“Perfect score—one hundred points for Lady White!” Lucinda announced in a voice that was far too cheerful for the dread pooling in my stomach. She twirled once on the balls of her feet, gesturing theatrically toward the twisted thing behind her.

  “I made this out of Arthur,” she said, pointing with a mocking flourish at the husk that bore his name but no longer his soul. “So, I’m afraid there’s nothing left to offer you. No bargain to sweeten. No future benefits for you to cling to. Our little arrangement has flipped entirely. Now you have everything you ever wanted. Congratulations—on becoming a real duchess again!”

  Her tone shifted as she spoke—not with sorrow or satisfaction, but with that uncanny amusement she always wore when she was on the edge of something cruel.

  Why was she talking as if she could end my life at any moment?

  My breath caught. I closed my eyes, just for a second, listening for her movements in the silence. Her footsteps were slow, deliberate, echoing in the empty space like a clock ticking down. Then I looked again—at the abomination she had made of Arthur, at the mockery of power and humanity lying limp behind her.

  “I am… honoured by your kind words,” I said, forcing my voice not to crack.

  She wasn’t here to negotiate.

  She didn’t trust me. Not anymore. Maybe never had. Even if I offered her loyalty, blood, or power, she had already moved past the need to trust anyone but herself.

  And yet—something she had once said clung to the corners of my mind like a spider’s thread I couldn’t untangle.

  “Wait. Wait—before you kill me—”

  She laughed, and the sound was light, musical… horrifying. Even her strange companion chuckled quietly at my plea. Was I so far from understanding her that my fear had become funny?

  “You once told me,” I began, gripping the thread of memory and pulling it into the open, “that there was another type of relationship you accepted. One where both parties didn’t have to benefit equally. There was a second path.”

  She tilted her head, smile curling with interest. For a heartbeat, I thought I’d struck something real.

  “Hmm,” she mused aloud, eyes glinting. “There was never a war between the elves and the humans until about five hundred years ago.”

  What?

  I blinked, thrown off entirely. “What does that—?”

  “They lived in harmony,” she continued, ignoring my confusion, “until the humans stole the Crown of Thorns from the elven royal vault. An artefact powerful enough to turn the entire world into one vast, living forest. One only the elves could survive in.”

  She walked past me slowly, like a tutor pacing a classroom, her voice quiet and calm.

  “In retaliation, the elves infiltrated the kingdom and stole the Staff of Creation—the only thing capable of countering the Crown. And just like that, both sides had the means to destroy the other. Peace through mutual annihilation. An equilibrium based not on trust or goodwill, but fear.”

  Her gaze settled on me again, sharp as a blade.

  “It was a relationship built on mutual destruction, and it worked, for a time.”

  And now she was suggesting the same—between us. My throat dried.

  This conversation was spiraling. She was speaking in riddles, and yet, the threat was plain. She was telling me that I needed to make myself dangerous to her. That I needed to be irreplaceable—or I’d be discarded like Arthur.

  “I…” I stammered, lost in the rising tide of her words. “I don’t see how I was ever going to ruin you.”

  “Of course not,” she said gently, almost pityingly. “Because you aren’t thinking ahead. I have nothing to lose now. But you… you can change that.”

  She stepped closer, her small figure casting a long, monstrous shadow. Her eyes gleamed—not cruel, but calculating.

  “Give me something,” she said softly, “that I never want to lose.”

  Her logic was terrifyingly sound. If she had something to care about—something to risk—she would have a reason to preserve me.

  “Come on, Mary, you’re not stupid,” she said, almost encouraging now, her voice like silk over steel. “I can kill you whenever I want. What you need to give me is something that helps me—but could also be used against me.”

  I was trembling. Not because I feared death. I had feared that for years.

  But because this… this was survival in its purest, ugliest form. She wasn’t just toying with me. She was testing me—for something I couldn’t yet understand.

  She smiled. Reassuringly. Kindly.

  That smile terrified me more than all her power.

  “You…” I began, almost in disbelief at the words forming in my mind, “you want to work for me? In a high position?”

