"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"How do you know that they'll do as you say?"

"I don't, but I trust that they'll understand that this is the only way to get some kind of upper hand and keep people safe."

"I hope you're right, or else this isn't going to work, Pater."

"It'll work. It has to."

"Very well. They've got five hours, seven at most if I can tether to the still recovering Willa."

"Five hours in high noon. It'll work."

*****

"If you keep squirming, Aslan will soon enough toss you off of his back."

"My butt hurts," Clarice complains for the one hundredth and thirty-seventh time. She's been moving more often in the past hour, and I've kept myself from snapping at her by counting every time she complains and every time she shifts.

"It's only a few more hours before we stop for the night."

"Well is there anything to eat then? I'm hungry."

Two hundred ninety-seven times she's complained.

"It's in the brown bag to your left," Darius says gently. Where in all of Ker he has found the patience to still be soft-voiced, is greatly beyond me.

She turns in her saddle, which makes her wince and humph in annoyance - one hundred thirty-eight - and pulls out a chunk of bread. "Oh, thank the Saints."

She finally goes quiet with the bread occupying her mouth. She must've been hungry for a while now if she's so happy to be eating that she's doing a very small dance now. She was perfectly content when Sir Arden was here to keep her mind off of the fact that the saddles are never comfortable for these long rides. There was constant conversation flowing between the Grand General and everyone else. I tuned in to some of it, but most of the time my thoughts were too busy occupying my mind to allow me to listen for longer than a minute.

The General left an hour and a half ago, claiming to need to ride to the back of our slowly moving giant of an army to make sure there weren't any stragglers. He hasn't returned yet, and I'm beginning to consider misting to where he is and telling him to move his ass back up here and occupy the child we're dragging along with us.

I say that with all my love and devotion for the woman.

Of course, I'm not talking about the literal child we're bringing. Gods, the argument that I had to listen to between Darius and Roseia about her wanting to come along...I was, of course, on the pater's side, not only because he's the pater but because he was right. Close proximity to a man who would gladly use her to get to him, or just use her in General, is no place for her.

Argument after argument after argument, the two went on. His power only snapped out once, and I saw the instant regret he had when it near leaped to singe her hair, but the girl didn't flinch. I gave her props for that, but I was still against her coming.

We all have enough things to worry about, and we don't need to add her name to that list of possible things to lose come the next cycle. I'm still confused about how she won the fight, but she did, and now she sits in front of Mak, the only one of us who was level-headed enough to share a saddle with her without being extremely tempted to push her off.

Even Clarice voiced her opposition to her coming. She rather surprised us, using curse words and even going so far as to describe what Xaxias could do to her. The girl's nonchalantness about the risk of her being in Xaxias's hands had Clare tumbling into what few memories of her time in the dungeons she had, shouting parts of her trauma at the girl until she was choking on her own sobs. It took her brother practically cradling her to calm Clare down before we left.

Darius was furious at Roseia for it, hence the spout of fire. Kat walked into the tent to find a seating pillow on fire, Darius frantically putting it out, Roseia still yelling her defensive arguments, Clarice looking like a hollow corpse with her kohl smudged, and the rest of us standing about the tent, all fed up with trying to argue anymore. Of course, Clarice's smudged makeup was the only thing she cared for at that moment. She nearly dragged Clarice over to the towel and bucket of water to clean the mess and then fix it. Then she heard what Roseia was trying to do, and practically chucked the bucket of water at the girl's head.

I'm beginning to think that none of us are the best people that Roseia and her siblings should be surrounded by. We're all incredibly violent when we don't get our way.

It's four hours past noon, and we'll stop in about two to make camp and allow everyone to rest before we set out at dawn again. I'll admit, the castle was beginning to feel cramped and stuffy, but compared to how stiff I'm going to be when we do make camp, and then the soreness and tiredness I'll feel come five days' time...I'll take the castle.

The two hours go by painfully slowly. Clarice doubled both her complaining and shifting count by the end of the first one. By then I was irritated with my own numb ass and so desperately needed her to settle down before my irritation turned into unrelenting anger with nowhere to vent to. I was millimeters away from snapping when I caught sight of Darius and his oddly too content-settled face. I envied his relaxation and easy demeanor, so I decided to try and smother it.

