The Vengeance

The battlefield crackled with raw energy as the magical army fought the waves of armored soldiers. Witches of Elysioa, dressed in adorned flowing robes, stood at the forefront of the defense. With raised hands and raised voices, they chanted incantations, drawing power from the realm itself. Arcane symbols glowed, casting an ethereal light upon the faces of the soldiers.

Fireballs soared through the air, erupting into blazing infernos upon impact. Bolts of lightning crackled, striking down soldiers with deadly precision. Vines burst forth, ensnaring the feet of the enemy. However, the soldiers wore amulets, spell-bound armors and carried enchanted shields that absorbed the impact of the spells, while their shields created a shimmering barrier that deflected magical projectiles.

Delia, from the highest spire of her castle, watched down with dread. Her thick, dark braids capsized down to her narrow waist and framed her heart-shaped face. Her heart eased up slightly as the vines wrapped around the soldiers, but sank when the vines began to combust and fall limp to the cracked ground.

Tension hung heavy in the air as Delia's loyal advisor, Riyan, approached her. Fear quivered in his voice as he spoke, lines of worry etched on his aged face. "My Queen, we are running out of time! King Aric's forces draw nearer, and his hunger for power knows no bounds. You must flee, my queen. Escape while you still can." He looked quite the fright, grey hair standing on ends and his embroidered robe, disheveled and rustled.

Delia's eyes widened, defiance swimming within them. "Flee and leave our people defenseless? We have to stand our ground, Riyan."

Riyan's voice dropped to a hushed tone, his eyes darting around as if wary of prying ears. "My lady, the king's army is vast and relentless. If you are captured, Elysioa will lose its last hope. We need you to survive, to rally our forces and seek aid."

Delia's brow furrowed as she considered Riyan's words, the weight of responsibility bearing down on her. The fate of her people and the delicate balance of magic itself rested upon her. She had always been a defender, a protector.

"Riyan, I understand the risks, but I cannot abandon our cause entirely. I will go, but only if you promise to gather what remains of our defense and continue the fight in my absence. Our people must not lose hope."

Riyan nodded solemnly. "You have my word, my lady. I shall do everything in my power to rally our forces and safeguard our realm until your return."

The earth trembled with the echoes of the clash, and the sky became an intricate tapestry of swirling colors as magical energies collided. The soldiers broke through the witches' lines, gaining ground. The defense of the Elysioa faltered.

With each step backward, the once-unified defense of Elysioa crumbled, until the witches found themselves cornered, their backs against a cliff. The soldiers closed in, their weapons raised.

Delia closed her eyes, drawing strength from the depths of her being. Her slender, polished fingers traced the intricate patterns of her robe as she exhaled slowly, her voice steady with resolve.

"Very well, Riyan. I shall heed your advice. But know this, I will not hide. I will seek allies, knowledge, and power to aid us in our struggle. Elysioa will not fall." Her full lips trembled though her voice was strong.

As if on cue, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed in the hall outside. The rhythmic thuds grew louder, resonating through the grand chamber, heralding the imminent arrival of King Aric and his soldiers.

Riyan's gaze turned urgent, his voice a mere whisper. "Go now, my lady. Seek refuge in the secret chambers, beyond the hidden passages. There you will find the path to your escape. May the magic protect you, Delia."

Delia nodded, her heart heavy. With a final glance at her advisor, she turned and darted towards a concealed doorway, disappearing into the labyrinthine corridors of the castle, guided by her knowledge of its inner workings.

It was a maze-like corridor, designed to confuse any trespasser but Delia knew the path by heart. She would follow the passageway that would lead her out through the underground tunnel, opening at a cave in the North of Elysioa.

As she hurried through the dimly lit passages, the distant sounds of commotion grew louder, mingling with the harsh voices of the king's soldiers. Panic threatened to overtake her, but she clung to her resolve.

Her eyes blazed with defiance as she conjured a shield of shimmering energy to guide her down the dark passageway. The voices seemed to the coming from right behind her, footsteps echoed as the soldiers drew nearer and nearer. She could hear them now, even louder than her own heartbeat. Their long, frightening shadows were cast on the walls.

