Take Me Away, Dark Lord!

The twelve-year-old’s icy, arrogant facade cracked, shattering into a million pieces of terror.

Cassian was staring up at a man who looked as if he was easily over seven feet tall, covered in horrific battle scars, casually breaking solid oak, and glaring at him with an eye that promised instant, brutal dismemberment.

The boy’s pale skin turned the color of chalk. His breath caught in his throat. The confidence trained into him by the priests evaporated in the face of Northern barbarism.

”N-No,” Cassian squeaked, his voice cracking into a high-pitched, pre-pubescent pitch. He instinctively took a stumbling step backward, holding his hands up in surrender. ”No problem! I was merely... directing the young miss! Offering assistance!”

”She does not require your assistance,” Boris growled, taking a heavy, deliberate step forward, his massive shadow entirely engulfing the terrified Paladin. ”She is the Heir to the Sovereign of the North. If you touch her, I will fold you into a square and use you as a footstool. Do we have a theological understanding, Squire?”

”Yes, Sir! Understanding achieved!” Cassian gasped, nodding so frantically his shiny silver hair whipped around his face.

He bowed at a sharp ninety-degree angle, executing a flawless, desperate pivot, and practically sprinted down the corridor, his silver boots skidding on the polished stone as he fled for his life.

Seraphina watched the pretty ice-prince flee, letting out a delighted, bubbly giggle.

She turned to Boris, beaming. ”Sir Boris! You broke the wood! That was so cool!”

The terrifying, homicidal aura surrounding the giant knight vanished instantly. The murderous glare melted into a soft, dopey, incredibly fond smile.

”Ah, it was nothing, Mushroom,” Boris chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully, looking down at her with adoration. ”Just a bit of light stretching. What are you doing out of your chamber? Did the other knights lose you?”

”I ran away!” Seraphina declared proudly, adjusting her grip on the sleeping puppy. ”I have a classified, super-secret quest! I need to find Papa Duke and Uncle Leo. They are digging a hole in the wrong place.”

Boris didn’t question the logic of her statement. If the Sovereign said she had a secret quest, then the Vanguard would facilitate it.

”Right away, My Lady,” Boris nodded, offering her his massive, calloused hand. ”They are currently taking tea in the Duchess’s private solarium. Allow me to escort you. And if we see any more shiny boys, I’ll break another stick.”

”Deal,” Seraphina smiled, happily grabbing one of his fingers as the giant led her down the hall.

***

The Duchess’s private solarium was a breathtaking marvel of architectural beauty. It was a massive, glass-domed conservatory built onto the edge of the fortress, overlooking a magically sustained garden of vibrant, exotic flora that defied the harsh volcanic climate outside.

When Sir Boris opened the glass doors, the air was warm, sweet, and filled with the scent of blooming jasmine and citrus.

Sitting at a delicate wrought-iron table in the center of the garden were Duke Kaelus and Archduke Leonidas. They were currently locked in what appeared to be an intense, deeply irritated staring contest over a map spread across the table.

But Seraphina’s attention was not drawn to the arguing Archdukes.

Sitting gracefully on a cushioned wrought-iron bench, pouring a cup of steaming, fragrant tea, was a woman.

Duchess Lysandra Valen was the embodiment of maternal warmth and elegance. She possessed cascading, voluminous waves of auburn hair that caught the sunlight like spun copper.

Her eyes were a deep, kind, soulful amber, radiating a gentle, patient intelligence. She was dressed in a flowing, comfortable gown of soft gold and deep crimson silk, lacking the harsh corsets of traditional court fashion.

She looked like the kind of mother who baked cookies, kissed scraped knees, and could probably command a legion of knights with a single, disappointed sigh.

”Kaelus, I swear upon the Light,” Leonidas was grumbling, slamming a finger onto the map. ”If you do not sign off on the mythril tariff reduction for the Southern supply lines, I am going to march an army of fire-trolls into your precious frozen wasteland and melt your—”

Leonidas stopped mid-threat.

He looked past Kaelus, his amber eyes landing on the doorway. His fierce, aggressive scowl instantly transformed into a massive, delighted grin.

”Aha! The tiny Sovereign arrives!” Leonidas boomed, his voice echoing through the glass dome.

Kaelus whipped his head around, his violet eyes instantly scanning Seraphina for injuries, locking onto Sir Boris standing behind her. ”Boris. Why is she not in her chamber?”

”The Lady had a classified quest, Your Grace,” Boris reported stoically, standing at attention.