"And what is it you expect me to do, exactly?" Darius asked when I asked him to busy her.

"Talk to her, or play with your powers together - I don't know, just keep her from exploding my head."

"Exploding your head?"

He gave me a smirk, enjoying the fact that I was so riled, which only made me madder. "You may be my King, Darius, but that does not exempt me from shoving you off of your horse."

He laughed, I clenched my fists and kept myself from doing just that, and then he and Clarice fell into a labyrinth of constant flowing conversations with laughs, awkward silences, and the more than casual glances that always said more than just, "I'm content."

I could see just how much Clarice wants so badly to understand what she feels, and I'd like to tell her but...but things are complicated, and telling her would only make it more complicated. They conversed for the second hour, all up until General Priamos said it was time to make camp. A time, I may add, in which we all were relieved had come.

Now we're all arguing. And there are multiple arguments.

Darius is arguing with Thomas, Garrison, and the Generals about them setting up a tent for him and Clarice to sleep in. My sisters and I are arguing with the rest of the Bhaltayr about who's taking the first watch, and then how the shifts will go from there. And then there's Víđarr who has left his pup form to take up his alpha one, arguing that everyone needs to just knock out and sleep. He's literally stomping his front legs and growling when someone argues.

"We can last days without sleep and still fight perfectly fine. We take first watch and take the longer shifts," Nilsa states calmly, standing out in sharp contrast to her spread-out legs, crossed arms, and strong gaze that says she's more than prepared to knock them all out forcefully and take the shift.

"Just because you have powers and an immortal lifespan, doesn't mean you can sideline us mortals because you think us weak," Ozzie argues.

"We're not calling you weak," Vanya attempts gently.

"Great. Then we take first watch," Mal decides.

"No-"

And on and on and on they argue, all the while Vlad and I stand and listen.

I end up tuning into Darius's argument, which is harder to hear over the screaming one in front of me.

"There is no need for anyone to set up a tent-"

"Should a threat come, they wouldn't be able to have a clear view and shot of your heart or head with the tent," General Kova points out.

"Not to mention it'll make it easier on your guard to keep watch," General Darcio adds.

"It'll take too long to put up and furnish - and I know you'll furnish it because I saw the two carts full of carpets and seats and a whole damn couch. A couch? You really packed a damn couch?" Darius asks Thomas who looks just as bored at me.

"A King deserves luxury," Thomas explains plainly, shrugging without apology.

"And protection," General Priamos supports.

"I have plenty of protection, right Víđarr." The wolf growls again, one of his lips lifting to expose a long canine.

"I think that's a maybe," I mumble, causing Vlad to huff a whisper of a laugh. He's just as tired and done with everyone here as I am. Though I'd be more than happy to jump into a fight.

"We're taking the first watch, no arguments-"

"Like hell you haggard old lady-"

Insert annoyed wolfish growls.

"You are not sleeping on the ground."

"I am and none of you can argue-"

"Then you sleep on the ground with the tent around you-"

"No."

Saints save me.

"I think someone was tired." I follow Vlad's gaze, finding him looking at a sleeping form curled alongside a fire already made and lit. A few men set it up, seeing as they're still adding a few logs and making a pile for more to keep it fed.

Instinct tugs on me to go over and stand by her to make sure no one gets any ideas, but after watching the soldiers for a little while, I find myself ignoring instinct and relying on my gut. They stay far enough from her to ensure one of us who is arguing nearby doesn't run over and toss them into the fires - or so I imagine they're thinking - but still close enough to help. And they keep staring at her, but it's not a considering murder stare, rather an...in awe curiosity stare. It's as if staring at her is like seeing the future for them, and based on the way their faces soften slightly, I'd say it's a rather nice future.

A loud neigh snaps my eyes away from the Mater and her new admirers, and I find Melody marching purposefully for our group and not showing any sign of stopping at the edge of it. She walks right through everyone, not caring if she causes harm. She walks around Vlad and me, and everyone else has to jump or shuffle to avoid getting trampled.