A strike of bright light flew over her head, missing her by a hair's breadth. They had found the secret passageway and they were attacking her. When a fluorescent spell struck her ankle, she cried out in pain and whipped around just in time to deflect the next projectile.

The soldiers must have been aided by some unknown traitors, Delia realized as she was deflecting arrows and spells alike. How else would they have gotten their hands on military-grade amulets, enchanted armors and shields?

She moved with agility and grace, her spells lashing out to strike down her foes. The exchange with a dozen masked attackers went on for so long, sparks of hexes bouncing off the walls, echoing through the corridors. As she fought for her life, she hoped Riyan was safely hidden.

But even her formidable powers could not hold out indefinitely. Fatigue set in, and her energy waned. In a moment of vulnerability, the attackers closed in on her, overpowering her defenses. They encircled her, their weapons raised, ready to deliver the final blow.

Just as they moved to strike, a commanding voice echoed through the chaos. "Hold!"

The soldiers froze, their eyes widening as they turned to face their king, Aric. He stepped forward, a sinister smile curling his lips.

"Well, well, well," King Aric sneered, his voice dripping with arrogance. "The great Delia of Elysioa. Look at you now, broken and defenseless. Your magic is no match for my superior forces."

He was a large man; towering over her slender, petite frame and loaded with pounds of muscle. His dark, menacing eyes made shivers run down her spine.

Delia straightened her posture, her eyes narrowing with defiance. "You may have conquered my army, Aric, but you will never break the spirit of Elysioa. We will rise again, and your tyranny will crumble."

The king chuckled, his eyes gleaming with malevolence. "Oh, how predictable. The last stand of a desperate witch. But your words hold no power over me. I have conquered your lands, slaughtered your people, and now I hold you captive. Your fate lies solely in my hands."

As he spoke, King Aric approached Delia, his gaze filled with a hunger for domination. He extended a gloved hand, fingers adorned with jewels, as if presenting her with a cruel gift. "You, my dear, shall be my newest consort by my side to enhance my reign." His pearly white teeth gleamed as he flashed her a grin.

Delia recoiled at the king's words, her emerald eyes blazing with fury. "I would sooner perish than become your puppet, Aric. My loyalty belongs to the realm, to the forces of magic and justice." The only evidence of her fear was the paling of tan skin.

Aric's smile widened, his tone dripping with sadistic amusement as he wrapped his thick fingers around her arm, causing her to flinch. "Oh, my dear Delia, I assure you, your loyalty will change in due time. You will come to see the benefits of serving me, of being on the winning side."

Delia's gaze remained unwavering, her voice all steely resolve. "You underestimate the power of Elysioa. Our magic and our spirits cannot be broken. Your reign will be met with resistance, and you will fall."

King Aric's eyes narrowed, a flicker of anger crossing his face. He tightened his grip on Delia's arm, his voice dripping with menace. "We shall see, Delia. But for now, you are mine to command. Prepare yourself for a life of servitude, for your defiance will not go unpunished."

With those chilling words, King Aric turned, dragging Delia away as the soldiers followed suit. Elysioa fell into darkness, its last hope captured and its future uncertain.

It had been a week and three days. Delia was counting.

She sighed as she gazed out of the narrow tower window. Her emerald eyes scanned the vast expanse of the kingdom below, longing for the freedom she once enjoyed. It was ironic, a queen being treated like a common criminal. And now, trapped within the confines of Aric's anti-magic castle, she was isolated and ignored. Days had passed since she last saw him, and her attempts to approach him were futile as the guards and servants blocked her path at every turn.

Nobody even bothered to hold eye contact with her; it was like she was part of the ornate, hand-crafted furniture. And the castle had beautiful furniture, she would give the tyrant human that. Even the maids that attended to her, did so with eyes downcast.