  It was desperate. Ridiculous. But maybe—

  “If I die,” I reasoned aloud, “you’ll lose the influence tied to my title. But if you’re tied to me, then you can keep what you’ve built—and I could… I could keep my life.”

  There it was. A warped form of equilibrium. If either of us betrayed the other, both would fall.

  A bond not of trust, but of consequence.

  Mutual destruction.

  Just the kind of relationship she admired.

  “What? No, I′m not content with some random position at your court.” Lucinda said, her voice bursting with delighted mischief. “You will become my mom.”

  She beamed at me like a child asking for a bedtime story—except this child had dismembered soldiers and manipulated people like chess pieces. Her expression was so gleeful, so disturbingly pure, it made my stomach turn.

  I blinked. Of all the absurd, horrifying proposals I had imagined from her… that was not one of them.

  “Your… mother?” I repeated, trying to keep my voice from cracking. “You want me to be the mother of a mass murderer? That’s an excellent line for my résumé.”

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  She tilted her head, eyes twinkling. “Come on, it’s perfect!”

  “It’s insane,” I muttered, though even as I said it, I found myself thinking back. Nobody had ever seen me pregnant, no, but since marrying Arthur, I’d lived a life of relative seclusion. My public appearances had been carefully curated, my personal life largely kept behind locked doors. Could we sell this?

  I hated myself for even entertaining the thought.

  “And what then?” I asked, folding my arms. “Let’s say everyone believes you’re my daughter. When I die, you inherit everything. That’s convenient.”

  Lucinda shrugged with casual cheer. “At least until people notice I’m not aging. Or, you know, you could leave letters with trusted friends saying you suspected I was a vampire. It’s really hard to hide these teeth once they start looking.”

  She bared her fangs briefly, just enough to make me flinch. The moment passed, and she was smiling again. Serene. Serpentine.

  I swallowed hard. This relationship could work. It was a bizarre kind of solution—a contract built on appearances and deception, potentially powerful and stabilizing. But…

  “I can’t,” I said quietly. “I have citizens to protect—”

  Lucinda cut in smoothly. “Since when does a duchess’s daughter rule over the land?”

  She had a point. I would still hold the reins. But her influence, the reach she would gain, sent chills down my spine. Her presence under my name… her evil justified by my title…

  “You’d be cruel to them,” I said, more certain of this than anything else. “To the people. If you could do this to Arthur, I can’t even imagine what you'd do to the ones you don’t need.”

  She exhaled dramatically, rolling her eyes like I was the one being difficult.

  “You can always disown me if I cause trouble. Simple. You’ve got every escape route you could ask for.”

  It was true. On paper, I had every safeguard. But could anyone truly bind Lucinda once she chose to break the rules?

  “You’d just use my name,” I accused. “Do evil under my family crest.”

  That made her sigh again, more softly this time. She looked almost disappointed—as if I’d failed a test I didn’t know I was taking.

  “Mary,” she said, and her voice dropped into a calm, persuasive whisper. “Look at it this way. This is your chance to anchor me—to tether me to the values of your society. If I am your daughter, then I carry your name. Your legacy. Would I really want to ruin my own family?”

  Her logic was terrifyingly smooth. Too perfect. Too convenient.

  A daughter who couldn't be controlled, but who might choose control for the sake of image. A monster in a velvet mask.

  It was the slimmest chance—like caging fire with silk. But wasn’t it still a chance?

  My body was still. My thoughts raged. I had the power to shape a future, for better or worse… but was I making a deal with salvation, or with damnation?

  I shook my head slowly.

  Her smile disappeared for the first time.

  “I solved your problem,” she said, not smiling anymore. Her voice was flat. Uncompromising. “Now help me in return.”

  “I cannot do that.”

  My voice trembled, not from fear, but from conviction. She needed to understand—someone needed to understand—why I couldn’t accept her proposal, not even now, not even with my life hanging in the balance. I wouldn’t endanger my people. I couldn’t betray the very foundation of who I was, not even for survival.