The arguments are quiet now, and I take the chance to settle them to make sure no one starts them up again.

"One Ginerva and two Bhaltayr. That's how the watches will be formed. The Bhaltayr switch every hour, us every two - no arguments or so help me, I will chain you to the ground and keep you locked up until it's your turn to take watch. And seeing as I'm already on edge with all of your arguments and stupidity, trust me when I say, less sleep for me means that I will be less tolerate - and you don't want me less tolerate." I let my annoyance from the entire day show through my gritted teeth, my power glowing silver in my eyes to let the damper off and keep me semi-tolerable.

Any and all arguments from my sisters and the men die out.

"Forgive me, but-"

"Shut it," I snap at General Ásvaldur. His eyes nearly fall out of their sockets as he stares at me and then looks to Darius for disciplinary action.

"Don't look at me," Darius says. "I prefer her tolerate."

Ha.

"If your King says there is to be no tent, then there is to be no tent. The Queen is already asleep on a bedroll over there, so if you want to continue to argue then be my guest and wake her. Though I'll warn you, she'll likely end up sending Víđarr here to drag you back to your own bedroll." The wolf gives an agreed growl. "I assure you, no arrow or threat is getting anywhere near either royal."

"Well, then this just got really awkward."

The Bhaltayr and Generals all draw their weapons, lowering into stances and grouping around Darius to protect him from the potential threat. Darius, my sisters, and I don't bother. I felt the whore trailing us all day. She stayed at a distance far enough to where I wasn't worried about her making a move until now. She started drawing closer as soon as Clarice threw out her own bedroll and fell asleep with her dress and crown and full jewelry still on. Five shields went around her the moment her heart rate dropped, and a sixth of supernaturally still air now stands strong around those.

Five minutes. That's all she gets to say what she needs or wants to say, and then I'm gutting her and spiking her on a spindle to slow roast her for breakfast.

Five minutes.

"You've lost your touch, Visha." I turn around slowly, my sisters doing the same and settling into a false casual stance.

Her black hair is braided over her shoulder, the red and white strands peeking in and out of the weaves. Her outfit is her usual "horror attire." Her top is heart-shaped, telling you just what organ she prefers. Scaley black design goes over her breasts and gold plated leaves with red raindrop jewels form the bottom part of the heart, up to the side of her breasts. Her black skirt hangs dangerously low, held up by a gold and red chain belt. The cloth of the skirt dips to expose her hips and then cover her ass - though I'm sure she has argued against it before. A single strip of the black cloth hangs between her legs - legs, I might add, that have nothing but lace-up sandal strings to cover their deathly pale coloring.

Her cape is secured around her neck, nicely designed - and yes, I hate complimenting her style - with feathers that fan out to frame her face. The cape attached to it falls in ripples, drooping and pinned in four places to prevent it from dragging.

I hate her, but I envy her outfit - which makes me hate her even more.

"I wouldn't say that," she says, adjusting her own stance which makes the whole outfit clink and chime. She like a damn wind chime you hang outside your door.

"I could smell you miles away," Nilsa claims flatly.

"And I could taste your blood from double that distance."

"You've never had a drop of our blood."

"Correction. I had a whole village's worth of your blood. What was the name? Kaira." My blood goes cold. "Lovely little group of people. They built their homes right between two rivers and used them to funnel energy and irrigate their little gardens, did they not? I've always loved Thralian blood, but theirs...oh...I'd give anything to taste its sweetness again." She runs her tongue along one of her extended canines, and a drop of blood falls from it, dragging over her lip and leaving a trail down her chin until it falls to the ground.

"I'd choose your next words wisely, Visha," Darius warns in a dangerously calm voice.

Three minutes.

Visha slides her eyes to him in a way that has my lip curling back from my own canines. She saunters over to him, the chains of her top and belt clanking slightly as she does so. She stops in front of the Generals and Bhaltayr, Vanya, and Mak at the King's shoulders, hands twitching at the ready. She ignores them all, taking her time to size him up. Then her nostrils flare, and she settles into a content expression when she finds what she was looking for.