Delia's powers, once invincible and awe-inspiring, were rendered useless within the magic-proof walls of the castle. The invisible barriers sapped her strength, leaving her feeling powerless and trapped. She was reduced to relying on the meagre sustenance provided by the maids, who dutifully delivered tasty meals and impersonal gifts to her tower. Each plate was a reminder of her captivity, as if Aric's evil was etched into every morsel, it became physically impossible to swallow the meals even though they were tasty. What if he was poisoning her?

The food, though plentiful, lacked variety. The maids, who were ignorant of Delia's true culinary preferences, never bothered to ask for her preferences.

So, day after day, the queen dined on porridge, fresh bread, and tasty stew. Even the fruits, once vibrant and succulent, had lost their natural sweetness. The lack of culinary delight mirrored her emotional state, making her yearn for the exquisite delicacies she once savored at the royal banquets. But that was the least of her problems; who was ruling Elysioa in her absence? Riyan? And how was he faring anyways? Word of her capture had probably spread to every nook and cranny of the kingdom, and with her gone, the people were more vulnerable to attacks from other kingdoms. She hoped the werewolves wouldn’t cease the opportunity.

The tower room, though spacious, felt suffocating. Its stone walls were cold and unwelcoming, the only warmth coming from a small hearth in the corner. A canopy bed with crimson drapes dominated the room, offering a modicum of comfort, but it did little to alleviate Delia's longing for freedom. She often found herself pacing the room, her footsteps echoing against the stone floors, as she plotted her escape from the clutches of the tyrannical King Aric.

On the tenth afternoon, as Delia stared listlessly at the meal before her, a knock on her chamber door broke the monotony. It was the maid, Rosalind.

"Your Highness, I bring fresh linens for your bed," Rosalind said gently, setting down the bundle on the dresser. "And his Highness sent in a small treat for you."

Delia's eyes lifted. "What is it, Rosalind?" she asked.

Rosalind pulled out a small box, carefully wrapped in delicate parchment. "A jar of honey from the village market. It's not much, but I hope it brings some sweetness to your day," she said, her eyes filled with empathy. It was the most words the maid had said to her so far.

At first, Aric was sending jewelry to her, but when she didn’t show any sign of gratitude, the gifts stopped coming and apparently, Rosalind felt bad for her.

Touched by the maid’s concern, Delia smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Rosalind."

As Rosalind left the room, Delia's mind raced with thoughts of her predicament. She feared for her kingdom, knowing that Aric's cruel reign was causing suffering among her people. She needed to escape, to find a way to restore justice and bring an end to Aric. But with her powers rendered useless, her options were limited.

Sitting by the window, Delia stared longingly at the bustling Kingdom below. The humans, once viewed as the weakest race, were now at the top of the food chain. People moved about their daily lives, unaware of the darkness that had tumbled her. Her heart ached for her kingdom, and a steely determination settled within her.

***

Just as the sun was sinking beneath the horizon, Rosalind burst through the heavy chamber doors with a small smile on her face. Delia had never seen her smiling before, it instantly erased twenty years off the mature maid’s face.

“The king has requested for your presence, Your Highness.” The maid seemed a bit too happy, her emotions were a direct contrast to the dread that Delia felt.

Delia stood in front of the ornate mirror, her reflection staring back at her with a mix of defiance and resignation. Tonight was the night King Aric had finally extended an invitation to dinner, an invitation that held far greater implications than a mere social gathering. She was to be presented with an offer—a proposition that would alter the course of her life and the fate of her people forever.

Her thoughts raced, battling with conflicting emotions. On one hand, she despised King Aric for his audacity, for capturing her and forcing her into a role she had never sought. She detested the idea of becoming his consort, a mere pawn in his political games. On the other hand, she knew that this was perhaps the only chance she had to secure a better future for her kingdom and maybe reclaim her throne.

“Help me prepare, Rosalind,” Delia managed to say as she swept her eyes down the full-length mirror, taking in her dark circles and pale skin.

The maid got to work, applying perfumed oils on Delia’s skin and weaving her dark tresses into luscious braids. Picking up on the captive queen’s countenance, the maid could tell that the invitation didn’t please her at all.