Before Kaelus could demand an explanation, Duchess Lysandra stood up.

She moved with an effortless, sweeping grace, walking toward Seraphina with a smile so incredibly warm and genuine that it made Seraphina’s heart skip a beat.

”Oh, my goodness,” Lysandra breathed, clasping her hands together as she knelt down on the sun-warmed stone tiles, bringing herself perfectly level with the child.

Her amber eyes sparkled with pure adoration as she looked at Seraphina, taking in the navy dress, the slightly messy braids, and the pink ember-puppy clutched in her arms.

”Leonidas told me you were beautiful, but he severely understated the reality,” Lysandra smiled, her voice soft and melodious. She reached out, gently, respectfully waiting for Seraphina to lean into her touch before lightly brushing a stray lock of hair behind the girl’s ear. ”Hello, sweetheart. I am Lysandra. You can call me Auntie Lysa.”

Seraphina stared at the beautiful, kind woman.

Her adult soul, which had grown accustomed to the terrifying, blood-soaked devotion of the Northern knights and the brooding, overprotective paranoia of Kaelus, was entirely unprepared for this level of soft, maternal sweetness.

’She is an angel,’ Seraphina thought, instantly captivated by the Duchess’s warmth. ’She smells like vanilla and sunshine. I love her immediately.’

Seraphina didn’t hesitate.

She stepped forward, abandoning her usual cautious protocol, and threw her free arm around Lysandra’s neck, hugging the Duchess tightly.

”Hi, Auntie Lysa,” Seraphina mumbled happily into the soft silk of her dress.

Lysandra let out a soft, delighted gasp, immediately wrapping her arms around the small child, hugging her back with a fierce, tender affection. She closed her eyes, resting her cheek against Seraphina’s hair.

”Oh, Kaelus,” Lysandra sighed, looking up at the Archduke of the North over Seraphina’s shoulder. ”She is absolutely precious. How did a brooding, frozen block of stone like you manage to raise something so sweet?”

Kaelus, sitting at the table, crossed his arms over his broad chest.

He attempted to maintain his cold sneer, but the pride shining in his violet eyes completely ruined the effect.

”She is a Nacht,” Kaelus replied arrogantly, his chin lifting. ”Excellence is inherent.”

”Bah! Excellence!” Leonidas snorted, walking over and wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist as she stood up, holding Seraphina’s hand. ”She’s excellent in spite of you, you miserable icicle. Lysa, look at the dog! She completely domesticated my apex fire spirit! It’s a Pomeranian!”

Lysandra laughed, a bright, musical sound, reaching out to gently scratch the pink puppy under its chin. ”It suits her perfectly.”

Lysandra led Seraphina over to the wrought-iron table, pulling up a plush chair and lifting the child into it.

She immediately began to spoil her, loading a delicate porcelain plate with tiny, exquisite fruit tarts, sugared berries, and a small cup of sweetened, warm milk.

”Eat up, sweetheart,” Lysandra smiled, sitting beside her. ”I imagine the rations in the North are dreadfully boring.”

Seraphina happily dug into a fruit tart, swinging her legs under the table.

As the two Archdukes resumed their quiet, intense murmuring over the map, Lysandra watched Kaelus. Her warm amber eyes tracked the subtle, constant ways Kaelus’s attention remained tethered to the child.

She saw how his hand hovered near his sword hilt, how his violet eyes constantly darted to ensure she wasn’t choking, how he unconsciously shifted his posture to physically block the glare of the sun from her eyes.

A fond, slightly melancholic smile touched the Duchess’s lips.

”Kaelus,” Lysandra said softly, her voice cutting through the political debate.

Kaelus looked up, his expression guarded but respectful. He held a deep respect for Lysandra; she was the only person in the Empire capable of keeping Leonidas’s chaotic energy in check.

”Yes, Lysandra?” Kaelus replied.

Lysandra leaned forward slightly, resting her hands on the table. ”She is a wonderful child. You clearly love her deeply. I have never seen you look at anyone the way you look at her.”

Kaelus’s jaw tightened slightly, uncomfortable with the emotional vulnerability of the observation, but he did not deny it.

He offered a single, curt nod.

”But Kaelus,” Lysandra continued gently, her tone laced with genuine, well-meaning maternal concern. ”You are a warlord. You command armies, live in a fortress of black stone surrounded by men whose only trade is death.”

She looked at Seraphina, who was currently feeding a tiny piece of crust to the pink puppy.