"My, my, little King. I'm impressed. It seems both The Eternal and I have underestimated the strength and drive you hold. We'll have to make suitable...arrangments, to accommodate your newly found vitality."

"Nonsense. I wouldn't want the old bastard to waste his resources on such minor adjustments."

"Minor indeed, Little King."

Darius's jaw twitches and I adjust my angle to pivot in either direction. The only thing that stops us is the upward smirk he gives her a second later. "Though I should think you'd know by now that no adjustment your sad excuse for a leader makes, he will not be prepared for the clout I've built up in passing days since our last encounter."

Now Visha's jaw twitches, and I hone my whole focal point on the pulse beneath it. Or rather the lack thereof.

"You're a cocky little shit," she spins, taking an unplanned step towards him. Her quickness to anger has always been a downfall of hers.

"I wouldn't say that. I'd think my cock much larger than little," he retorts easily.

"It's never about the cock, Little King, but the whether or not you have the balls to give up what you hold most dear in order to win." Darius's face falls slightly, nothing more than a tremor, but a movement on which someone like Visha likes to get drunk on. "You see, that's the problem with your beating hearts and their need to pump love and lust through your being until it courses through your soul. You'll always protect the people you care for, and that, Little King, will forever be the reason why you'll fall. All I'd have to do is summon The Eternal to break those shields you all have around your precious little pearl, and then hold a knife to her throat, and just like that, you all bow before me. You become my servants. You're puppets. Nothing more, and so much less. None of you would raise a sword or summon your power, not if we have one of your own, and that, little warriors, is why we'll rise, and you'll fall."

Her coy smile has my veins burning, but I ignore the itch and dig my toes into the ground, watching as Darius meets her coy smile with his own. It's satisfying to watch her mouth slowly turn downward and her eyes narrow in confusion and suspicion. I've been the cause of it once, but it's rare that we find ourselves ahead of her and The Eternal - which is infuriating - but it seems we're beginning to break the pattern.

"Happy to meet death and misery so soon?" He doesn't answer, just smiles. "Why are you smiling?"she demands, now annoyed that she can't figure it out on her own.

"Because I'm proud."

She looks at him like he's cracked a rather hilarious joke. "Of what? You have accomplished nothing."

"Not of what. Of who." It takes her a moment, a satisfyingly long moment that has my own smirk lifting the corner of my mouth.

Then it clicks. Her eyes snap to the fire, and the now-empty bedroll.

She whirls, but it's too late. Clarice has one blade to the whore's throat, the other already buried in Visha's gut. Víđarr and Kit flank her and Kallisté forms behind the crone, her nose so close to the back of Visha's head that I highly doubt the whore doesn't know she's in a compromising position. Her eyes go wide with surprise as they take in Clarice, and then the long blade impaling her and coming out of her back. I suppose it was inevitable that it'd happen sooner or later, seeing as she is leaving her entire middle exposed quite literally. It troubles me every time how someone could be so unworldly and pale, but then again, she is a greater demon.

"I remember you," Clarice whispers, leaning uncomfortably close to Visha. She may have a blade in her gut, but Visha has suffered worse and killed perfectly fine with twisted limbs and several holes in her body before. The one injury isn't enough, but the surprise helps in keeping the woman still.

The hag recovers quickly, but not as smoothly as she likely thought she looked. Her chin tilts towards Clarice's."And I remember how your blood tasted."

"And I yours." Shock hits the rest of us, but Morana's jaw only clenches as if recalling a rather unfavorable memory.

"You know nothing."

Clarice leans in closer, so close that if she wanted, Visha could sink those canines she keeps flashing right into the artery in Clare's neck. The Queen even tilts her head, revealing her neck even more as if daring the demon to do just that. No matter who she becomes, it seems Clarice will always have a death wish.

When Visha doesn't take the opening to all our great surprise, I watch Clarice's cheeks slowly lift into a knowing smile. "I know what you are," she whispers quietly enough to where no one with mortal hearing could hear. "I know who you are, mïryevo."

Once again,