"Your Highness, it is time," Rosalind said softly, her voice tinged with concern. She finally understood the turmoil Delia was facing.

Delia took a deep breath, steeling herself for what lay ahead. She adjusted the intricate lacework of her gown, a beautiful creation in jade green that accentuated her eyes. The dress hugged her figure before cascading down in elegant pleats, a testament to the skill of the kingdom's finest seamstresses. She had chosen the color deliberately from the ones Aric had sent to her on the second day of her captivity.

Rosalind stepped forward, holding a delicate silver necklace adorned with a single emerald pendant. "Your Highness, His Majesty demanded that you wear this."

Delia's hands shook with rage as she took hold of the necklace. The emerald sparkled in the candlelight, reflecting the flickering flames that danced in her chamber. She fastened it around her neck, hating that Aric had reduced her to nothing but a doll whom he could dress up as he pleased.

As she descended the grand staircase, Delia could feel a weight pressing upon her. The castle's opulent halls were adorned with tapestries and paintings.

She was led into the grand dining hall by a young maid, the centerpiece of which was an enormous table adorned with the finest linens and silverware. Candles flickered in golden candelabras, casting a warm glow over the room. The aroma of roasted meats and freshly baked bread filled the air, making Delia's stomach churn with both hunger and anxiety.

King Aric stood at the head of the table, his regal presence commanding attention. His tall and broad-shouldered frame was clad in the finest, velvet robe, his raven-black hair meticulously groomed. His piercing blue eyes seemed to hold a glint of amusement as he surveyed the room, but Delia saw through the facade. She knew the darkness that lay beneath that composed facade.

The king's voice resonated through the hall as he addressed the gathered guests, all of whom were unfamiliar faces but Delia could tell that most of the ladies were Aric’s consorts. She could taste their jealousy from the other end of the room. "Tonight, I extend my gratitude to Delia for accepting my invitation. We stand at a precipice, on the verge of forging a new alliance that will bring prosperity to our lands." He tossed his head back, gulping from his gold goblet as he drank to the toast.

The guests followed suit then took their seats, engaging in polite conversation as the servants served the sumptuous feast. Delia's appetite had waned, her focus instead fixated on the man who held her fate in his hands. She despised him for the power he wielded over her, but she had to find a way to turn that power to her advantage.

Amidst the verbal dance, Delia couldn't help but notice the extravagant spread of food before her. The plates were adorned with succulent roasted meats—tender venison and succulent pheasant—seasoned with an array of fragrant herbs. Golden potatoes, crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside, were nestled next to platters of colorful roasted vegetables. Each dish was a testament to the kingdom's culinary prowess, a symphony of flavors that momentarily distracted her from the weight of her decision.

Did her decision really count? It was not like she'd invited herself over.

As the meal progressed, Delia found herself in a conversation with King Aric. He spoke of his visions for a united kingdom, of his desire to create a legacy that would surpass the petty conflicts of the past. His words were eloquent, persuasive even, but she remained guarded; her hate for him merely simmering underneath her cover.

“As my vassal,” he was saying, after he had gulped down a bite, “you’ll be an irreplaceable part of my council, you’ll oversee your region and report back to me. I treat my vassals like family because we will all be part of one big family.” He gestured to the guests seated to his right. “Whether you are a witch, elf, fay, centaur or werewolf, it doesn’t matter. We are all the same under my reign.”

Delia looked at the vassals, former kings and queens who had either sold their throne or lost to Aric. She wondered if he kept them locked up in the castle as well or that treatment was limited to only the consorts. The Queen of Fay darted her gaze away when Delia turned to her, and she wondered if she held two titles as well: vassal and consort.

“I doubt I’d have any time to actually oversee my kingdom,” Delia said deadpanned.

Aric’s eyes perked up. “And why’s that?”

“I would be too busy playing house with you.”

He picked up on the sarcasm and he wasn’t pleased. She knew annoying him was not in her favor but she could not resist.

The king's gaze never wavered, his eyes locking with hers, and Delia knew the time had come. She straightened her spine, her resolve solidifying within her. This was her chance to secure a future for her people, to protect them from the ravages of war and instability.