  Lucinda’s eyes narrowed, her expression twisting with frustration. “Why?” she growled, low and guttural, and the room shivered with her voice. Behind her, Arthur stirred, as if awakened by a ripple in some unseen current between them. When he opened his bloodshot eyes, they both glared at me—her eyes sharp and expectant, his filled with something darker, almost reverent.

  There was something between them. A connection I couldn’t yet name.

  I turned to the only other person in the room who hadn’t promised to destroy me: her strange companion. Perhaps—just perhaps—he had a sliver of reason left in him. A trace of humanity I could appeal to.

  “Do you know why?” I asked him directly.

  He didn’t speak at first. He hesitated. Then, as if he was dragging the words from his throat like chains, he answered. “Look… she’s being nice to you right now. And that’s not something she does. Ever. If she wants you on her side, you should probably take that seriously.”

  Lucinda closed her eyes. I could see her reigning in her anger with visible effort, her small hands clenching, then relaxing. She was giving me one more chance. A final offer before the world fell apart.

  I looked back to the man. “Otherwise?”

  He inhaled sharply. His eyes flickered toward Lucinda, who remained eerily still.

  “She’ll get what she wants. One way or another.”

  “And that means…?” I pressed.

  He looked at me with something almost like pity. But it was clouded by fear, and something far worse—resignation.

  “…She knows why you don’t want to do it. Just like I do.” His voice was barely above a whisper now. “She knows. She’s already thought it through.”

  That’s when the horror dawned on me.

  The door. The sunlight.

  She could wait until it was dark. Seal the exits. Let Arthur out.

  I had walked willingly into the lion’s den with my people sleeping peacefully beyond these walls, unaware of the storm I was barely holding back. And Lucinda—Lucinda—had calculated every possibility. She knew exactly how many lives she could threaten to break my will.

  She had done it before. Dozens. Hundreds. Maybe more. One city wouldn’t matter to her. Not if it got her what she wanted.

  A war raged inside me. One voice screaming refuse her, never give her power, the other whispering save your people. Logic and morality fought with equal fury, neither willing to surrender. And still, I stood in silence, heart racing, mind spinning.

  So I asked the question aloud.

  “Would you do that, Lucinda? Would you murder everyone in this city?”

  She opened her eyes.

  “No… not really,” she said casually, as if discussing the weather. “Murdering everyone isn’t my thing. I’d probably kill you, though. Then I’d set Arthur free. He’s annoying but effective. Not sure how many he’d take down—maybe all the maids, a few guards. Depends on how hungry he is.”

  My throat went dry. But she wasn’t done.

  “Then I’d probably head to the capital. There’s more fun to be had there. More power. More danger. More game.”

  I stood frozen. Her honesty was like icewater poured straight into my bones. She meant it. All of it.

  And then she added, almost as an afterthought: “The elves, though… I doubt they’ve lost many fighters. But a few villages were burned, and when the truce ends next year, they’ll want blood. Your kingdom's blood. The balance is already tipping. You see, I don’t need to do anything to hurt your people. I just need history to run its course.”

  It took several seconds before her words truly landed.

  She wasn’t bluffing. She didn’t need to.

  From the very beginning, this had never been a choice. There was no negotiation. No compromise. Only her waiting for me to realize the inevitable.

  I slowly lifted my hand, trembling. Defeated. Not by violence, but by the brutal weight of survival. I had no other option left. No cards to play. It was either ruin, or trust the unknown.

  “From the beginning,” I whispered, “I never had a choice…”

  “No, mum, you didn’t,” Lucinda replied softly, a delighted smile blooming on her lips again like the first thaw of spring.

  But instead of taking my hand, she stepped forward and wrapped her cold arms around me.

  It was a strange, surreal embrace. Her small frame pressed against mine, her skin cold as stone. And yet she held me tightly—as if I was something precious. Fragile. Wanted.

  I didn’t pull away.

  Not because I wasn’t afraid of her—but because I knew that from this moment on, my only hope of saving what remained of this world… lay in changing her.

  The devil had found a family.

  And somehow, I had become the mother.