Chapter 105: The Witch Queen Demand
Aveloria opened her eyes slowly. The first thing she noticed was that the ceiling above her was different. It was not the carved wooden canopy of her bed in the palace. The ceiling was made of smooth, grey stone, and simple lines and symbols she couldn’t recognize were carved into it. The second thing she noticed was the quiet; this place felt different. The air smelled of herbs and burning incense.
Her head hurt so badly when she turned it slightly on the pillow. She tried to move and felt a dull pain spread through her body. She let out a slight sound before she could stop herself.
Immediately, voices reacted.
"She’s awake."
"Slowly. Don’t move too fast."
Three familiar faces appeared above her. Theron, Galen, and Lucien. She focused entirely on Theron first. His expression was tight with worry. Galen was next to him, his arms crossed, but his shoulder tensed. Lucien was watching her, as if he were afraid she might disappear again.
"Where am I?" Aveloria asked. Her voice sounded dry and weak.
"You are in the Temple of the Moon. In the infirmary wing. You’re safe." Theron said quickly.
"The temple?" She repeated, confused.
Galen and Lucien helped her sit up. They moved slowly, making sure she did not strain herself. Theron helped place pillows behind her back to support her.
Aveloria rubbed her eyes, feeling gritty from sleep, and looked around carefully. The room was simple. Clean floor, a few shelves filled with jars and folded clothes.
"You must be thirsty," Theron said.
"How long was I unconscious?" She asked.
Galen brought a wooden cup of water from a side table. He helped tip it to her lips. The water was calm. She drank, feeling it soothe her throat.
"How long?" She repeated.
Theron’s expression was grim. "Three days. You collapsed after having a nightmare. You have been unconscious since."
Her eyes widened. "Three days?" Aveloria’s hands gripped the wool blanket. A flush of panic rose in her chest. "My father. My siblings. Are they okay? What time—"
"They are safe," Galen said quickly. "Your father regained consciousness, and he is alert. He is worried about you. Your brother and sisters are under heavy guard. They are well. Nothing is wrong."
Aveloria let out a shaky breath of relief.
Lucien nodded. "The palace physicians were uncertain. They did not understand the nature of your fatigue. So they suggested it would be better to bring you here. The High Priestess offered the temple’s care. We thought the sanctity of this place might offer you more protection."
Aveloria absorbed this. The panic receded, leaving a cold, hollow feeling. She nodded slowly, trying to remember what had happened—the dream. Three days lost. Her father was awake. She was in a temple. The pieces settled into a bleak picture.
Theron pulled a stool closer and sat. He leaned forward, his hands reaching out to hold hers. "Aveloria. What happened? What did you see that night, before you collapsed? The mirror in the room shattered, your marks glowed, and your screams didn’t sound ordinary."
Aveloria looked at her hands; they were pale and shaky. She looked at them. For a moment, she did not know how to begin. The memory was clear, sharper than the room around her.
Then she let out a long, tired breath. "Rowena," she said, the name flat in the quiet room. "Rowena is the Witch Queen."
For a moment, there was only the sound of a distant bell from the temple courtyard. Galen and Theron both looked at her, then at each other. Lucien’s expression darkened. Then the three men looked at each other. Their reactions were controlled, but she saw the doubt in Galen’s frown, the calculation in Theron’s eyes, the sharp interest in Lucien’s gaze.
"You are certain?" Galen asked.
"That’s a serious claim. Are you sure?" Theron said carefully.
"I saw her," Aveloria said. "She came to me. But she wasn’t just herself. She said she was the witch Queen." She paused, trying to sound right. "The Witch Queen I saw in my vision...she wore Rowena’s face."
Theron frowned. "That could be magic. Anyone with enough power could take another person’s appearance."
"I know. But it felt real. It wasn’t just a trick. It was not just her face," Aveloria said. She kept her voice low, forcing herself to recount it factually. "It was her voice. Her manner. The way she holds her head. It was Rowena. She spoke to me. She offered me a bargain."
Theron shook his head slightly. "Powerful magic can disguise form. Illusions. The Witch Queen could take on any face to manipulate you. To sow discord among us."
"I considered that," Aveloria said. "But it felt...specific. Personal."
Lucien spoke up. "Theron, I believe she may be correct. We know Eirene refused the mantle of Witch Queen. The power would not simply vanish. It would seek another host. Someone with latent ability, or someone ambitious enough to crave it. If the title had to pass to someone else, Rowena would be the obvious choice, or maybe she wanted it all along."
Galen paced a short step away from the bed, then turned back. "Lucien has a point. Eirene and Rowena have been maneuvering for influence for years. If Rowena saw a path to greater power, she might take it, regardless of the source." He looked at Aveloria. "What is the next step? Do we declare her a traitor? Have her arrested?"
"Not yet," Theron said, his tone decisive. He stood, beginning to think aloud. "If we accuse her without proof, it could tear everything apart. We need to be careful. We need to know what she wants. And it might lead us to finding more wandering cells."
Aveloria looked at each of them. This was the core of it. "I know what she wants. She told me." She swallowed.
They all turned to her. "So tell us what she wants," Lucien said.
"She asked me to sever my bonds. To give that severed connection to her. In exchange, she would grant me peace. A life without a burden of having to deal with four mates or the wanderers."
The room went very still.