She would be living under his roof and obeying summons to his bedroom, due to her position as consort and she was to report Elysioan affairs to him, due to her position as Vassal. She was entitled to food, clothing, shelter, Vassal wages and the occasional gift. She didn’t really have a choice, and she knew that.

"King Aric," she began, her voice steady and composed, "I have considered your proposal, your terms and conditions. And after much thought, I accept."

A hush fell across the table and a flicker of surprise flashed across the king's face, quickly masked by a carefully crafted smile. "Delia, you honor me with your decision. Together, we shall build a future that will bring prosperity and stability to our lands."

Delia's gaze remained fixed on the king, her hatred for him still burning deep within her. But beneath that hatred, there was a spark of hope.

***

The echoes of Delia's footsteps resonated through the towering walls as she paced back and forth in the dimly lit chamber. The grandeur of the room was lost on her as her mind wrestled with the impending reality that awaited her.

The arrival of the maid shattered Delia's thoughts, and she turned her gaze toward the door as it creaked open. The young servant stood with a respectful bow, her eyes betraying a mix of empathy and apprehension. "Queen Delia," the maid began, her voice carrying a hint of sympathy, "King Aric requests your presence in his chamber. He desires you to commence your duties as his consort immediately."

Anger surged through Delia, but she maintained her composure, her features frozen in an icy mask. She nodded to the maid, accepting the news with a forced stoicism. Deep inside, though, she was seething, her heart heavy with the weight of her impending fate.

The door closed for a short moment, giving Delia time to act quickly. Without much thought, she grabbed a knife from the fruit bowl and snuck it into her tights.

The servant, after returning to the chamber, sensed the tension in the air, glanced at Delia's side, where, hidden within the folds of her robe, lay the small knife—a symbol of her determination not to be completely defenseless in this new role. If she could not escape this fate, she would at least be prepared to fight against it.

As Delia made her way towards the bedroom, her steps were slow and deliberate. Each footfall seemed to echo the turmoil within her. She couldn't help but feel a profound sadness—the feeling of a caged bird, trapped and yearning for freedom.

Upon entering the chamber, Delia's eyes were immediately drawn to the grandiose bed, draped in rich, regal fabrics. The maid approached her, carrying an intricately designed box in her hands. Delia's heart sank as she realized its purpose. With trembling hands, the maid delicately unveiled the contents, revealing a set of fine lingerie, exquisitely crafted and adorned with intricate lace.

Her sadness deepened, her sense of self eroding with each passing moment. As she was handed the garments, her fingers brushed against the silky fabric, and a wave of repulsion washed over her. She felt as though her body and her personhood were being reduced to an object of desire, stripped of her autonomy.

Suppressing her instinctive revulsion, Delia quietly undressed, the soft material slipping over her skin as the maid helped her don the lingerie. The fabric clung to her like a second skin.

With each step she took towards the bed, Delia's mind raced, her emotions teetering between anger, sadness, and a smoldering determination. She knew the gravity of the situation she faced, and as she neared the foot of the bed, she steeled herself, checking to see if the knife stayed discreet.

King Aric entered the chamber, his presence filling the room with an air of dominance and entitlement. His eyes locked onto Delia, a predatory gleam flickering within them. "Delia," he called, his voice laced with a tone of possession. "Come closer, my dear."

Delia's heart pounded in her chest as she approached, her façade of compliance concealing the storm within. She forced a smile, though it was devoid of genuine warmth. She had become an expert at wearing masks, concealing her true feelings behind a carefully constructed facade.

As King Aric reached out to touch her, Delia's hand trembled, but not from fear. It was the flame of defiance burning within her, fueled by her sadness and disgust. She had no intention of succumbing to his desires willingly. If she could not escape her fate, then she would fight for her dignity.

As she met the gaze of the king, Delia's fingers tightened around the hilt of the concealed knife. Her eyes, once filled with despair, now held a spark of determination—a silent promise to herself that she would not let this man reduce her to a mere object.