afraid what you’re experiencing with our dear Abigaille is something far beyond what us Witches can control, a bond that’s stronger than anything we could create.”

“What do you mean? Is there something wrong with us?”

“No! Not at all!” She cackled; her eyes crinkling shut even as Alaric watched her with a deep frown creasing his brows. How did she find this funny?

It took her a while, too long for Alaric’s taste, but eventually she stopped her laughing and calmed down. Her mouth was still twisted into an odd, satisfied smirk when she finally continued, “it means that you and Abigaille are bonded. You are her familiar, her spell companion, and a bond between a Witch and her familiar can only be broken in death.”

Oh.

Oh.

Well, f**k. How was he going to tell that to Arabella?